Pell started the rollers whirring. Kronski came over. He rubbed his battered nose. "Hope we get outside on this case. I'm gettin' sick o' the office. Haven't been out in weeks." Pell nodded. Oh, for the life of a C.I.B. man. In teleplays they cornered desperate criminals in the dark ruins of the ancient cities topside, and fought it out with freezers. The fact was, although regulations called for them to carry freezers in their shoulder holsters, one in a thousand ever got a chance to use them. Pell said, "Maybe you need a vacation." "Maybe. Only I keep putting my vacation off. Got a whole month saved up now." "Me, too." Pell sighed. Ciel would probably be pacing the floor back home now, trying to make up her mind. To break it up, or not to break it up? There would be no difficulty, really: she had been a pretty good commercial artist before they were married and she wouldn't have any trouble finding a job again somewhere in World City. The rollers kept whirring and the cards flipping along with a whispering sound. "Wonder what we're looking into these Supremists for?" asked Kronski. "I always thought they were some kind of harmless crackpots." "The Chief doesn't think so. Neither does Theodor Rysland." He told Kronski more about the interview last night. Presently the machine stopped, clicked several times and began rolling the other way. "Well, it found something," said Kronski. They kept watching. Oh, for the life of a C.I.B. man. Cards began to drop into one of the slots. The main heading was _Physical_ and the sub-heading _Medical History_. Pell frowned and said, "Certainly didn't expect to find a constant in this department." He picked up a few of the first cards and looked at them, hoping to catch the constant by eye. He caught it. "What's 445 under this heading?" * * * * * Kronski said, "I'll find out," and stepped over to the Operational Data board. He worked it, took the printed slip that came out and called back: "Record of inoculation." "That's a funny one." "Yup. Sure is." Kronski stared at the slip and scratched his neck. "It must be just any old kind inoculation. If it was special--like typhoid or tetanus or something--it'd have another digit." "There must be some other boil-downs, if we could think of them." Pell was frowning heavily. Some of the other men, used to the machines, could grab a boil-down out of thin air, run the cards again and get another significant constant. The machine, however, inhibited Pell. It made him feel uneasy and stupid whenever he was around it. "How about location?" suggested Kronski. Pell shook his head. "I checked a few by eye. All different numbers under location. Some of 'em come from World City, some from Mars Landing, some from way out in the sticks. Nothing significant there." "Maybe what we need is a cup of coffee." Pell grinned. "Best idea all morning. Come on."