Miss Featherpenny entered Andy's ten by twelve office, her high heels clicking on the plastic tiles, and laid a memorandum on the new steel desk.

"They've been admitted," she announced.

"What? Who?" Andy said irritably. There were times when he thought her position as his private secretary had gone to her head.

"Felix II has been admitted to the Federation. The contract has been fulfilled." She smiled brightly. "Shall I mark the file closed?"

"Can't yet," Andy said. "Felix II won't be a permanent member of the Federation until they've been self-supporting for ten years."

"Why?" asked Miss Featherpenny.

"It's a precautionary measure," Andy began to explain. "Oh, let's go get some lunch and forget Felix II."

"Yes, Mr. Stephens," Miss Featherpenny said meekly.

He followed her out the door, admiring the effect of her plastic skirt. She did have nice legs....

Three years later, Edith Featherpenny was forced to remember Felix II. There was a communication on her mock-baroque desk. Felician shoes weren't selling. Felix II wasn't making enough money. The Galactic Federation was threatening to take steps.

She glanced at the impressive door to the inner office. Andy, she knew, was engaged in reading a letter from his brother Lloyd, who had just been promoted to vice-president of Universal Products.

She judiciously forged his initials on an order to put data on the Felix II failure through the computer.

In an hour and a half she had the answer. The Felicians hadn't changed the styles, and their shoes didn't wear out. Everybody had a pair.

She considered the door again. There was really little sense in disturbing Andy over such a simple matter. She forged his name on a message to Blahrog. "Change the styles of your shoes."

She then picked up some carefully selected problem sheets from the top of the filing cabinet, and went through the impressive door.

The next morning, Blahrog's answer was on her desk. "Felician shoes are of the cut most suited to the feet 

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