ak that hung down to his knees.
A single piece of fabric. And sandals.

Or what looked like sandals. Both the cloak and the sandals were of
some strange half-luminous material. It glowed faintly in the
sunlight. Metallic, rather than cloth.

A woman was watering flowers at the edge of a lawn. She straightened
up as his team of horses came near. Her eyes widened in
astonishment--and then fear. Her mouth fell open in a soundless _O_
and her sprinkling can slipped from her fingers and rolled silently
onto the lawn.

Cole blushed and turned his head quickly away. The woman was scarcely
dressed! He flicked the reins and urged the horses to hurry.

Behind him, the woman still stood. He stole a brief, hasty look
back--and then shouted hoarsely to his team, ears scarlet. He had seen
right. She wore only a pair of translucent shorts. Nothing else. A
mere fragment of the same half-luminous material that glowed and
sparkled. The rest of her small body was utterly naked.

He slowed the team down. She had been pretty. Brown hair and eyes,
deep red lips. Quite a good figure. Slender waist, downy legs, bare
and supple, full breasts--. He clamped the thought furiously off. He
had to get to work. Business.

Cole halted the Fixit cart and leaped down onto the pavement. He
selected a house at random and approached it cautiously. The house was
attractive. It had a certain simple beauty. But it looked frail--and
exactly like the others.

He stepped up on the porch. There was no bell. He searched for it,
running his hand uneasily over the surface of the door. All at once
there was a click, a sharp snap on a level with his eyes. Cole glanced
up, startled. A lens was vanishing as the door section slid over it.
He had been photographed.

While he was wondering what it meant, the door swung suddenly open. A
man filled up the entrance, a big man in a tan uniform, blocking the
way ominously.

"What do you want?" the man demanded.

"I'm looking for work," Cole murmured. "Any kind of work. I can do
anything, fix any kind of thing. I repair broken objects. Things that
need mending." His voice trailed off uncertainly. "Anything at all."

"Apply to the Placement Department of the Federal Activities Control
Board," the man said crisply. "You know all occupational therapy is
handled through them." He eyed Cole curiously. "Why have you got on
those ancient clothes?"

"Ancient? Why, I--"

The man gazed past him at the Fixit cart and the t