She said impatiently, “Are you going to be with the Section? If you are, I’ve got to clear you with your old job. You were in statistics over in New Copenhagen, weren’t you?” Somehow it seemed far away now, the job he’d held for more than five years. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Yes, Commissioner Metaxa has given me an appointment.” She looked up at him. “Probably to look for Tommy Paine.” He was taken aback. “That’s right. How did you know?” “There was talk. This Section is pretty well integrated.” She grimaced, but on her it looked good. “One big happy family. High interdepartmental morale. That sort of jetsam.” She flicked some switches. “You’ll find Supervisor Jakes through that door, one to your left, two to your right.” He could have asked one _what_ to his left and two _what_ to his right, but evidently Irene Kasansky thought he had enough information to get him to his destination. She’d gone back to her work. [Illustration.] It was one turn to his left and two turns to his right. The door was lettered simply _Sidney Jakes_. He knocked and a voice shouted happily, “It’s open. It’s always open.” Supervisor Jakes was as informal as his superior. His attire was on the happy-go-lucky side, more suited for sports wear than a fairly high ranking job in the ultra-staid Octagon. He couldn’t have been much older than Ronny Bronston but he had a nervous vitality about him that would have worn out the other in a few hours. He jumped up and shook hands. “You must be Bronston. Call me Sid.” He waved a hand at a typed report he’d been reading. “Now I’ve seen them all. They’ve just applied for entry to United Planets. Republic. What a name, eh?” “What?” Ronny said. “Sit down, sit down.” He rushed Ronny to a chair, saw him seated, returned to the desk and flicked an order box switch. “Irene,” he said, “do up a badge for Ronny, will you? You’ve got his code, haven’t you? Good. Send it over. Bronze, of course.” Sid Jakes turned back to Ronny and grinned at him. He motioned to the report again. “What a name for a planet. Republic. Bunch of screw-balls, again. Out in the vicinity of Sirius. Based their system on Plato’s _Republic_. Have to go the whole way. Don’t even speak Basic. Certainly not. They speak Ancient Greek. That’s going to be a neat trick, finding interpreters. How’d you like the Old Man?” Ronny said, dazed at the conversational barrage, “Old Man? Oh, you mean Commissioner Metaxa.” “Sure, sure,” Sid grinned, perching himself on the edge of the desk. “Did he give you that drink of tequila during working hours routine? He’d like to poison every new agent we get. What a character.” The grin was infectious. Ronny said carefully, “Well, I did think his method of hiring a new man was a little—cavalier.” “Cavalier, yet,” Sid Jakes chortled. “Look, don’t get the Old Man wrong. He knows what he’s doing. He always knows what he’s doing.” “But he took me on after only two or three minutes conversation.”