ood on, the males to become athletes or
actors, the females courtesans or actresses.

There was no race among them, for their only standards were beauty and
physical fitness, no creed but achievement in their lines of individual
entertainment. He caught sight of a lissome Euro-African, the classic
exoticism of her flower-petal face illumined by joyous laughter beneath
a glossy neo-Watusi hairdo, as she glided gracefully over the
dance-floor in the arms of a hunch-harnessed and bespectacled partner.

The gladiators and courtesans alone seemed to find joy in living.
Lindsay, who had seldom been unhappy in his active existence, felt his
sympathies and heart go out to them. He followed the progress of a tiny
Oriental model whose face was alive with good-humor as she swept past
his table, her exquisite figure stressed by a glittering jeweled
sheathe.

"You really should wear glasses--or else learn not to stare," said
Maria, appearing from nowhere and sitting down at the table. She made
amends by extending a warm soft hand to grip one of his. Though she wore
her glasses and her hair was severely pulled back, he had no difficulty
in recalling the fact that, unclothed, she was lovely.

"Why don't you get in on the act?" he suggested, nodding toward a pair
of models emerging from the harmopan room. "All you'd have to do would
be to remove your specs and harness and let your hair down."

"You're sweet, Zale," she said, pleased. Then, with a sigh, "But there's
a lot more to it than that."

"You do all right that way too," he told her boldly.

She slapped the back of his hand and then, growing quickly serious,
said, "Zale, I didn't ask you to meet me for that. I've got so much to
ask you--so much to tell. Did you really find an assassin waiting for
you when you got home last night? And did you kill him?"

"Yes and no," said Lindsay. "I did find one and I didn't kill him. In
fact we parted good friends."

"You Martians...." She sighed, then said, "And I understand you have
already broken two computers--this afternoon at the psychiatrist's and
this evening at the Colosseum. It's the most marvelous news, darling.
I've got to know how you did it."

"I'm damned if I know how I fouled up Dr. Craven's computer," he told
her, "I'm still trying to figure it out."

Her face fell. She said, "I was hoping you had something.... But never
mind." Then, brightening, "But you're driving them crazy. They ran Dr.
Craven's results through