ion, and then handed it
back.

"Most interesting," ud Klavan observed. "However, if you'll enlighten
me--This man, Martin Holliday; wouldn't there seem to be very little
incentive for him, considering his age, even if there is the expectation
of a high monetary return? Particularly since his first attempt, while
not a failure, was not an outstanding financial success?"

Marlowe shrugged helplessly. "I tend to agree with you thoroughly, ud
Klavan, but--" he smiled, "you'll agree, I'm sure, that one Earthman's
boredom is another's incentive? We are not a rigorously logical race, ud
Klavan."

"Quite," the Dovenilid replied.

V.

Marlowe stared at his irrevocable clock. His interphone light flickered,
and he touched the switch absently.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Secretary?"

"No, thank you, Mary. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

There was no appeal. The day was over, and he had to go home.

He stared helplessly at his empty office, his mind automatically
counting the pairs of departing footsteps that sounded momentarily as
clerks and stenographers crossed the walk below his partly-open window.
Finally he rolled his chair back and pushed himself to his feet.
Disconsolate, he moved irresolutely to the window and watched the people
leave.

Washington--aging, crowded Washington, mazed by narrow streets, carrying
the burden of the severe, unimaginative past on its grimy
architecture--respired heavily under the sinking sun.

The capital ought to be moved, he thought as he'd thought every night at
this time. Nearer the heart of the empire. Out of this steamy bog. Out
of this warren.

His heavy lips moved into an ironical comment on his own thoughts. No
one was ever going to move the empire's traditional seat. There was too
much nostalgia concentrated here, along with the humidity. Some day,
when the Union was contiguous with the entire galaxy, men would still
call Washington, on old, out-of-the-way Earth, their capital. Man was
not a rigorously logical race, as a race.

The thought of going home broke out afresh, insidiously avoiding the
barriers of bemusement which he had tried to erect, and he turned
abruptly away from the window, moving decisively so as to be able to
move at all. He yanked open a desk drawer and stuffed his jacket pockets
with candy bars, ripping the film from one and chewing on its end while
he put papers in his brief case.

Finally, he could not delay any longe