that seems to have forgotten people like me
exist."

"Mezzerow needs you," he said. "I was thinking of a man I know. Joe
Ainsworth, a quiet thoughtful fellow of about thirty-five or
thirty-seven. His trouble has been that he likes pretty women who are
also intelligent. I'll have him keep an eye out for you."

She smiled and the transformation took place. She _was_ pretty. Marcus
wondered whether there was such a person as Joe Ainsworth. There must
be, in kind if not in name.

"So much for that," said Chloe briskly. "The rest of your plan for Messy
Row is a fine example of muddy thinking. In the first place I work for a
private company, not the government."

"But you make government charts."

"True. But let me show you what I mean. What's the code number of the
chart Messy Row is on?"

Marcus quoted it from memory. The code of a map on which a given system
could be found was almost as important as the name.

Chloe closed her eyes. "No," she said when she opened them. "That's done
in another department. I couldn't possibly change it to Mezzerow."

"But if you changed it, the name would stay," said Marcus. "I'll give
you money to see that it gets done. Once it's on the map nobody will say
anything. Even if they do notice, all they'll know is that there's a
conflict between early and late editions. They'll have to go directly to
the source to straighten it out. And we're the source."

Chloe smiled fleetingly. "It's never done that way. Do you think they'd
send nine hundred and forty-seven light-years to find whether the name
is Messy Row or Mezzerow?" She crossed her legs and they were nice legs.
There had to be a Joe Ainsworth.

"It won't work," said Chloe. "I can't make the change myself or even
bribe someone to do it." She noticed his dejection and touched his hand.
"Don't be discouraged. There's another way. An Outer wouldn't think of
it because he doesn't know what goes on behind the scenes."

"I've seen enough to give me a good idea," said Marcus.

"I wonder. Have you noticed that when you ask for information you are
always answered by a human? And just as obviously he doesn't know. He
has to contact a robot and relay the information along."

* * * * *

He hadn't thought of it. The omnipresent vertical file was, in reality,
a robot memory bank. Why not give the robot a voice and dispense with
innumerable men and women? The question was on his face when he looked
at Chlo