"Your information, as it happens," he said after I had regained my senses, "checks with other data I've received. It might be, of course, that the whole thing is a fabrication of my enemies. In that case, Trontar--" he looked at me earnestly--"you can be assured you'll not be around to rejoice at or to profit from my downfall." "Of course, Sir," I said, quite as earnestly as he. "But we both know that you are only a genuine patriot," he said with a hearty chuckle, a chuckle exactly like that of a Father Goodness--that kindly old godfather who brings such nice presents to every Haldorian child until they are six, and who on that last exciting visit brings, and enthusiastically uses, a bundle of large and heavy whips to demonstrate that no one can be trusted. Efficient teachers, the Haldorians. "Just a genuine patriot," the Accountant repeated, "who has rendered a considerable service to the Empire. Trontar," he said, all friendly and intimate, "the Empire likes to reward well its faithful sons. What would you most like to have or to do?" "To serve Haldoria, Sir!" I was back on my mental feet at last. He dropped his act then. He was, I think, just practicing anyway. We had a short talk then, the kind in which one person is quickly and efficiently pumped of everything he knows. After about ten minutes of question and answers, the Accountant leaned back and studied my face carefully. "Have you considered Officers' Selection Course, Trontar? I might be able to help you a little in getting in." Officers' Selection Course was, I knew, Fighter Basic Course multiplied in length and casualties. Less than 20 per cent graduate ... or escape. * * * * * "No, Sir," I said. "I wondered if I mightn't be of more value to Haldoria in some way other than being in the combat services." So now I'd said it and there was nothing to do but to go on. "Perhaps," I ventured, "I might be of some help in the administrative services." The Accountant said nothing, his face was immobile, his hands still. He'd learned his lessons well, once. "In fact," I said, deciding to go for broke, "with my knowledge of the language and the customs here, I might be of most service to Haldoria right here on this planet." "Had you guessed, by any chance, Trontar," the Accountant's voice was neutrally soft, "that we won't be terraforming this world? And that we may not even exploit the slavery proposition?" "I thought both those possibilities likely," I admitted. "But you know that in such a case we would have no administrative services on this world? Thus you are, in fact, asking for a position that wouldn't exist." The Accountant, without a change of position or expression, somehow gave the impression of looming over me. "I thought," I said, trying to pick exactly the right words, and at the same time all too conscious of a twitching muscle in my left eyelid, "that there might be an analogous position, even so." The Accountant loomed higher.