But the prayer had not failed.

“Mr. Tallchief,” his supervisor said, entering Ben’s work cubicle. “You’re being transferred. How about that?”

“I’ll transmit a thankyou prayer,” Ben said, and felt good inside. It always felt good when one’s prayers were listened to and answered. “When do I transfer? Soon?” He had never concealed his dissatisfaction from his supervisor; there was now even less reason to do so.

“Ben Tallchief,” his supervisor said. “The praying mantis.”

“Don’t you pray?” Ben asked, amazed.

“Only when there’s no other alternative. I’m in favor of a person solving his problems on his own, without outside help. Anyhow, your transfer is valid.” His supervisor dropped a document on the desk before Ben. “A small colony on a planet named Delmak-O. I don’t know anything about it, but I suppose you’ll find it all out when you get there.” He eyed Ben thoughtfully. “You’re entitled to use one of the ship’s nosers. For a payment of three silver dollars.”

“Done,” Ben said, and stood up, clutching the document.

He ascended by express elevator to the ship’s transmitter, which he found hard at work transacting official ship business. “Will you be having any empty periods later today?” he asked the chief radio operator. “I have another prayer, but I don’t want to tie up your equipment if you’ll be needing it.”

“Busy all day,” the chief radio operator said. “Look, Mac—we put one prayer through for you last week; isn’t that enough?”

Anyhow I tried, Ben Tallchief mused as he left the transmitter with its hardworking crew and returned to his own quarters. If the matter ever comes up, he thought, I can say I did my best. But, as usual, the channels were tied up by nonpersonal communications.