* * * * * Fat Dorlup the solidio writer drank in local color like a starving cat laps up milk. The time was 1954, the date Easter Sunday, the place, Fifth Avenue in New York, largest city in one of the two most powerful national states of the day. Crowds jostled Dorlup. No one seemed to have anyplace to go, Dorlup least of all. The twentieth century suit he wore was tight and ill-fitting; he was almost afraid a too-sudden move might burst his posterior from its tight confines. That's what you get for rushing, Dorlup thought irritably. But the Century Agent had frightened him. Damn those Agents with their high-handed ways. Dorlup was used to dealing with people, not martinets. He had extended the hand of friendship, even of financial gain, to Barwan, but it had been rejected coldly, unequivocally. The Twentieth Century Corporation was another possibility, although Barwan would certainly offer a solidio audience more glamour. Well, when the city returned to normal tomorrow, Dorlup would offer the Corporation his proposition, though he realized sadly they would never be satisfied with the five thousand century notes he had offered the Agent. "Hey, Dorlup! Oh you, Dorlup!" The fat solidio writer whirled at the sound of the woman's voice, then groaned. Beti Sparr, a starlet who had been featured tragically (not in the story but in the gross profit which was nil, Dorlup thought bitterly) pushed her way through the crowd toward him. Beti wore a costume of the day and wore it well. She had blond hair and looks and a figure. If only she could act, thought Dorlup. "Whatever are you doing here, Dorlup? My but you look silly in that suit." Beti entwined her arm in his. "I'm doing research for a new solidio." "Oh, but that's wonderful. I'm on vacation, you know, but I could learn the part while I'm here and--" "My dear," said Dorlup icily, "I haven't considered casting yet. The solidio is just an idea in my head, and it will be a long time before I--" "I can wait. Did you notice how positively garish the costumes are, how completely absorbed in their own importance the people seem?" Beti had spoken in perfect hypnosleep-induced English, and Dorlup said: "Quiet! Do you want them to hear you?" "Oh, but they won't under_stand_. They won't understand anything. So--so archaic. I'm hungry, Dorlup." "I'm not." He tried to move away, but the crowd pressed in all around them and Beti still had her arm entwined in his. "I've always wanted to try one of those automatic cafeterias. Shall we?" Dorlup wanted passionately to say no, but Beti was already steering him toward the facade of one of the buildings. "Sparr is rather remarkable," someone in the crowd said to someone else. "Whatever Dorlup is up to, she'll find out. But whoever would have suspected Dorlup is connected with the Century Agents, eh?" "You can say that again. Leave it to Sparr, though."