Fingerprints could be duplicated--that is, if the race in question had fingers. Every intelligence, however much it differed from its neighbors, had a brain, and tampering with that brain was easily detected. Each identification tab carried a psychometric number which corresponded to the total personality. Alteration of any part of the brain could only subtract from personality index. The technician removed the identification and gave it to Cassal. "Where shall I send the strips?" "You don't," said Cassal. "I have a private message to go with them." "But that will invalidate the process." "I know. This isn't a formal contract." Removing the two strips and handing them to Cassal, the technician wheeled the machine away. After due thought, Cassal composed the message. Travelers Aid Bureau Murra Foray, first counselor: If you were considering another identification tab for me, don't. As you can see, I've located the missing item. He attached the message to the strips and dropped them into the communication chute. * * * * * He was wiping his whiskers away when the answer came. Hastily he finished and wrapped himself, noting but not approving the amused glint in her eyes as she watched. His morals were his own, wherever he went. "Denton Cassal," she said. "A wonderful job. The two strips were in register within one per cent. The best previous forgery I've seen was six per cent, and that was merely a lucky accident. It couldn't be duplicated. Let me congratulate you." His dignity was professional. "I wish you weren't so fond of that word 'forgery.' I told you I mislaid the tab. As soon as I found it, I sent you proof. I want to get to Tunney 21. I'm willing to do anything I can to speed up the process." Her laughter tinkled. "You don't _have_ to tell me how you did it or where you got it. I'm inclined to think you made it. You understand that I'm not concerned with legality as such. From time to time the agency has to furnish missing documents. If there's a better way than we have, I'd like to know it." He sighed and shook his head. For some reason, his heart was beating fast. He wanted to say more, but there was nothing to say. When he failed to respond, she leaned toward him. "Perhaps you'll discuss this with me. At greater length." "At the agency?" She looked at him in surprise. "Have you been sleeping? The agency is closed for the day. The first counselor can't work all the time, you know." Sleeping? He grimaced at the remembrance of the self-administered beating. No, he hadn't been sleeping. He brushed the thought aside and boldly named a place. Dinner was acceptable. Dimanche waited until the screen was dark. The words were carefully chosen. "Did you notice," he asked, "that there was no apparent change in clothing and makeup, yet she seemed younger, more attractive?" "I didn't think you could trace her that far." "I can't. I looked at her through your eyes."