He traced soothing circles on her smooth back with his fingertips. "That's the closest I've ever come to _owning_ anything," he mused. "But, hon, Government owns everything and takes care of everything. When you can always use a thing, how could it be better if you owned it?" Allen held her against him tightly, fighting the old fight to find words. How could you explain how you _felt_ things to be right or wrong, without really knowing the reasons? "Maybe," he said slowly, "it's as though I wanted to keep you for myself alone. But Nedda, if another man made the right approach, could you refuse him?" After a minute he repeated, "Could you?" Eventually, she made two answers. They were warm and wet and dropped onto his chest. * * * * * The Adjustment Building was a soaring, chastely white structure of silicoid plastic, dazzling in the hot morning sun. It crossed Allen's mind fleetingly that everything built nowadays would long outlast the builders. That seemed right, but he didn't know why. He took his ID plaque from Nedda and kissed her. He had tried to dissuade her from coming with him, but she had merely smiled and held his arm and urged him toward a double scooter. "This is it, beautiful," he said shortly, at the entrance. And, with an attempt at levity, "Don't take any more protection." Actually, what could you say? He went inside quickly, without looking back. At the door marked _Kansas City Department of Social Adjustment_, he slipped his plaque into the correct slot for a moment and was admitted directly to the waiting room for those who had appointments for the day. There was only one other waiting--a handsome blond youth whose knife was new. Allen sat down in a lounge chair across the room. And Nedda came in and sat down beside him. He could have understood almost anything but that. "How in the name of fear--" "Do you think," she said mischievously, taking his hand, "the B Sector champ is the only one who can get an appointment?" Before it could more than flash through Allen's mind that he'd not told her that, the blond youth was standing before them, his eyes hotly on Nedda. Then, obviously confused that she was already holding hands, he addressed himself to Allen as though it was what he had intended doing. "Marty Bowen, sir. Uh--I'm going to see if they'll let me have a double compartment with some gym apparatus in it." He shifted his weight to the other foot and hung a thumb nervously in his belt, unable to keep from darting glances at Nedda. Allen noted, with rising anger and some other unpleasant emotion he couldn't define, that she hadn't dropped her eyes. He said curtly. "Fine, kid--hope you make it." The youth mumbled something else and went back to his chair. He had barely seated himself when a voder speaker crooned a number melodiously. With a quick backward glance at Nedda, the blond lad went on into the counsel room.