Arthur breathed a sudden sigh of relief. So that was it, the automatic pay increase. It meant no financial gain, of course, since he would also automatically be put in a higher tax bracket which would just offset the increase. Pay raises were for "morale" purposes only. "Thank you, sir," Arthur said, hoping he sounded as though he meant it. "Quite all right," Samson said, turning once more to his papers. "Yes, sir." Arthur strode, relieved, from the office. * * * * * The rest of the workday passed uneventfully and it was time to leave. The soft hum of preparations testified to that. Plans were folded, locked securely into desks, and workers filed past probing mechanical eyes that scanned them for anything hidden. Doors whirred open electrically, and humanity poured through them into tubecars which hissed with sickening speed to the helibus terminal. Arthur flowed into a helibus with the others, and his heart gave a sudden jump as he saw a familiar blonde form ahead of him. Julie! He wormed his way forward and sank onto the air-cushion beside her. She did not look at him. The helibus lurched skyward. She was staring out the window, at the blue sky and the cloudfaces and the sun beginning to dip low at the horizon. The building they had left glowed with the million setting suns reflected from its great bank of windows. After awhile, her fingers moved restlessly. Arthur Dunlop watched them idly. The movements were swift, seemingly random but actually precise and predetermined. They said: "I couldn't hesitate at your desk; I had to take a chance with the note." Arthur glanced complacently about him, stifling a yawn. His fingers rippled: "Who is the WBI agent?" "Underground doesn't know--yet," she told him silently. "Meet me tonight." "Will I see the leader?" he asked. "Meet me tonight," was all she would reply. He nodded, as though to himself, and stared at the signs adorning the inside of the bus. Names made familiar by television leaped at him. There was Ronson, Franklin, Stallman, Eliot, names of all kinds to give the impression of existence to a long-dead free enterprise; all were government owned, competing to enhance the illusion. Who was the leader, he wondered, and why the secrecy? Some government bigwig probably, who kept his secret from all but a few. Well, time would tell. He glanced out the window at the countryside rushing below. Trees. Green fields. The beginnings of the city of small square dwellings. A man got up, went to the rear of the helibus. After awhile, Arthur rose, went down the aisle to the exit platform. He paused for a minute, and then he stepped into space.