d of their normal work in the synthetic food labs or
machine shops. With the director's permission, he could start the
program by removing the useless tower and wreckage at the bay channel,
and by salvaging the metal from it. Of course, he admitted, it was a
trifle beyond his own authority, since most of the channel was in
District One. The regional director cast him a sharp glance, then
considered the suggestion. At last, he nodded.

"It might be well," he decided. "Go ahead, Morely. Take care of that
detail." He looked over at his executive. "Have Planning draw up
something on salvage and beautification in the former rural areas," he
ordered. He looked about the room.

"And the rest of you might try looking over your own districts. You
don't have to wait for a directive, and every one of you can find some
improvement that could be made. If it's a district line matter, submit
some plan for mutual agreement to my office." He rose and went to the
door.

Morely waited, watching George Harwood. The leader of District One
gathered his papers, looked down the table for an instant, then went
out. Morely followed him at a discreet distance.

As Harwood neared the door to the regional director's office, Morely
caught up with him.

"Oh, Harwood," he said loudly. "Caught one of your people in a flagrant
case of reckless flying this morning. Why don't you bear down a little
on those fellows of yours? This one seemed to think he was winning a
heli meet."

He held out the folder he had confiscated. "Here's his identification. I
had the guards hold him for you. Second-class citizen. Must've had a lot
of spare time, to get the luxury credits and purchase authorization for
that ship of his."

Harwood looked at him, a faint expression of annoyance crossing his
face. Then, he glanced at the open door nearby, and comprehension grew
on his face. He took the folder, nodded wordlessly, and walked rapidly
past Morely, who turned to watch him.

As Harwood swung through the door to an elevator, Morely smiled
appreciatively. That had been a smart trick, he thought. Have to
remember that one. No argument to disturb the Old Man. Not even positive
proof that Morely hadn't been talking to empty space. But there was an
answer to that, too, if one was alert. He walked through the doorway
into the director's office.

The regional director looked up.

"Oh, Morely. You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, sir." Morely stood at rigid attention. "I jus