Tonight, as he came home, Lancaster decided to make a
dent in the latter. He'd eaten at the commissary, as usual, but hadn't
stayed to talk. All the way home in the tube, he'd been thinking of that
whiskey and soda.

Now it sparkled gently in his glass and he sighed, letting a smile
crease his lean homely face. He was a tall man, a little stooped, his
clothes--uniform and mufti alike--perpetually rumpled. Solitary by
nature, he was still unmarried in spite of the bachelor tax and had only
one son. The boy was ten years old now, must be in the Youth Guard;
Lancaster wasn't sure, never having seen him.

It was dark outside his windows, but a glow above the walls across the
skyway told of the city pulsing and murmuring beyond. He liked the quiet
of his evenings alone and had withstood a good deal of personal and
official pressure to serve in various patriotic organizations. "Damn
it," he had explained, "I'm not doing routine work. I'm on a Project,
and I need relaxation of my own choosing."

He selected a tape from his library. _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik_ lilted
joyously about him as he found a chair and sat down. Control hadn't
gotten around to making approved lists of music yet, though you'd
surely never hear Mozart in a public place. Lancaster got a cigar from
the humidor and collapsed his long gaunt body across chair and hassock.
Smoke, whiskey, good music--they washed his mind clean of worry and
frustration; he drifted off in a mist of unformed dreams. Yes, it wasn't
such a bad world.

* * * * *

The mail-tube went _ping!_ and he opened his eyes, swearing. For a
moment he was tempted to let the pneumo-roll lie where it fell, but
habit was too strong. He grumbled his way over to the basket and took it
out.

The stamp across it jerked his mind to wakefulness. _OfiSal, sEkret, fOr
adresE OnlE_--and a Security seal!

After a moment he swallowed his thumping heart. It couldn't be serious,
not as far as he personally was concerned anyway. If that had been the
case, a squad of monitors would have been at the door. Not this message
tube.... He broke the seal and unfolded the flimsy with elaborate care.
Slowly, he scanned it. Underneath the official letterhead, the words
were curt. "_Dis iz A matr uv urjensE and iz top sEkret. destrY Dis letr
and Du tUb kontAniN it._ tUmOrO, 15 jUn, at 2130 ourz, U wil gO tU Du
obzurvatOrE, A nIt klub at 5730 viktOrE strEt, and ask Du hedwAtr fOr A
mistr B