"You're speaking cynically--but you're still attempting to concretize an abstraction," Foster said. "But no matter--materialism is simply another form of idealism." I looked at Foster. "But I know I'll never have those things--or that Justice you were talking about, either. Once you really know you'll never make it...." "Perhaps unattainability is an essential element of any dream," Foster said. "But hold onto your dream, whatever it is--don't ever give it up." "So much for philosophy," I said. "Where is it getting us?" "You'd like to see the papers," Foster said. He fished a key ring from an inner pocket. "If you don't mind going out to the car," he said, "and perhaps getting your hands dirty, there's a strong-box welded to the frame. I keep photostats of everything there, along with my passport, emergency funds and so on. I've learned to be ready to travel on very short notice. Lift the floorboards; you'll see the box." "It's not all that urgent," I said. "I'll take a look in the morning--after I've caught up on some sleep. But don't get the wrong idea--it's just my knot-headed curiosity." "Very well," Foster said. He lay back, sighed. "I'm tired, Legion," he said. "My mind is tired." "Yeah," I said, "so is mine--not to mention other portions of my anatomy." "Get some sleep," Foster said. "We'll talk again in the morning." * * * * * I pushed back the light blanket and slid out of bed. Underfoot, the rug was as thick and soft as a working girl's mink. I went across to the closet and pushed the button that made the door slide aside. My old clothes were still lying on the floor where I had left them, but I had the clean ones Foster had lent me. He wouldn't mind if I borrowed them for a while longer--it would be cheaper for him in the long run. Foster was as looney as a six-day bike racer, but there was no point in my waiting around to tell him so. The borrowed outfit didn't include a coat. I thought of putting my old jacket on but it was warm outside and a grey pin-stripe with grease spots wouldn't help the picture any. I transferred my personal belongings from the grimy clothes on the floor, and eased the door open. Downstairs, the curtains were drawn in the living room. I could vaguely make out the outline of the bar. It wouldn't hurt to take along a bite to eat. I groped my way behind the bar, felt along the shelves, found a stack of small cans that rattled softly. Nuts, probably. I reached to put a can on the bar and it clattered against something I couldn't see. I swore silently, felt over the obstruction. It was bulky, with the cold smoothness of metal, and there were small projections with sharp corners. It felt for all the world like----