It had grown dark outside, and he hurried. He could not stand the thought of the Airway, so he walked. He had covered nearly half a mile when, at the corner ahead, two Street-taxis approached each other at right angles. The drivers glared at each other. Neither slowed to let the other pass; they crashed, and began to burn. Carre hurried on, trying not to hear the screams of the people or the siren of the approaching ambulance. No wonder, he thought, that they need Ludwig in the Bureau of Public Safety; people were behaving so irrationally! He climbed the steps of the City Library, and advanced to the desk. "I should like to see files of the magazines published by Adult Fiction, Earth, if you please." "But which magazine, sir? They publish hundreds." "Well, as a start, let me see those which publish light fiction." For two hours he sat in the Scholar's Room, skimming the pages of the magazines--_Sagebrush Westerns_, _Romance and Marriage_, _Pinkerton's Own_, _Harper's_, and a dozen others. He read with concentration, and made few notes. On his way home he stopped at a news-machine and selected an armful of the current issues to take home with him. He read in his room until nearly dawn, and when he did lie down he could not sleep, or rest. "I don't believe it," he whispered to himself. "It can't be true." And, half an hour later, "How did it happen?" * * * * * At nine next morning he was sitting in the reception room of the Bureau of Public Entertainment, with brief-case on his knees, waiting for Ludwig. It was nearly noon before Ludwig himself arrived, and summoned his visitor. He sat at his desk, his white hair rumpled, and nervously fingered his watch chain as Carre took the chair opposite. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Herbert. The Commissioners over in Safety have a bad situation to handle, and I've been trying to advise them. I'll be glad when this writing business is straightened out, and I can give full attention to Safety. What did you think of Script-Lab?" "Well, it's very efficient." "I knew that," said Ludwig. "Machines are built to be efficient. But what do you think of their output? How does it compare with the work of the Writers?" Carre cleared his throat. "John, don't you read the magazines any more?" "No. No time. Do you?" "I haven't, until yesterday. I read them, all night. I hardly know how to express myself. John, something is wrong with the machines." "Nonsense! There can't be anything wrong with them. They're fed the plots, fed the variations, and then with perfect logic they create their stories. You're not an electronics expert, you know." Carre stared at the floor. Ludwig sighed. "I'm sorry, Herbert. I'm just too tired to be decently courteous. But what I wanted from you, after all, was a literary evaluation and not a scientific one." "I express myself so badly. There's something wrong, something I can't exactly define, with what they write."