more slow notch?"

"Of course I don't think about them," Brion retorted. "Why should I?
I can't change the past."

"But you can change the future!" Ihjel said. "You owe something
to the suffering ancestors who got you where you are today. If
Scientific Humanism means anything more than just words to you,
you must possess a sense of responsibility. Don't you want to try
and pay off a bit of this debt by helping others who are just as
backward and disease-ridden today as great-grandfather Troglodyte
ever was?"

The hammering on the door was louder. This and the drug-induced
buzzing in Brion's ear made thinking difficult. "Abstractly, I of
course agree with you," he said haltingly. "But you know there is
nothing I can do personally without being emotionally involved. A
logical decision is valueless for action without personal meaning."

"Then we have reached the crux of the matter," Ihjel said gently.
His back was braced against the door, absorbing the thudding blows
of some heavy object on the outside. "They're knocking, so I must be
going soon. I have no time for details, but I can assure you upon my
word of honor as a Winner that there is something you can do. Only
you. If you help me we might save seven million human lives. That
is a fact."

The lock burst and the door started to open. Ihjel shouldered it
back into the frame for a final instant.

"Here is the idea I want you to consider. Why is it that the people
of Anvhar, in a galaxy filled with warring, hate-filled, backward
planets, should be the only ones who base their entire existence
on a complicated series of games?"

III

This time there was no way to hold the door. Ihjel didn't try. He
stepped aside and two men stumbled into the room. He walked out
behind their backs without saying a word.

"What happened? What did he do?" the doctor asked, rushing in
through the ruined door. He swept a glance over the continuous
recording dials at the foot of Brion's bed. Respiration,
temperature, heart, blood pressure--all were normal. The patient lay
quietly and didn't answer him.

For the rest of that day, Brion had much to think about. It was
difficult. The fatigue, mixed with the tranquilizers and other
drugs, had softened his contact with reality. His thoughts kept
echoing back and forth in his mind, unable to escape. What had Ihjel
meant? What was that nonsense about Anvhar? Anvhar was that way
because--well, it just was. It had come about nat