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Technician so I make the Changes? So I defend them and demand that you accept them? Look, kid, you haven’t been here a year; you can’t speak Intertemporal; you’re all misgeared on Time and Reality, but you think you know all about Technicians and how to kick them in the teeth.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Cooper quickly; “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
    “No, no, who offends a Technician? You just hear everyone else talking, is that it? They say, ‘Cold as a Technician’s heart,’ don’t they? They say, ‘A trillion personalities changed—just a Technician’s yawn.’ Maybe a few other things. What’s the answer, Mr. Cooper? Does it make you feel sophisticated to join in? It makes you a big man? A big wheel in Eternity?”
    “I said I’m sorry.”
    “All right. I just want you to know I’ve been a Technician for less than a month and I personally have never induced a Reality Change. Now let’s get on with business.”
     
    Senior Computer Twissell called Andrew Harlan to his office the next day.
    He said, “How would you like to go on an M.N.C., boy?”
    It was almost too apposite. All that morning Harlan had been regretting his cowardly disclaimer of personal involvement in the Technician’s work; his childish cry of: I haven’t done anything wrong yet, so don’t blame me.
    It amounted to an admission that there
was
something wrong about a Technician’s work, and that he himself was blameless only because he was too new at the game to have had time to be a criminal.
    He welcomed the chance to kill that excuse now. It would be almost a penance. He could say to Cooper: Yes, because of something I have done, this many millions of people are new personalities, but it was necessary and I am proud to have been the cause.
    So Harlan said joyfully, “I’m ready, sir.”
    “Good. Good. You’ll be glad to know, boy,” (a puff, and the cigarette tip glowed brilliantly) “that every one of your analyses checked out with high-order accuracy.”
    “Thank you, sir.” (They were analyses now, thought Harlan, not guesses.)
    “You’ve got a talent. Quite a touch, boy. I look for great things. And we can begin with this one, 223rd. Your statement that a jammed vehicle clutch would supply the necessary fork without undesirable side effects is perfectly correct. Will you jam it?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    That was Harlan’s true initiation into Technicianhood.After that he was more than just a man with a rose-red badge. He had handled Reality. He had tampered with a mechanism during a quick few minutes taken out of the 223rd and, as a result, a young man did not reach a lecture on mechanics he had meant to attend. He never went in for solar engineering, consequently, and a perfectly simple device was delayed in its development a crucial ten years. A war in the 224th, amazingly enough, was moved out of Reality as a result.
    Wasn’t
that
good? What if personalities were changed? The new personalities were as human as the old and as deserving of life. If some lives were shortened, more were lengthened and made happier. A great work of literature, a monument of Man’s intellect and feeling, was never written in the new Reality, but several copies were preserved in Eternity’s libraries, were they not? And new creative works had come into existence, had they not?
    Yet that night Harlan spent hours in a hot agony of wakefulness, and when he finally drowsed groggily, he did something he hadn’t done in years.
    He dreamed of his mother.
     
    Despite the weakness of such a beginning a physioyear was sufficient to make Harlan known throughout Eternity as “Twissell’s Technician,” and with more than a trace of ill-humor as “The Wonder Boy” and “The Never-Wrong.”
    His contact with Cooper became almost comfortable. They never grew completely friendly. (If Cooper could have brought himself to make advances, Harlan might not have known how to respond.) Nevertheless they worked well together, and Cooper’s