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This was her husband’s money she was spending now. It needed to last only a few years. Then they would leave Earth forever.

A room was built on the east side of the bungalow, with its own private entrance. This was Earl’s room. Ostensibly the private entrance was for convenience due to the irregular hours of college students.

It was also convenient for coming home late at night after Agent hunting.

Mrs. Jamieson was becoming obvious.

Excitement brought color to her cheeks when she thought of Earl facing one of them—a lean, cunning jaguar facing a fat, lazy bear. It was her notion that federal Agents were evil creatures, tools of a decadent, bloodthirsty society, living off the fat of the land.

She painted the room herself, in soft, pastel colors. When it was finished she showed Earl regally into the room, making a big joke of it.

“Here you can study and relax, and have those bull sessions students are always having,” she said.

“There will be no friends,” he answered, “not here. No Konvs will be at the university.”