After that it had been separate paths for the brothers. For Roy, an education in the law, a short spell as Senator FitzMaugham's private secretary, followed last month by his sudden elevation to assistant administrator of the newly-created Popeek Bureau. For Fred, medicine, unsuccessful private practice, finally a job in the Happysleep section of Popeek, thanks to Roy. _And now he has the upper hand for the first time_, Walton thought. _I hope he's not thirsting for my scalp._ He was being ground in a vise; he saw now the gulf between the toughness needed for a Popeek man and the very real streak of softness that was part of his character. Walton suddenly realized that he had never merited his office. His only honorable move would be to offer his resignation to FitzMaugham at once. He thought back, thought of the Senator saying, _This is a job for a man with no heart. Popeek is the cruelest organization ever legislated by man. You think you can handle it, Roy?_ _I think so, sir. I hope so._ He remembered going on to declare some fuzzy phrases about the need for equalization, the immediate necessity for dealing with Earth's population problem. _Temporary cruelty is the price of eternal happiness_, FitzMaugham had said. Walton remembered the day when the United Nations had finally agreed, had turned the Population Equalization Bureau loose on a stunned world. There had been the sharp flare of flash guns, the clatter of reporters feeding the story to the world, the momentary high-mindedness, the sense of the nobility of Popeek.... And then the six weeks of gathering hatred. No one liked Popeek. No one liked to put antiseptic on wounds, either, but it had to be done. Walton shook his head sorrowfully. He had made a serious mistake by saving Philip Prior. But resigning his post was no way to atone for it. He opaqued the window again and returned to his desk. It was time to go through the mail. The first letter on the stack was addressed to him by hand; he slit it open and scanned it. _Dear Mr Walton_, _Yesterday your men came and took away my mother to be kild. She didn't do nothing and lived a good life for seventy years and I want you to know I think you people are the biggest vermin since Hitler and Stalin and when youre old and sick I hope your own men come for you and stick you in the furnace where you belong. You stink and all of you stink._ Signed, _Disgusted_ Walton shrugged and opened the next letter, typed in a crisp voicewrite script on crinkly watermarked paper. _Sir_: