ough her water-dark hair and said
incredulously, "You mean blemishes are not removed automatically at
birth on Mars?"

"Why, no," said Lindsay, surprised. "It's entirely up to the
individual--or the parents."

"And Doc Craven asked no questions that would lead to the truth?" the
girl asked, blinking. When Lindsay shook his head she suddenly grabbed
him and kissed him and did a little dance of sheer joy. "It's simply too
good to be true! Two computers fouled in one day through missing
information!"

"You're right, of course," he admitted. "But I'm damned if I see how it
does us any good."

"You idiot!" she shook him. "It clears the whole situation. It means
that the computers cannot give accurate answers according to the
symbolic logic tables unless they get full information. And you have
proved two breakdowns in the inescapable human element--the information
feeding--just like _that_!" She snapped her fingers. "It means we've got
the whole computer-cult on the hip. I could kiss you again, you big
goon." She did so.

"Cut it out," he said. "I'm not made of brass."

She said, "Night soil," amiably. What he might have done he was never to
know, for a buzzer sounded and Nina moved quickly to a wall-talkie. She
said, "All right, Bob, you say he's clean?" Then, a moment later,
"Better let him in and say his piece." And, to Lindsay, "We've got
company. Dmitri Alenkov--met him?"

Lindsay frowned. "You mean the Soviet _charge d'affaires_? I met him at
the reception last week. Dreadful little lizard."

"Dmitri might surprise you," she said enigmatically.

Lindsay almost said _night soil_ himself in exasperation. Instead and
peevishly he asked, "Is there anybody you don't know--intimately?"

She laughed. "Of course," she said, "I don't know many women."

* * * * *

The Soviet diplomat entered the bathroom. He was a languid mincing
creature whose decadence glowed around him like phosphorescence around a
piece of rotted swampwood. He said, "I hope I am not intruding."

"That depends," Nina told him. "_I'd_ like to know how you traced us
here so quickly."

"My sweet," said the Russian in intensely Oxford Esperanto, "you and
your friend's"--with another bow toward Lindsay--"little affair at the
Pelican was witnessed this evening. When the two of you departed
together, heading eastward, and Ambassador Lindsay could not be reached
in his apartment...." He paused delicately.

So this, th