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soon realized that nobody was likely to notice. In his universe, a stranger was instantly assumed to be a spy even though it
    was absurd to imagine that a Urian would risk entering a city held by humans. A spy scare had an additional purpose apart from maintaining security. It kept people’s minds busy. He was cynical enough to recognize the fact.
    These inhabitants of Dyoto displayed a lot of courage. They leaped from one ramp to another even if they were twenty or thirty meters away. Corson thought for a moment that they must have miniaturized antigrav units hidden in their clothes, but soon realized he was wrong. At his own first attempt he jumped from a height of three meters, landed with his knees bent, and nearly fell over. He had expected a much more violent impact. Emboldened, he tried a dive of twelve meters or so, and saw coming straight toward him a tiny aircar. The machine had to swerve to avoid him and its pilot turned a face pale with rage or fright. He told himself he must have broken a traffic regulation. He moved on quickly, afraid of finding some sort of patrolman at his heels.
    Most of the time the people around him seemed not to be heading anywhere special. They spun and wheeled like insects, darted down three stories, let themselves be swept up by invisible air currents which set them down six levels higher, chatted for a moment with an acquaintance, and continued on their senseless way. From time to time somebody entered one of the buildings that formed the skeleton of the city.
    Loneliness overcame Corson some three hours later. He was hungry and he felt tired. His initial excitement had subsided. He had assumed he would locate, without difficulty, a public restaurant or a dormitory, or the two combined, such as existed on all planets occupied by the Solar Powers for the benefit of soldiers and travelers, but he had failed to spot one. He dared not question any of the passers-by. Eventually he decided to enter one of the larger buildings. Beyond its door there was a vast hall. Things were laid out on immense counters. Thousands of people were milling around and helping themselves.
    Was it theft to take something from here? Theft was severely punished by the Solar Powers and Corson had been strongly conditioned against it. A society at war could not tolerate such antisocial tendencies. When he found an array of foodstuffs, he stopped worrying. He selected items that resembled what Floria had prepared for him, stuffed them in his pockets, rather expecting to hear an alarm go off, and beat a retreat toward the entrance by a devious route, taking care not to follow for a second time the aisles he had used on his way in.
    At the moment when he was about to cross the threshold, a voice made him jump. It was deep, pleasantly inflected, rather friendly. “Haven’t you forgotten something, sir?”
    Corson looked about him. Nothing!
    "Sir?” the bodiless voice persisted. “Mister—?”
    “My name’s Corson,” he muttered. “George Corson.” There was no point in concealing his name on a world where it would mean nothing to anybody.
    “Perhaps I have overlooked some formality,” he admitted. “You see, I’m a stranger here. Who are you?”
    The most amazing thing was that the people passing by seemed not to hear the voice.
    “The accountant for this establishment. Perhaps you wish to speak to the manager?”
    By now he had worked out where the voice was coming from: a point in midair, about shoulder height and a meter away.
    “I’ve broken a regulation?” Corson said. “I suppose you’ll have me arrested, then.”
    “Sir, no credit account has been opened in the name of Corson. If I' m not mistaken, this is the first time you have visited our premises. That is why I took the liberty of addressing you. I trust you will not hold that against me.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t have any credit, no. Naturally, I can return what I’ve taken—”
    “But why, Mr. Corson? You can pay in cash if you