The notion did have a certain cold practicality about it. I didn't like it, but as far as getting away with it went, he could. Garrity went on to explain a bit more; his system seemed to have been worked out to the last detail. He'd set up two, three, maybe four or five happy little households, spend his end-of-run leave in each, dividing up his time nice and even. All of them together wouldn't cost him what a night or two on the town might. To add to that, he'd pick out his wives with care. They'd all be different in a lot of ways, for the sake of variety, but they'd all be affectionate, home-loving girls, and careful with money. They'd save his credits for him. And when he retired, he could keep active and happy visiting them and his various families, which he expected to include a real lot of kids and grandchildren. "I don't believe in small families," he explained. * * * * * At the time, I never thought he'd try to carry it through. I've heard wild ideas in messrooms before, particularly halfway through a long trip. They usually fade out when a man gets his feet down on gravity again. This one didn't. But it might have worked out, at that. It was just Garrity's luck that he signed on the _Brooklyn_. The _Brooklyn_ carried ore from Serco to Terra, and Terran machinery back to Serco, a regular, steady run. When I bumped into Garrity in the hiring hall, he told me he'd just signed on her, and I told him I had, too. Naturally, I asked him how the Garrity old-age-insurance system was working out. "Well," he confessed, "I'm not married yet. But I've got a likely girl here in Terra City. All I've got to do is ask her. Now if I can line one up in Serco--" "In Serco?" I turned a little pale, I think. "Listen, Garrity, have you ever been in Serco?" "No. Why? Aren't they humanoids?" "Oh, sure." I was trying to think just how you'd describe Serco and its peculiar people. "Only different." "How're they different?" Looking at that stubborn mug of his, I knew I wasn't going to be able to explain this in a million years. It was just no use. Garrity had everything all figured out. But I took one try. "They've never been much of a mechanical culture; they buy all their stuff from outside, in exchange for ore and timber. But they're one of the oldest civilizations in the Galaxy. They've spent a million years learning about minds and thoughts, all that philosophy sort of thing. I don't mean they aren't perfectly all right. They're human, but they know a lot. It wouldn't pay to fool around with them." Garrity laughed. "Maybe they might read my mind?" I knew it was no use. I just shrugged, bought Garrity a beer to celebrate, and we headed for the spaceport. No, the Sercoans don't read minds. At least, I don't think they do, though there are times when they're that clever at adding you up that you'd think they _were_ looking at your thoughts.