nobody's fault but his own. No other man
or woman approaching qualification for the job would have taken it--only
a sentimental, humanistic fool like himself.

He took a quick sip from the benzedral fountain, waited for the
restorative to do its work. Then, feeling moderately refreshed, he
returned to his office, sank into the plastifoam cushions of the chair
behind his tabletop mountain of a desk and pressed the button that
informed Myra, his confidential secretary, he was ready.

There were five in the delegation--by their collars or robes, a priest,
a rabbi, a lama, a dark-skinned Watusi witchman and a white robed abbess
draped in chaste, flowing white. Automatically, he surveyed them,
checking. The priest's right shoe was twice as broad as his left, the
rabbi's head, beneath the black cap that covered it, was long and thin
as a zucchini squash. The witchman, defiantly bare and black as ebony
from the waist up, had a tiny duplicate of his own handsome head
sprouting from the base of his sternum. The visible deformities of the
lama and abbess were concealed beneath their flowing robes. But they
were there--they had to be there.

Bliss rose as they entered and said, waving a gloved hand at the chairs
on their side of the desk, "Greetings, sirs and madam--please be
seated." And, when they were comfortable, "Now, to what do I owe the
honor of this visit?"

He knew, of course--sometimes he thought he knew more than any man
should be allowed or able to know--but courtesy and custom demanded the
question. It was the witchman who answered. Apparently he was spokesman
for the group.

He said, speaking beautiful Cantabrigian English, "Honorable sir, we
have come as representatives of the religions of the world, not to
protest but in a spirit of enquiry. Our flocks grow increasingly
restive, when they are not leaving us altogether, our influence grows
less. We wish to know what steps, if any, are being taken toward
modification or abrogation of the sterility program. Without hope of
posterity, mankind is lost."

While the others murmured their agreement, Bliss focused his gaze on the
sealed lids of the tiny face sprouting from the Watusi's breastbone. He
wondered if there were eyes behind them, if there were a tongue behind
those tiny clamped lips, and what words such a tongue would utter if it
could speak.

"We are waiting, honorable sir," the spokesman said.

Shaking himself free of the absorption, Bliss glanced at