"You don't know me," the heckler went on, "but I am very familiar with you and your work. I have an important project in mind. A new monthly science fiction magazine to be called _Orion_. I need a good assistant editor. You were suggested." "_Orion_," I said. "Yes. My book will feature a completely new approach. We will buy only the best material, and each story will concern itself with the constellation Orion and its various systems. All material will be correlated to this end. How does this strike you?" "You won't find it so easy pinning the best writers down to Orion," I grinned. "Writers like Swain and St. Reynard and Ric Planter like elbow room." "Orion is vast and complex. One hundred and seven solar systems, to be exact. That should provide ample elbow room." I whistled. "Ought to. But what's the idea?" "Novelty, Mr. Field. I have studied the imaginative magazines closely and it occurs to me that they are already beginning to specialize. One of them uses highly technical stories, another adheres to stories of other planets in this system. _Orion_ will link each story with all the others in it. Instead of a hundred interpretations of the life patterns of _Orion_ we shall have but one. Of course casual stories we buy will have to be revamped to fit in." "That's where I come in," I guessed. "Exactly. But don't you feel that we will wind up with a fascinating pseudo-history of Orion, and that such a magazine would create a furore with its realistic slant?" "I guess so." It tasted like my first olive. But Wallace Starr was obviously burning with enthusiasm. He sounded just a little like a crackpot. A rich crackpot, maybe. "It will be hard work, Mr. Field. But rewarding. Are you prepared to accept my proposition?" He spoke like a man who means business. I hesitated. It is well-known that the mortality rate among new fiction magazines is high. I had writing contracts to fill, I was doing okay. Editing a monthly is a full-time job. "About salary--" I hinted. He named a figure that made my hair curl. What could I say but, "When do we start, Boss?" * * * * * Starr wasn't like any editor I've known. He wasn't like an editor at all. He wasn't much like _anybody_ I've known. Which puts him in a class all by himself. He was brown and thin and had peculiarly big eyes, like a grasshopper's. He spent so much money getting started I figured he wasn't long for this racket. But he did have a knack and the first couple issues, while not wildly successful, went over well. One morning he called me into his office. From the tone of that dry voice of his I knew I was in for it. "What's all this?" he buzzed, rattling a manuscript in front of me. From the cheap yellow paper I knew it was the lead novelette of the forthcoming issue. Ric Planter was one of our top writers and also a very bad boy. Ric loved to put an editor on the spot, bless his little pointed head.