"Well, it's no problem," the guard-guide said. He summoned a three-wheel,
fed the co-ordinates into it from Ronny's card, handed the card back and
flipped an easy salute. "You'll soon know."

The scooter slid into the Octagon's hall traffic and proceeded up one
corridor, down another, twice taking to ascending ramps. Ronny had read
somewhere the total miles of corridors in the Octagon. He hadn't believed
the figures at the time. Now he believed them. He must have traversed
several miles before they got to the Department of Justice alone. It was
another quarter mile to the Bureau of Investigation.

The scooter eventually came to a halt, waited long enough for Ronny to
dismount and then hurried back into the traffic.

He entered the office. A neatly uniformed reception girl with a harassed
and cynical eye looked up from her desk. "Ronald Bronston?" she said.

"That's right."

"Where've you been?" She had a snappy cuteness. "The commissioner has been
awaiting you. Go through that door and to your left."

Ronny went through that door and to the left. There was another door,
inconspicuously lettered _Ross Metaxa, Commissioner, Section G_. Ronny
knocked and the door opened.

Ross Metaxa was going through a wad of papers. He looked up; a man in the
middle years, sour of expression, moist of eye as though he either drank
too much or slept too little.

"Sit down," he said. "You're Ronald Bronston, eh? What do they call you,
Ronny? It says here you've got a sense of humor. That's one of the first
requirements in this lunatic department."

Ronny sat down and tried to form some opinions of the other by his
appearance. He was reminded of nothing so much as the stereotype city
editor you saw in the historical romance Tri-Ds. All that was needed was
for Metaxa to start banging on buttons and yelling something about tearing
down the front page, whatever that meant.

Metaxa said, "It also says you have some queer hobbies. Judo, small
weapons target shooting, mountain climbing--" He looked up from the
reports. "Why does anybody climb mountains?"

Ronny said, "Nobody's ever figured out." That didn't seem to be enough,
especially since Ross Metaxa was staring at him, so he added, "Possibly we
devotees keep doing it in hopes that someday somebody'll find out."

Ross Metaxa said sourly, "Not _too_ much humor, please. You don't act as
though getting this position means much to you."

Ronny said slowly, "I figured out some time a