f _Imperator_ until his own soldiers, the men under him, had
publicly acclaimed him as such. If, voluntarily, his own men shouted
'_Ave, Imperator!_' at a public gathering, then the man could claim
the title. Later the title degenerated--" He stopped.

The manager was staring at him with uncomprehending eyes, and Morgan's
outward smile became genuine. "Sorry," he said condescendingly. "I
forgot that history is not a popular subject in the Welfare World."
Morgan had forgotten no such thing, but he went right on. "What I
meant to say was that the spacemen of the Belt Cities have voluntarily
agreed among themselves to call me 'sir'. Whether that is a title of
ability or a title of courtesy, you can argue about with me at another
time. Right now, I want my room key."

[Illustration]

Under the regulations, the manager knew there was nothing else he
could do. He had made a mistake, and he knew that he had. If he had
only taken the trouble to read the rest of the card--

"Awfully sorry, Mr. Morgan," he said with a lopsided smile that didn't
even look genuine. "The--"

"Watch those courtesy titles," Morgan reprimanded gently. "'Mister'
comes ultimately from the Latin _magister_, meaning 'master' or
'teacher'. And while I may be your master, I wouldn't dare think I
could teach you anything."

"All citizens are entitled to be called 'Mister'," the manager said
with a puzzled look. He pushed a room key across the desk.

"Which just goes to show you," said Harry Morgan, picking up the key.

He turned casually, took one or two steps away from the registration
desk, then--quite suddenly--did an about-face and snapped: "_What
happened to Jack Latrobe?_"

"Who?" said the manager, his face gaping stupidly.

Harry Morgan knew human beings, and he was fairly certain that the
manager couldn't have reacted that way unless he honestly had no
notion of what Morgan was talking about.

He smiled sweetly. "Never you mind, dear boy. Thank you for the key."
He turned again and headed for the elevator bank, confident that the
manager would find the question he had asked about Jack Latrobe so
completely meaningless as to be incapable of registering as a useful
memory.

He was perfectly right.

III

The Belt Cities could survive without the help of Earth, and the
Supreme Congress of the United Nations of Earth knew it. But they
also knew that "survive" did not by any means have the same semantic
or factual content as "live comfo