s pocket.

* * * * *

The next day Bryce looked back on that evening with pleasure. Everyone
had been remarkably pleasant, friendly and considerate, and Pierce had
always had the right friendly word and gesture to reward them,
speaking for Bryce, knowing his way around the cities of the Moon to
the right places for the information they sought, always speaking for
Bryce Carter, his employer, getting him the things he wanted, giving
the orders he wanted to give before Bryce had even fully realized that
he wanted them. Bryce had needed to say nothing the whole time except
"Right. That's it," and everything went as he wanted it.

"A perfect left hand man," he smiled, stretching, and turned the
polarization dial to let in the sunlight.

The telephone rang. He picked it up and the desk clerk said in a
deferentially hushed voice, "Eight o'clock, Mister Carter."

For some reason the hushed voice struck him as funny. "Thanks, I'm
up." He hung up and stretched again. It was soothing to have someone
solicitous that he arose on time, if only a hotel. The hotel had given
him a lot of good service. He felt suddenly grateful for all the
pleasures and luxuries and small services they surrounded him with. It
was a good place. He was feeling good that morning. Maybe because the
sun was so bright....

He liked the look of the people passing in the lobby as Pierce joined
him, and he liked the look of the passengers in the tube trains on the
way to the office. They all looked more friendly. And as he pushed
through the second glass door into his offices he liked the clean
shine of the glass and the rich blended colors and soft rugs and gray
textured desks and the soft efficient hum of work in progress.

Bryce usually passed Kesby's office with a businesslike nod, but
Pierce smiled in, stopping for an instant with Bryce. "Good morning,
Kesby. We're glad to see you." It was true enough and expressed what
he felt.

Bryce exchanged a grin with Kesby at the boy's insolence and then went
on into his office.

It was a good day.

It was a good day for what he had to do.

In the luxury of his inner office he sank into the deepest, softest
chair, letting his cousin-from-Montehedo sort the mail, agreeing with
the boy's suggestions for action or sometimes issuing his own
instructions, keeping only half his mind on the routine day's
business, relying on Pierce, and concentrating the other half on the
deed to