"Just walking, Mr. Mead?"

"Yes."

"But you haven't explained for what

purpose."

"I explained; for air, and to see, and just to

walk."

There was a

sigh, a pop. The back door of the police car sprang

wide. "Get in."

"Wait a minute, I haven't done anything!"

"Get in."

"I protest!"

"Mr. Mead."

He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he

passed the front window of the car he looked in. As

he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no

one in the car at all.

"Get in."

He put his hand to the door and peered into

the back seat, which was a little cell, a little black jail

with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of

harsh antiseptic; it smelled too clean and hard and

metallic. There was nothing soft there.

"Now if you had a wife t

Government, or would you prefer a private burial place? The fee for Government burial is ten

dollars.”

“This is the Government Educational Service. Your son, Richard M. Jordan, Classification 600-115

has completed the Government examination. We regret to inform you that his intelligence quotient

has exceeded the Government regulation, according to Rule 84 Section 5 of the New Code.”

“This is different. This is a — special kind of test. They give you this stuff to drink, you see, and then

you go into a room where there’s a sort of machine —”

children catapulted this way and that across the green lawns, shouting at each other, holding

hands, flying in circles, climbing trees, laughing.”