"Well," said Murphy, "our aim is a well-rounded production. We want to show the farmers at work, the members of the great House at their responsibilities, as well as the deserved fate of wrongdoers." "Exactly. For every sjambak there are ten thousand industrious Singhalûsi. It follows then that only one ten-thousandth part of your film should be devoted to this infamous minority." "About three-tenths of a second, eh?" "No more than they deserve." "You don't know my Production Director. His name is Howard Frayberg, and ..." * * * * * Howard Frayberg was deep in conference with Sam Catlin, under the influence of what Catlin called his philosophic kick. It was the phase which Catlin feared most. "Sam," said Frayberg, "do you know the danger of this business?" "Ulcers," Catlin replied promptly. Frayberg shook his head. "We've got an occupational disease to fight--progressive mental myopia." "Speak for yourself," said Catlin. "Consider. We sit in this office. We think we know what kind of show we want. We send out our staff to get it. We're signing the checks, so back it comes the way we asked for it. We look at it, hear it, smell it--and pretty soon we believe it: our version of the universe, full-blown from our brains like Minerva stepping out of Zeus. You see what I mean?" "I understand the words." "We've got our own picture of what's going on. We ask for it, we get it. It builds up and up--and finally we're like mice in a trap built of our own ideas. We cannibalize our own brains." "Nobody'll ever accuse you of being stingy with a metaphor." "Sam, let's have the truth. How many times have you been off Earth?" "I went to Mars once. And I spent a couple of weeks at Aristillus Resort on the Moon." Frayberg leaned back in his chair as if shocked. "And we're supposed to be a couple of learned planetologists!" Catlin made grumbling noise in his throat. "I haven't been around the zodiac, so what? You sneezed a few minutes ago and I said _gesundheit_, but I don't have any doctor's degree." "There comes a time in a man's life," said Frayberg, "when he wants to take stock, get a new perspective." "Relax, Howard, relax." "In our case it means taking out our preconceived ideas, looking at them, checking our illusions against reality." "Are you serious about this?" "Another thing," said Frayberg, "I want to check up a little. Shifkin says the expense accounts are frightful. But he can't fight it. When Keeler says he paid ten munits for a loaf of bread on Nekkar IV, who's gonna call him on it?" "Hell, let him eat bread! That's cheaper than making a safari around the cluster, spot-checking the super-markets." Frayberg paid no heed. He touched a button; a three-foot sphere full of glistening motes appeared. Earth was at the center, with thin red lines, the scheduled space-ship routes, radiating out in all directions.