what they really find—and that's bound to be a great deal different from the sort of thing we're feeding them now."

"It's a point I hadn't considered," said the banker, reaching for the brandy. He nodded to himself as he poured it, then looked up at Bezdek and asked, "But why this—space opera is the colloquial term, I believe? Why not stick closer to real life?"

Bezdek sat back and the slanting smile creased his features again. "Minorities," he said. "That's why. Crackpot minorities object loudly at being portrayed in films they don't like. We don't want to tread on anybody's toes—there's trouble enough in the world as it is. People want villains. But unless we make our villains—even minor villains—people from nowhere we get boycotted somewhere by somebody. And that costs us money."

"Yes, of course," said the banker, "but I fail to see—"

"It's simple." Bezdek was in full cry now and interrupted openly. "People like conflict in their movies. If it's a Western they want their heroes to fight Indians or Mexicans or rustlers. The Indians and Mexicans object to being the villains and they've got big sympathetic followings. Okay, so we use rustlers or renegade white men and we still make Westerns—but not many. No plot variety."

He sipped more soda water. "It's the same with everything else. Unless we're in a war with a legitimate enemy to hate we can't use villains. It's almost enough to make a man wish—"

"Not with the H-bomb, Bezdek," said Dorwin frigidly.

"Of course not—I was only speaking figuratively," said the movie-maker hastily. "I'm as much against war as anyone. But that's what makes these interplanetary movies great stuff. We can run in all the villains we want—make them just as bad as we want. Audiences really like to have someone they can hate."

"I see," said Dorwin. He permitted himself to look faintly pleased. "After all, a Martian can hardly protest what we do with him. I see your point now."

"You've got it," said Bezdek, beaming now. He leaned forward and added, "Furthermore, we've got four new pictures in the works for the space cycle that are really going to—"

He broke off, interrupted by a knock at the door. He stared at the banker, seeking someone to share his annoyance, found Dorwin staring out the window, frowning.

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