Ronny ticked it off on his fingers. “One of my greatgrandfathers was a French _colon_ who married a Moroccan girl. The Moors are a blend of Berber, Arab, Jew and Negro. Another of my greatgrandfathers was a Hawaiian. They’re largely a blend of Polynesians, Japanese, Chinese and Caucasians especially Portuguese. Another of my greatgrandfathers was Irish, English and Scotch. He married a girl who was half Latvian, half Russian.” Ronny wound it up. “Believe me, if I had a blood transfusion from just anybody at all, the blood would feel right at home.” The interviewer snorted, even as he marked the card. “That accounts for three greatgrandfathers,” he said lightly. “You seem to have made a study of your family tree. What was the other one?” Rocky said expressionlessly, “A Texan.” The secretary shrugged and looked at the card again. “Religion?” “Reformed Agnostic,” Ronny said. This one was possibly where he ran into a brick wall. Many of the planets had strong religious beliefs of one sort or another. Some of them had state religions and you either belonged or else. “Is there any such church?” the personnel officer frowned. “No. I’m a one-man member. I’m of the opinion that if there are any greater-powers-that-be They’re keeping the fact from us. And if that’s the way They want it, it’s Their business. If and when They want to contact me—one of Their puppets dangling from a string—then I suppose They’ll do it. Meanwhile, I’ll wait.” The other said interestedly, “You think that if there is a Higher Power and if It ever wants to get in touch with you, It will?” “Um-m-m. In Its own good time. Sort of a _don’t call Me_, thing, _I’ll call you_.” The personnel officer said, “There have been a few revealed religions, you know.” “So they said, so they said. None of them have made much sense to me. If a Super-Power wanted to contact man, it seems unlikely to me that it’d be all wrapped up in a lot of complicated gobbledegook. It would all be very clear indeed.” The personnel officer sighed. He marked the card, stuck it back into the slot in his order box and it disappeared. He looked up at Ronny Bronston. “All right, that’s all.” Ronny came to his feet. “Well, what happened?” The other grinned at him sourly. “Darned if I know,” he said. “By the time you get to the outer office, you’ll probably find out.” He scratched the end of his nose and said, “I sometimes wonder what I’m doing here.” Ronny thanked him, told him good-by, and left. ------------------------------------- In the outer office a girl looked up from a card she’d just pulled from her own order box. “Ronald Bronston?” “That’s right.” She handed the card to him. “You’re to go to the office of Ross Metaxa in the Octagon, Commissariat of Interplanetary Affairs, Department of Justice, Bureau of Investigation, Section G.”