Oh, they'd grumble, and they'd drag their heels at first; but they would get into it. They'd get into it, not because the sector chief had babied them along, kidded them, coaxed them, but because, as surely as his name was Bill Hayes, some unprintable E would ask a question for which they had no answer. Or even worse, some question that made no sense, but left the scientist feeling that perhaps it should have! That was the E brand of thinking which gave everybody trouble--and without which man could never have gone on creeping outward and outward among the stars. Every new planet, or subplanet, or sun or blasted asteroid seemed to call for some revision of known laws. Sometimes an entirely new co-ordinate system had to be resolved. Oh, science was easy, a veritable snap, while man crawled around on the muddy bottom of his ocean of air and concluded that throughout all the universe things must conform to his then notion of what they must be. As ignorant as a damned halibut must be of the works and thoughts of man. And often the E was unable to resolve the co-ordinate system--which was simply a euphemistic way of saying that he didn't come back. And without him, man could go no farther. An E, therefore, was the rarest and most valuable piece of property in the universe. Whatever else man might be, he will go to any lengths to protect the value of his property. All right, Bill, perhaps a part of that is true. But give the scientists their full due. They'd work with a will once they grew aware of the need of it, because they were just as concerned as anybody else with what might have happened to those colonists. But first they would argue. His secretary interrupted his thought by coming in from her own office. She had an inch-thick stack of midgit-idgit cards in her hand. "Here's that batch of scientists who worked on the original Eden survey," she said. "So many?" Hayes asked ruefully. "Maybe I'd better send an all-points bulletin." "You're the boss," she said easily. "But if I know scientists, they don't read bulletins." "Yeah, sure," he agreed. "You made sure this is everybody? Nobody is slighted? They'll scream like stuck pigs when I ask them, but they'll be even worse if I slight anybody by not asking." "Double checked with Personnel's own midgit-idgit," she replied. "The machine says if anybody is left out, it's not its fault, that it would only be because we stupid humans forgot to inform it in the first place." "Sometimes I think that machine complains more than people do," he answered. "Certainly it is a lot more insolent." "Gets more work done, though," she said comfortably. "You want anything more?" "Not right now." "Buzz if you do. The idgit is working out the supply list for that new exploration ship, and it wants service, too," she reminded him. "It's worse than you are," she added. He looked up at her familiarity with a twinkle. "It can't fire you," he said softly.