t
of the Congress, he felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop. The
others, eyeing him inscrutably through their eye-glasses and over their
harness humps, drew aside to let him walk through.

But all around him, in countless national tongues, he heard the
whispers, the mutterings--"sending a gladiator" ... "looks like a vidar
star" ... "too young for such grave responsibility" ... "no
understanding of the basic sensitivities"....

Obviously, he had _not_ won a crushing vote of confidence.

* * * * *

To hell with them, all of them, he thought as someone tapped him on a
shoulder. He turned to find du Fresne, the North American Minister of
Computation, peering up at him through spectacles that resembled twin
scoops of strawberry ice-cream mounted in heavy white-metal rims.

"I'd like a word with you," he said, speaking English rather than
Esperanto. Lindsay nodded politely, thinking that du Fresne looked
rather like a Daumier judge with his fashionable humped back and long
official robe of office.

Over a table in the twilight bar du Fresne leaned toward him, nearly
upsetting his colafizz with a sleeve of his robe.

"M-mind you," he said, "this is strictly unofficial, Lindsay, but I have
your interests at heart. You're following trend X."

"Got me all nicely plotted out on your machine?" said Lindsay.

Du Fresne's sallow face went white at this pleasantry. As Minister of
Computation his entire being was wrapped up in the immensely intricate
calculators that forecast all decisions for the huge North American
republic. Obviously battling anger, he said, "Don't laugh at Elsac,
Lindsay. It has never been wrong--it can't be wrong."

"I'm not laughing," said Lindsay quietly. "But no one has ever fed me to
a computer. So how can you know...?"

"We have fed it every possible combination of circumstances based upon
all the facts of Terro-Martian interhistory," the Minister of
Computation stated firmly. His nose wrinkled and seemed to turn visibly
pink at the nostril-edges. He said, "Damn! I'm allergic to
computer-ridicule." He reached for an evapochief, blew his nose.

"Sorry," said Lindsay, feeling the mild amazement that seemed to
accompany all his dealings with Earthfolk. "I wasn't--"

"I doe you weren'd," du Fresne said thickly. "Bud de vurry zuggedgeshun
of ridicule dudz id." He removed his strawberry spectacles, produced an
eye-cup, removed and dried the contact lenses ben