The monk handed it to him and went out. Zerchi left it unopened and glanced at the doctor’s pledge again. Worthless, perhaps. But still the man was sincere. And dedicated. He’d have to be dedicated to work for the kind of salary the Green Star paid. He had looked underslept and overworked. He’d probably been living on benzedrine and doughnuts since the shot that killed the city. Seeing misery everywhere and detesting it, and sincere in wanting to do something about it. Sincere-that was the hell of it. From a distance, one’s adversaries seemed fiends, but with a closer view, one saw the sincerity, and it was as great as one’s own. Perhaps Satan was the sincerest of the lot.