“This other lever controls the lamps and the gas.” He moved it, and the glass box filled with a smoky blue light from tubes that ran the length of the inside edges. “That fog is an organic gas that seeps in at specific rate. It’s mixed with oxygen, and when you inhale it your lungs absorb it directly into the blood stream. In the presence of this ultra-violet H-light your body can utilize the stuff by photosynthesis. A shot of synthetic porphyrins once a month keeps up an abnormal sensitivity to light, and your blood stream manufactures enough carbohydrates to supply the minimum energy you use up lying prone and in your hour’s exercise a day.” “Exercise?” “Of course. There would be general atrophy of the whole body if you didn’t flex your muscles once in awhile. This short-wave light keeps your organs toned up and inhibits infection. The whole room is sterilized once a day or whenever the door is opened. The door, incidentally, locks only on the inside.” “What,” I asked, “would happen if I lay down in there?” “Nothing. You’ll have to have your own proxy molded and synchronized. They’re one-man affairs.” “Whatever made you think I’d have one of those blasted things around impersonating me,” I grouched. “Hell, you’re impossible. Get out of here. I’m going to sterilize this room.” I slammed out of the apartment before Alec’s proxy came to life. * * * * * The next morning I got Gwen on the phone. She was still a little cool, but she apologized. “It wasn’t fair for Tommy to push you around while you were _fleshing it_. If you reported him he’d stand a stiff fine.” “He’ll stand a carbon knock in his carburetor if he crosses me again,” I promised her. “How about you and me at the Vilt Ballroom tonight--in the flesh?” I added. There was a little silence. “You don’t understand, Bill. We don’t flesh it unless something serious happens to our proxies, and then only until they’re repaired. Besides, you’d better stay away from me until your proxy is completed. Tommy has taken certain proprietary rights in me these days, and he’s terribly jealous.” In my Sunday vocabulary I told her what the Government Health Bureau could do with their proxies. She took this as a reflection upon herself, which it more or less was, I guess. Anyway, she hung up on me. The first thing, I decided, was to teach Tommy the Open Door Policy. I didn’t want him butting in when I got in the swing with Gwen. I found his proxy at his office behind a lucite door labeled, ASSISTANT TRAFFIC MANAGER, Stratas Five. “Tommy,” I said, “for the sake of old times I won’t pop you. But get this straight, next time you shove that plastic nose into my business your proxy’ll be crying for a proxy. Incidentally, if you ever have guts enough to play paddy-cake for keeps, leave that super-stand-in at home and come see me.”