"No, damn it," I barked. "Where are the papers you keep talking about? I ought to have my head examined for sitting here humoring you. I've got troubles enough--" I stopped talking and rubbed my hands over my scalp. "I'm sorry, Mr. Foster," I said. "I guess what's really griping me is that you've got everything I think I want--and you're not content with it. It bothers me to see you off chasing fairies. If a man with his health and plenty of money can't enjoy life, what the hell is there for anybody?" Foster looked at me thoughtfully. "Legion, if you could have anything in life you wanted, what would you ask for?" I swirled the beer in the mug. "Anything? I've wanted a lot of different things. Once I wanted to be a hero. Later, I wanted to be smart, know all the answers. Then I had the idea that a chance to do an honest job, one that needed doing, was the big thing. I never found that job. I never got smart either, or figured out how to tell a hero from a coward, without a program." "In other words," Foster said, "you were looking for an abstraction to believe in--in this case, Justice. But you won't find justice in nature. It's a thing that only man expects or acknowledges." "There are some good things in life; I'd like to get a piece of them." "Don't lose your capacity for dreaming, in the process." "Dreams?" I said. "Oh, I've got those. I want an island somewhere in the sun, where I can spend my time fishing and watching the sea and working my way through a carefully selected harem and an even more carefully selected wine cellar." "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." * * * * *