It was bothering Marcus, too. "The thing to do is to find out," he said. They went into the corridor. The rockets were silent; the star drive had taken over. The solar system was behind them, indistinguishable from the other stars. The pilot was busy and nodded his head, asking them to wait while he set the controls. He flipped levers and after an interval turned around. "Can I help you?" he asked. "We didn't hear the schedule," said Marcus. "The rockets were too loud." The pilot smiled apologetically. "You know how it is--last minute corrections on the charts. We had to wait until new ones were delivered, just before takeoff." The oppression that had been hovering near lifted a little. "I understand," said Marcus. "Would you tell me if Mezzerow was one of the corrections?" The pilot turned to the list and ran his finger down the line. He looked and looked again. "No Mezzerow here," he said. The oppression had never been far away. It came back. "No Mezzerow?" said Marcus bleakly. "No, but I'll check." The pilot bent over the list. "Wait. Maybe this is why I didn't see it. Take a look." Marcus looked where the pilot was pointing. Above the fingernail, in bold black letters, was the name. MISERY ROW (Formerly Mezzerow--changed to avoid confusion with a family name.) "Thanks," said Marcus faintly. "That's what I wanted to know." They went to the cabin in silence. Marcus closed his eyes but that didn't shut out the new name. Nothing could. "That's not as nice as it was," said Wilbur. "What do you suppose was wrong?" "I don't know," said Marcus. But he did know. Fourteen times, or was it eleven, he had used one word. He had tried to overload the master robot with emotion and he had succeeded. He had given it one outstanding impression: Misery. "What'll we do?" said Wilbur. "Go back and change it?" "No," said Marcus. "We'll leave it as it is. When you grow up and take my place, you can try your hand at it if you want." Women would get there regardless of what it was called. Chloe would realize what had happened and anyway he'd write. She'd see that they got to the right place. And with women for the men who wanted to settle, they'd get along. Besides, there was the element of uncertainty. He had thought nothing could be quite as bad as the old name ... until this. He shuddered to think what the next change might be like. "Will it be all right?" asked Wilbur anxiously. "It has to be all right," said Marcus, his voice strong with resignation. "We're going home to Misery Row." End of Project Gutenberg's Mezzerow Loves Company, by Floyd L. Wallace