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“All right, by then we’ll have the answer.”

MacDonald stopped at the door. “There’s another reason why they want it worked out. The number of men applying to the Colonization Board for emigration to the colony planets is falling off.”

“How come?”

MacDonald smiled. “On the basis of statistics alone, would you want to emigrate from a planet where the women outnumber the men five to three?”

When MacDonald had gone, Escher settled back in his chair and idly tapped his fingers on the desk-top. It was lucky that the Colonization Board worked on two levels. One was the well-publicized, idealistic level where nothing was too good and every deal was 99 and 44/100 per cent pure. But when things got too difficult for it to handle on that level, they went to Escher and MacDonald’s department. The coal mine level. Nothing was too low, so long as it worked. Of course, if it didn’t work, you took the lumps, too.

He rummaged around in his drawer and found a list of the qualifications set up by the Board for potential colonists. He read the list slowly and frowned. You had to be physically fit for the rigors of space travel, naturally, but some of the qualifications were obviously silly. You couldn’t guarantee physical perfection in the second generation, anyway.