The Dragon Slayers

In a gleaming chrome and glass federal building located at the center of Venusport, Division Chief Carl Wattles wearily arose from his office couch. He had been taking his usual two-hour, after-lunch nap, but today it had brought him little refreshment. Earlier he had received an unexpected report that made sleep impossible.

"John?" he mumbled.

John Claxson, the generously padded assistant division chief, stopped drilling out his earwax but did not remove his feet from the blotter of his desk. "Yeah, Chief?"

"I've heard from the Kentons again."

"I thought something was deviling you, the way you was carrying on in your sleep." He raised thick eyebrows. "Is their production down again?"

"Worse than that, John. Kenton has had the gall to request time off to build a new house!"

"No! I can't believe it."

"I can't either, John. They know it's not in the Manual."

"Certainly it's not, Chief. The nerve of those people wanting to do something that's not in the Manual!"

"People like us wrote the Manual, John," the Chief added with simple modesty. "That is why it is so good, good, good."