"A scientist, maybe," murmured Murra Foray. "But in this part of the Milky Way, an engineer is regarded as merely a technician who hasn't yet gained practical experience." She shook her head. "You'll do better as a salesman."
He got up, glowering. "If that's all—"
"It is. We'll keep you informed. Drop your contribution in the slot provided for that purpose as you leave."
A door, which he hadn't noticed in entering the counselling cubicle, swung open. The agency was efficient.
"Remember," the counselor called out as he left, "identification is hard to work with. Don't accept a crude forgery."
He didn't answer, but it was an idea worth considering. The agency was also eminently practical.
The exit path guided him firmly to an inconspicuous and yet inescapable contribution station. He began to doubt the philanthropic aspect of the bureau.
"I've got it," said Dimanche as Cassal gloomily counted out the sum the first counselor had named.
"Got what?" asked Cassal. He rolled the currency into a neat bundle, attached his name, and dropped it into the chute.