m
density. The sun became an angry red brown, and the room was dark again.
McIlroy decreased the density again until the room was comfortably
lighted. The room felt stuffy, so he decided to leave the door to the
inner office open.

He felt a little guilty about this, because he had ordered that all
doors in the survey building should remain closed except when someone
was passing through them. This was to allow the air-conditioning system
to function properly, and to prevent air loss in case of the highly
improbable meteor damage. McIlroy thought that on the whole, he was
disobeying his own orders no more flagrantly than anyone else in the
survey.

McIlroy had no illusions about his ability to lead men. Or rather, he
did have one illusion; he thought that he was completely unfit as a
leader. It was true that his strictest orders were disobeyed with
cheerful contempt, but it was also true his mildest requests were
complied with eagerly and smoothly.

Everyone in the survey except McIlroy realized this, and even he
accepted this without thinking about it. He had fallen into the habit of
suggesting mildly anything that he wanted done, and writing orders he
didn't particularly care to have obeyed.

For example, because of an order of his stating that there would be no
alcoholic beverages within the survey building, the entire survey was
assured of a constant supply of home-made, but passably good liquor.
Even McIlroy enjoyed the surreptitious drinking.

"Good morning, Mr. McIlroy," said Mrs. Garth, his secretary. Morning to
Mrs. Garth was simply the first four hours after waking.

"Good morning indeed," answered McIlroy. Morning to him had no meaning
at all, but he thought in the strictest sense that it would be morning
on the Moon for another week.

"Has the power crew set up the solar furnace?" he asked. The solar
furnace was a rough parabola of mirrors used to focus the sun's heat on
anything that it was desirable to heat. It was used mostly, from sun-up
to sun-down, to supplement the nuclear power plant.

"They went out about an hour ago," she answered, "I suppose that's what
they were going to do."

"Very good, what's first on the schedule?"

"A Mr. Phelps to see you," she said.

"How do you do, Mr. Phelps," McIlroy greeted him.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Phelps replied. "I'm here representing the
Merchants' Bank Association."

"Fine," McIlroy said, "I suppose you're here to set up a bank."

"That's right