Obviously the size was to impress interviewees. But why should they have to be impressed? Wasn't the wisdom of the five tech doctors sufficient by itself? Wasn't it?

He sat in a chair indicated by the dark-skinned one, and listened while the very old one in the center talked to Nedda.

Had dating the B Sector park champion solved her difficulty with the man she had reported? Fine. It was the second such report about him in a year—the other also coming from a girl who was highly sexed. Did Nedda not consider herself to have a problem which required psychoconditioning? No? Well, perhaps in later years, when her beauty and her mind were somewhat changed.... No, there would seem to be no justification for giving her a compartment in another sector, unless she had persuaded the champion or another to share a double with her. Would that be all? Much happiness to her.

Abruptly, Allen realized Nedda had left and that the frail old man was talking to him.

"... unusual to have joint interviews without a more definite emotional tie, but we felt you would like to know how you had rendered civic aid."

So pitting him without choice against any of several men was their idea of civic aid. No wonder he'd met so many protected girls in the past. This time, they'd harnessed Nedda's restless passion to the task of dissuading him from a DP. Very neat.

It made him feel better to know they'd failed where he was concerned, and his resentment abated somewhat. He said, "Glad I could help," careful to keep his voice emotionless. Then, determined to have no further subtleties, "If I can have my departure permit, I won't trouble you further."

Maybe his approach wasn't right, but all they could do would be to refuse him. In which case there were other ways—and the hell with legality.

"We hope," smiled the old doctor benignly, "there may be another way. Perhaps, if we discuss your problem, we can find a solution which won't cost the city a handsome young citizen."

Allen made it a direct attack. "Why should the city miss any citizen? In fact, what good is the city itself—what good is any city?"

And almost, the techs seemed startled. But a younger one said easily, "A city, Mr. Kinderwood, permits a maximum of efficient service and pleasure, with a minimum of waste and discomfort."

Allen leaned back and stubbornly folded his arms. "I've had enough of pleasures and comforts without meaning, and I've nothing to do, and it doesn't look like anyone's making any progress anywhere. Even on the planets they're just repeating backtime stuff with modern equipment."

The old man waved a hand at the others and looked at Allen intently. His voice was softly insistent. "The one continuous thread in human history has been the seeking of more pleasure and greater comfort for all members of the race. Our technology gives us a maximum of both. No one labors, and the few who work prefer to do so. No one is diseased, no one stays in pain longer than the time necessary to reach a medic. Everyone can have everything he needs, without striving and without debt. And as technology advances, there will be even greater benefits for all. What more can be done to make the citizens of Earth happy?"

For the first time, Allen felt confused. "I don't know," he said slowly. "The way you put it, it sounds right. But where does it all lead? What reason have I got for living? What reason does the human race have for surviving?"

The sociologist looked even older. "In all seriousness, sir, can you answer the questions you have just asked?" His eyes were expectant—but there didn't seem to be much hope reflected in their depths.

Allen noted a tenseness around the table. Why were they asking him for answers they were supposed to know? Or was it another of their subtleties?

"No," he said curtly, "I don't know the answer to any of them. Has it got a bearing on my getting a DP?"

The central figure sighed. "None at all." He pressed several tiny buttons on the polished table