Miss Gluck rose and went to the round window well. "But I still don't understand about Condemeign. You said he wasn't a fraud at all." Dr. Munro plucked at her hand. He hardly seemed to be concentrating on what he was saying. He had eyes for other things. "No, he wasn't a fraud. He was a member of Bios and he really wanted to die, and that's why they sent him." Miss Gluck uttered a low moan. It was not a moan of pain. The Doctor continued. "The watch stem was conclusive, of course. But we were curious. We collect data, you know. We aren't entirely a cube for coining money. That question about his reason for dying. He was a nihilist, a man to whom nothing means anything, or who thinks it doesn't. Of course something always does. And the thing that did was his loyalty to Bios." Miss Gluck managed to speak. She was unquestionably a woman thirsty for knowledge above all else. Her voice was a voice in a dream. "Yes, I was curious about that. His loyalty to Bios, despite the fact that he wanted to die." Dr. Munro didn't answer for about fourteen seconds. Then he did. "He just thought he was a nihilist. But the last thing he had to do was a job for Bios and that was going to be his last joke on everything, you, me, Nepenthe. Of course he didn't care for anything--and of course he cared for something. Everyone does so long as they're alive. Otherwise, why bother to even die?" Firelie Gluck said nothing in reply to that. But after a minute the Doctor said: "Of course he had to tell the truth because he thought nothing meant anything at all. That's why Miss Froon asked him those questions I wrote out. What's that, Firelie? _Who cares about Miss Froon?_" And then for about twenty minutes neither of them strictly speaking, said anything. Later, when Miss Gluck had gone off to the waiting tender, the Doctor watched it blast off toward Earth. He was in a characteristic mood, sitting rather despondently at his desk when a small aperture in the wall behind him uttered a cheerful bleat and disgorged a sheaf of papers on his desk. They were stamped with the tasteful insignia of the death department and everything was there, drawings, full instructions down to the last detail and even small paper mache figurines. He thoughtfully erased Condemeign's and Miss Gluck's names from the folder covers and put them aside. In any case, science be served. And nothing would be wasted after all. The clients whose payments fell in the parsimonious brackets, whose incomes just barely entitled them to the right to a managed exit, would hardly notice the difference. They would be full of the blandishments of the brochure.