place was a gloomy gray, vine-covered neo-gothic structure which ignored almost a thousand years of architectural progress. An old-fashioned electric eye opened the door. Inside, the building smelled like stale bread, musty linen and floor varnish, combined with a dash of urine. The interior lighting was unnaturally bright, it seemed to me, like in a surgical arena. The only harmonious note was struck by the mural in the vestibule. One entire wall was covered by an allegorical painting of sports, professions, and industry, with the phrase COMPETE OR PERISH emblazoned boldly across the top.

Celia nudged me. "A little raw for school kids, don't you think?"

This was an old, unhealed grievance between us. "Those are the twenty-fourth century facts of life," I replied evenly.

We reported to the receptionist robot in an alcove controlling the inner set of doors.

"You are fifteen minutes late," said the machine. "I will announce you. Be seated please."

We remained standing. I spied a public wall phone and jerked into awareness. "Excuse me, honey. I have to call the office!"

I hastily dialed our number and got the busy signal. Wow! All nine lines were tied up, including our human and our robot receptionists. I immediately dialed our unlisted private number, and somebody answered with a curse, and I knew it was my partner Charlie Spacker.

"Compete, man! Compete!" he shouted. "Where the hell are you?"

"Chicago Classical School. Personal problem. I told you about it."

"Well, get over here quick! That Venus situation is about to blow up, and we're tied up to the tune of three hundred million in wheat and soybeans!"

"I'll be over within a half hour. Meanwhile, have Claire book passage on the next Venus rocket. One of us has got to go there."

"Willco," said Claire. She always monitored our calls.

"All right," stormed Charlie, "that may help us a month from now. But what about now? Do I buy or sell? These customers are drowning me!"

Charlie was a great bluff man who inspired the clients' confidence, but he quailed at policy decisions. I thought fast. I'd go there and make a deal with the insurrectionists. Help finance the rebellion in exchange for exclusive first 

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