en I suppose They'll do
it. Meanwhile, I'll wait."

The other said interestedly, "You think that if there is a Higher Power
and if It ever wants to get in touch with you, It will?"

"Um-m-m. In Its own good time. Sort of a _don't call Me_, thing, _I'll
call you_."

The personnel officer said, "There have been a few revealed religions, you
know."

"So they said, so they said. None of them have made much sense to me. If a
Super-Power wanted to contact man, it seems unlikely to me that it'd be
all wrapped up in a lot of complicated gobbledegook. It would all be very
clear indeed."

The personnel officer sighed. He marked the card, stuck it back into the
slot in his order box and it disappeared.

He looked up at Ronny Bronston. "All right, that's all."

Ronny came to his feet. "Well, what happened?"

The other grinned at him sourly. "Darned if I know," he said. "By the time
you get to the outer office, you'll probably find out." He scratched the
end of his nose and said, "I sometimes wonder what I'm doing here."

Ronny thanked him, told him good-by, and left.

-------------------------------------

In the outer office a girl looked up from a card she'd just pulled from
her own order box. "Ronald Bronston?"

"That's right."

She handed the card to him. "You're to go to the office of Ross Metaxa in
the Octagon, Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs, Department of
Justice, Bureau of Investigation, Section G."

In a lifetime spent in first preparing for United Planets employment and
then in working for the organization, Ronny Bronston had never been in the
Octagon Building. He'd seen photographs, Tri-Di broadcasts and he'd heard
several thousand jokes on various levels from pun to obscenity about
getting around in the building, but he'd never been there. For that
matter, he'd never been in Greater Washington before, other than a long
ago tourist trip. Population Statistics, his department, had its main
offices in New Copenhagen.

His card was evidently all that he needed for entry.

At the sixth gate he dismissed his car and let it shoot back into the
traffic mess. He went up to one of the guard-guides and presented the
card.

The guide inspected it. "Section G of the Bureau of Investigation," he
muttered. "Every day, something new. I never heard of it."

"It's probably some outfit in charge of cleaning the heads on space
liners." Ronny said unhappily. He'd never heard of it either.