Cudyk stared at the tray of unsorted gems on the desk before him. He stirred them with his forefinger, separating out an emerald, two aquamarines, a large turquoise and a star sapphire. That was all he had had to begin with--his dead wife's jewels, carried half across Europe when a loaf of bread was worth more than all the gem stones in the world. The sapphire had bought his passage on the alien ship; the others had been his original stock-in-trade, first at the refugee center on Alfhal, then here on Palumbar. Now he was a prosperous importer, with a business that netted him the equivalent of ten thousand pounds a year. But the wealth was ashes; he would have traded all of it for one loaf of bread, eaten in peace, on an Earth that had not sunk back to barbarism. Momentum, he told himself. Momentum, and a remnant of curiosity. Those are the only reasons I can think of why I do not blow out my brains. I wonder what keeps the others from it? Seu? Chong Yin? I don't know. Burgess has his fantasy, though it cracks now and then. Ferguson has the sensibility of a jackal. Rack, as Seu said, is a fanatic. But why do the rest of them keep on? For what? * * * * * The doorway darkened again as Harkway came in, followed by Nick. Nick gestured toward the rear of the shop, and Harkway advanced, smiling. His lower lip was stained by a purple substance with a glossy surface. Cudyk greeted him and offered him a chair. "It was good of you to come over," he said. "I hope I didn't interrupt your work." Harkway grinned stiffly. "No. I was just finishing lunch when your boy found me. I have nothing more to do until this evening." Cudyk looked at him. "You got to the hospital after all, I see." "Yes. Dr. Moskowitz fixed me up nicely." Cudyk had been asking himself why the M.P.L. man looked so cheerful. Now he thought he understood. "And Miss Burgess?" he asked. "Yes," said Harkway, looking embarrassed. He paused. "She's--an exquisite person, Mr. Cudyk." Cudyk clasped his square hands together, elbows on the arms of his chair. He said, "Forgive me, I'm going to be personal. Am I right in saying that you now feel more than casually interested in Miss Burgess?" He added, "Please. I have a reason for asking." Harkway's expression was guarded. "Yes; that's true." "Do you think she may feel similarly towards you?" Harkway paused. "I think so. I hope so. Why, Mr. Cudyk?" "Mr. Harkway, I will be very blunt. Miss Burgess has already lost one lover through no fault of her own, and the experience has not been good for her. She is, as you say, exquisite--she has a beautiful, but not a strong personality. Do you think it is fair for you to give her another such experience, even if the attachment is not fully formed, by allowing yourself to be killed this evening?"