The Dark Lady

less than one hundred occasions,” I said, trying without success to think of yet another limiting factor.
    “72,877 men will be eliminated.”
    “How many remain?”
    “1,259 men remain.”
    “Now eliminate those men who have voluntarily entered life-threatening situations on less than two hundred occasions.”
    “1,252 men will be eliminated.”
    “So we're down to seven men.”
    “ If you are using a valid criterion,” cautioned the computer.
    “If I am, we might as well follow it through to the end. How many of these men have voluntarily entered life-threatening situations on less than 250 occasions?”
    “All seven men will be eliminated.”
    “Then I shall need another criterion,” I said.
    “The next logical step is to determine which man has risked his life more frequently than the other six.”
    “Perhaps,” I said. “But there is very little difference between them. Each seems to live in continual mortal danger.” I paused. “Still, for the record, I suppose you should give me the name of the man who heads the list.”
    “Gottfried Schenke of Tumiga III.”
    “In what manner does he continually face death?” I asked.
    “He collects the mollusks that live in the largest ocean of Tumiga III.”
    “Why is that dangerous?”
    “The waters are inhabited by numerous carnivorous fish and animals. Schenke has been hospitalized four times in the last nine years as a result of their attacks.”
    “But hundreds of millions of people swim in carnivore-infested waters all across the galaxy,” I protested. “Surely tens of millions of them have entered the water more than 250 times!”
    “That is true.”
    “Then why is only Schenke on the list?”
    “Because your criterion specified that each man must knowingly and voluntarily enter a life-threatening situation. All but the smallest handful of swimmers do not know or believe that they are entering such a situation, and would not enter it if they were aware of the dangers or felt personally threatened by them.”
    “I see,” I replied. Suddenly another criterion occurred to me. “Now eliminate from that list of seven men those who are homosexuals.”
    “Three men are eliminated. Four men remain, including Gottfried Schenke.”
    “Who are the other three?”
    “Wilfred Kramer of Hallmark, a big-game hunter in the jungles of Hallmark, Alsatia IV, and Karobus XIII.” The computer paused. “Eric Nkwana of New Zimbabwe, who holds seventeen mount-diving records.”
    “What is mount-diving?” I asked.
    “A sport in which the participant dives from a mountaintop into a rushing river.”
    I shuddered at the thought of it.
    “Who is the other?” I asked.
    “Vladimir Kobrynski of Saltmarsh. He has been a prizefighter, a skydiver, a test animal, a— ”
    “A test animal?” I interrupted. “Please explain.”
    “He volunteered to receive injections of virulent diseases for which cures were being sought.”
    “Is that not contrary to our nonbenevolence criterion?”
    “I do not believe so,” responded the computer. “At the time he was serving a prison sentence for the crime of manslaughter, resulting from the altercation on Altair III. He volunteered for the injections in exchange for a reduction of his sentence. Shall I continue?”
    “Please do.”
    “He has also been a hunter and an explorer, and he is currently an artist.”
    “What is life-threatening about being an artist?” I asked, mystified.
    “He has created a new art form called plasma painting, a highly dangerous procedure whereby hard radiation is illuminated and manipulated into a glowing work of cosmic art which dissipates in less than a minute.”
    “He certainly seems to have courted her vigorously,” I mused.
    “He has actually entered life-threatening situations on seventeen fewer occasions than Gottfried Schenke,” said the computer.
    “But Schenke may simply be a devoted collector,” I said. “This man seems to have structured his entire life in pursuit of the Dark Lady.”
    “Have you any further questions?”
    “I cannot think of any,” I replied with an exhausted sigh. “I just wish I knew whether or not this entire evening was simply an exercise in futility.”
    “I cannot answer that.”
    “I know,” I said wearily. “I don't suppose any of the four men on our final list has painted a portrait of the Dark Lady within the past two weeks?”
    “No,” answered the computer. “In fact, only one of them has ever evinced any interest in