It would be a little irregular for a district Fiscal chief to make direct contact with the Coordination Agency's comptroller, but there was nothing like getting the most expert and authoritative advice available. He relaxed, trying to recreate his memories of the man who was now National Comptroller. * * * * * Marko Keller strode purposefully into the filing section. He could easily get the data he needed by simply contacting one of the clerks, he knew, but he felt an urgent need for personal activity. That conversation with DeVore, way out in Region Nine, had upset him more than he liked to admit, even to himself. It wouldn't be so bad if it were an isolated incident. Such things could be taken care of by administrative action, and a single instance would cause little disturbance. But there were too many, happening too often. He pulled a file drawer open, violently. One of the clerks approached. "Can I help, sir?" Keller turned to look at him. The man, he noted, was wearing one of the late model inductive headbands that had been sold in such quantities lately. Deluxe model, too. Must have cost him at least two months' pay. Like almost everyone else, he was vitally concerned in this latest affair. Keller frowned. He, himself, he realized, was acting childishly. He would simply be wasting time by trying to do this by himself. "Yes," he growled. "Get me a brief on a few cases like this one." He made full contact with the man, rapidly summarizing his conversation with DeVore, and including DeVore's short flash of his own conversation with Ward Kirk. "_And get a rundown from personnel. Dig up something on their angle, too. Several representative cases. Get a few people to help you--many as you need. I'm going to take this whole mess in to the Chief tomorrow morning._" * * * * * Paul Graham swept into the apartment, seized his wife about the waist and swung her into the air, to set her on top of one of his bookcases. "They've done it, honey," he shouted. Elaine kicked her heels in a rapid tattoo against the back of the case. "Paul Graham, you get me down this instant," she ordered indignantly. "Who's done what?" Graham stepped back and beat on his chest. "Meet the new production manager, Mentacom Division, Consolidated Electronics." "Production manager? But, Paul, only first-class citizens can hold supervisory positions." "Not any more. Didn't you have the communicator on for the news? It all came in." Elaine shook her head and jumped to the floor. "I've a confession to make, Paul. Ever since they stopped the compulsory notices, I haven't had the thing on at all. It bothered me." Her husband shook his head in mock dismay. "So now, I'm married to an ignoramus." He spread his hands. "She doesn't know what's going on in the great, big world." He shook a finger at her.