She wrote on a form. "Age?"
'Twenty-nine."
"Occupation?"
"Architect."
"What do you want here?"
"This is the Chateau d'lf?"
"Yes." She waited, expectantly.
"I'm a customer."
"Who sent you?"
"No one. I'm a friend of Pete Zaer's. He was here a couple of weeks ago."
She nodded, wrote.
"He seems to have done pretty well for himself," observed Mario cheerfully.
She said nothing until she had finished writing. Then: "This is a business, operated for profit. We are interested in money. How much do you have to spend?"
"I'd like to know what you have to sell."
"Adventure." She said the word without accent or emphasis.
"Ah," said Mario. "I see... . Out of curiosity, how does working here affect you? Do you find it an adventure, or are you bored too?"
She shot him a quick glance. "We offer two classes of service. The first we value at ten million dollars. It is cheap at that price, but it is the dullest and least stirring of the two-the situation over which you have some control. The second we value at ten thousand dollars, and this produces the most extreme emotions with the minimum of immediate control on your part."
Mario considered the word "immediate." He asked, "Have you been through the treatment?"
Again the cool flick of a glance. "Would you care to indicate how much you wish to spend?" "I asked you a question," said Mario.
"You will receive further information inside."
"Are you human?" asked Mario. "Do you breathe?"
"Would you care to indicate how much you have to spend?"
Mario shrugged. "I have eight thousand dollars with me." He pursed his lips. "And I'll give you a thousand to stick your tongue out at me."
She dropped the form into a slot, arose. "Follow me, please."
She led him through the door, along a hall, into a small room, bare and stark, lit by a single cone-shaped floor lamp turned against the ceiling, a room painted white, gray, green. A man sat at a desk punching a calculator. Behind him stood a filing cabinet. There was a faint odor in the air, like mingled mint, gardenias, with a hint of an antiseptic, medicinal scent
The man looked up, rose to his feet, bowed his head politely. He was young, blond as beach-sand, as magnificently handsome as the girl was beautiful. Mario felt a slight edge form in his brain. One at a time they were admirable, their beauty seemed natural. Together, the beauty cloyed, as if it were something owned and valued highly. It seemed self-conscious and vulgar. And Mario suddenly felt a quiet pride in his own commonplace person.
The man was taller than Mario by several inches. His chest was smooth and wide corded with powerful sinew. In spite of almost over-careful courtesy, he gave an impression of overpowering, overriding confidence.
"Mr. Roland Mario," said the girl. She added drily, "He's got eight thousand dollars."
The young man nodded gravely, reached out his hand. "My name is Mervyn Alien." He looked at the girl. "Is that all, Thane?"
"That's all for tonight." She left
"Can't keep going on eight thousand a night," grumbled Mervyn Alien. "Sit down, Mr. Mario."
Mario took a seat. "The adventure business must have tremendous expenses," he observed with a tight grin.
"Oh, no," said Alien with wide candid eyes. "To the contrary. The operators have a tremendous avarice. We try to average twenty million a day profit. Occasionally we can't make it."
"Pardon me for annoying you with carfare," said Mario. "If you don't want it, I'll keep it."
Alien made a magnanimous gesture. "As you please."
Mario said, "The receptionist told me that ten million buys the dullest of your services, and ten thousand something fairly wild. What do I get for nothing? Vivisection?"
Alien smiled. "No. You're entirely safe with us. That is to say, you suffer no physical pain, you emerge alive."
"But you won't give me any particulars? After all, I have a fastidious nature. What you'd consider a good joke might annoy me very much."
Mervyn Alien shrugged blandly. "You haven't spent any money yet. You can still leave."
Mario rubbed the arms of his chair with the palms of his hand. "That's rather unfair. I'm interested, but also I'd like to know something of what I'm getting into."
Alien nodded. "Understandable. You're willing to take a chance, but you're not a complete fool. Is that it?"
"Exactly."
Alien straightened a pencil on his desk. "First, I'd like to give you a short psychiatric and medical examination. You understand," and he flashed Mario a bright candid glance, "we don't want any accidents at the Chateau d'lf."
"Go ahead," said Mario.
Alien slid open the top of his desk, handed Mario a cap of crinkling plastic in which tiny wires glittered. "Encephalo-graph pick-up. Please fit it snugly."
Mario grinned. "Call it a lie-detector."
Alien smiled briefly. "A lie-detector, then."
Mario muttered, "I'd like to put it on you."
Alien ignored him, pulled out a pad of printed forms, adjusted a dial in front of him.
"Name?"
"Roland Mario."
"Age?"
"Twenty-eight."
Alien stared at the dial, frowned, looked up questioningly.
"I wanted to see if it worked," said Mario. "I'm twenty-nine."
"It works," said Alien shortly. "Occupation?"
"Architect. At least I dabble at it, design dog houses and rabbit hutches for my friends. Although I did the Geraf Fleeter Corporation plant in Hanover a year or so ago, pretty big job."
"Hm. Where were you born?"
"Buenos Aires."
"Ever hold any government jobs? Civil Service? Police? Administrative? ACP?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Red tape. Disgusting bureaucrats."
"Nearest relative?"
"My brother, Arthur Mario. In Callaco. Coffee business."
"No wife?"
"No wife."
"Approximate worth? Wealth, possessions, real estate?"
"Oh-sixty, seventy thousand. Modestly comfortable. Enough so that I can loaf all I care to."
"Why did you come to the Chateau d'lf ?"
"Same reason that everybody else comes. Boredom. Repressed energy. Lack of something to fight against."
Alien laughed. "So you think you'll work off some of that energy fighting the Chateau d'lf?"
Mario smiled faintly. "It's a challenge."
"We've got a good thing here," Alien confided. "A wonder it hasn't been done before. How did you happen to come to the Chateau d'lf?"
"Five of us rolled dice. A man named Pete Zaer lost, He came, but he wouldn't speak to us afterwards."
Alien nodded sagely. "We've got to ask that our customers keep our secrets. If there were no mystery, we would have no customers."
"It had better be good," said Mario, "after all the buildup." And he thought he saw a flicker of humor in Alien's eyes.
"It's cheap at ten million."
"And quite dear at ten thousand?" suggested Mario.
Alien leaned back in his chair, and his beautiful face was cold as a marble mask. Mario suddenly thought of the girl in the front office. The same expression of untouchable distance and height. He said, "I suppose you have the same argument with everyone who comes in."
"Identical."
"Well, where do we go from here?"
"Are you healthy? Any organic defects?"