nd Hazen,
colleagues of mine. We're all Micro-men." Fay's companions were
staring strangely at Gusterson's blinking headlamp. Fay explained
rapidly, "Mr. Gusterson is an insanity novelist. You know, I-D."

"Inner-directed spells _id_," Gusterson said absently, still staring
at the interweaving crowd beyond them, trying to figure out what made
them different from last trip. "Creativity fuel. Cranky. Explodes
through the parietal fissure if you look at it cross-eyed."

"Ha-ha," Fay laughed. "Well, boys, I've found my man. How's the new
novel perking, Gussy?"

"Got my climax, I think," Gusterson mumbled, still peering puzzledly
around Fay at the slidestanders. "Moodmaster's going to come alive.
Ever occur to you that 'mood' is 'doom' spelled backwards? And
then...." He let his voice trail off as he realized that Kester and
Davidson and Hazen had made their farewells and were sliding into the
distance. He reminded himself wryly that nobody ever wants to hear an
author talk--he's much too good a listener to be wasted that way.
Let's see, was it that everybody in the crowd had the same facial
expression...? Or showed symptoms of the same disease...?

"I was coming to visit you, but now you can pay me a call," Fay was
saying. "There are two matters I want to--"

Gusterson stiffened. "My God, _they're all hunchbacked_!" he yelled.

"Shh! Of course they are," Fay whispered reprovingly. "They're all
wearing their ticklers. But you don't need to be insulting about it."

"_I'm gettin' out o' here._" Gusterson turned to flee as if from five
thousand Richard the Thirds.

"Oh no you're not," Fay amended, drawing him back with one hand.
Somehow, underground, the little man seemed to carry more weight.
"You're having cocktails in my thinking box. Besides, climbing a down
escaladder will give you a heart attack."

* * * * *

In his home habitat Gusterson was about as easy to handle as a rogue
rhinoceros, but away from it--and especially if underground--he became
more like a pliable elephant. All his bones dropped out through his feet,
as he described it to Daisy. So now he submitted miserably as Fay
surveyed him up and down, switched off his blinking headlamp ("That
coalminer caper is corny, Gussy.") and then--surprisingly--rapidly
stuffed his belt-bag under the right shoulder of Gusterson's coat and
buttoned the latter to hold it in place.

"So you won't stand out," he explained. Another swift