He plopped a pill marked "steak" into his mouth, nibbled absently at the ones labeled "bread" and "potatoes and gravy," and then followed with a pill called "coffee." It might have been funny had he been able to view the scene objectively, but the time when he had been able to do that had long passed. They were the best government-made pills and tasted not a bit like their labels. From the television set, an enthusiastic voice declared: "Ronson Rotors are the best, Try the thousand foot drop test, Be convinced it'll break your fall, Ronson Rotors are the best of all!" Furiously, Arthur Dunlop chewed on his pill marked "apple pie." There was a knock at the door. "Air tax," an authoritative voice called, and the door slid open to reveal an impassionate face surrounded by uniform. "Your respirators, please," the face directed in a monotone. "Monthly check." Arthur Dunlop extended his wrist, and the man, frowning importantly, noted several numbers from the respirator dial and wrote them in a small black book; he carefully examined the part that would tell if the device had been removed. Arthur resisted an impulse to ask the man for a refund for the Carbon Dioxide he had exhaled during the past month to see what reaction he might get. But the man, eager to get ahead, would welcome the opportunity to report someone less patriotic than he, and there would follow an investigation. Investigations were taken as a matter of course, naturally, and even investigators were being investigated with confusing regularity. But under the present circumstances, Arthur could hardly afford the risk. Entirely too much was at stake. * * * * * "You could use a new respirator," the air tax man said in the tone of a man who had said this same thing many times before. "Yes," Arthur agreed mechanically. "What kind would you suggest?" "What kinds do you like?" the man said testily. Arthur named the various kinds and the merits professed by each, to show that he had been attentive to the telecasts. The man, secure in the knowledge that Arthur was loyal to the cause, left. Arthur sighed a vague sigh that could mean almost anything and watched Helen stretch her long limbs, smooth and sensuous beneath their thin coverings. He wondered what thoughts, if any, were in her mind, but her lovely face was vacuous and non-committal as she reclined to dutifully watch the screen as a good citizen should. * * * * * The evening grew old, and with its aging came the insistence of various televised personalities that each product cavorting about the screen was undoubtedly the best possible, and anyone who didn't agree was most certainly an idiot of the most idiotic sort. Actually, since the government directed the manufacture of all commodities, it mattered little which product was bought, so long as they were bought. Finally--