Theseus bent over until his nose rested against his knees.

Hebster groaned. The list wasn’t as bad as he’d expected—remarkable the way their masters always yearned for the electric gadgets and artistic achievements of Earth—but he had so little time to bargain with them. Two Empire State Buildings!

“Mr. Hebster,” his receptionist chattered over the communicator. “Those SIC men—I managed to get a crowd out in the corridor to push toward their elevator when it came to this floor, and I’ve locked the… I mean I’m trying to… but I don’t think—Can you—”

“Good girl! You’re doing fine!”

“Is that all we want, Theseus?” Larry asked again. “Gabble?”

Hebster heard a crash in the outer office and footsteps running across the floor.

“See here, Mr. Hebster,” Theseus said at last, “if you don’t want to buy Larry’s reductio ad absurdum exploder, and you don’t like my method of decorating bald heads for all its innate artistry, how about a system of musical notation—”

Somebody tried Hebster’s door, found it locked. There was a knock on the door, repeated almost immediately with more urgency.

“He’s already found something he wants,” S.S. Lusitania snapped. “Yes, Larry, that was the complete list.”

Hebster plucked a handful of hair from his already receding forehead. “Good! Now, look, I can give you everything but the two Empire State Buildings and the three Radio Cities.”

“Or the three Radio Cities,” Larry corrected. “Don’t try to cheat us! Two Empire State Buildings or three Radio Cities. Whichever is more convenient. Why… isn’t it worth that to you?”

“Open this door!” a bull-mad voice yelled. “Open this door in the name of United Mankind!”

“Miss Seidenheim, open the door,” Hebster said loudly and winked at his secretary, who rose, stretched and began a thoughtful, slow-motion study in the direction of the locked panel.