The chief called me in one day. He looked haggard. "Er--old man," he said, not quite able to bring himself to utter my name, "I'm going to have to switch you to another department. How would you like to work on nutrition kits? Very interesting work." "Nutrition kits? _Me?_ On nutrition kits?" "Well, I--er--know it sounds unusual, but it justifies. I just had the cybs work it over in the light of present regulations, and it justifies." Everything had to justify, of course. Every act in the monthly report had to be covered by regulations and cross-regulations. Of course there were so many regulations that if you just took the time to work it out, you could justify damn near anything. I knew what the chief was up to. Just to remove me from my post would have taken a year of applications and hearings and innumerable visits to the capital in Center One. But if I should infract--deliberately infract--it would enable the chief to let me go. The equivalent of resigning. "I'll infract," I said. "Rather than go on nutrition kits, I'll infract." He looked vastly relieved. "Uh--fine," he said. "I rather hoped you would." It took a week or so. Then I was on Non-Productive status and issued an N/P book for my necessities. Very few luxury coupons in the N/P book. I didn't really mind at first. My new living machine was smaller, but basically comfortable, and since I was still a loyal member of the state and a verified conformist, I wouldn't starve. But I didn't know what I was in for. I went from bureau to bureau, office to office, department to department--any place where they might use a space drive expert. A pattern began to emerge; the same story everywhere. When I mentioned my specialty they would look delighted. When I handed them my tag and they saw my name, they would go into immediate polite confusion. As soon as they recovered they would say they'd call me if anything turned up.... * * * * * A few weeks of this and I became a bit dazed. And then there was the problem of everyday existence. You might say it's lucky to be an N/P for a while. I've heard people say that. Basic needs provided, worlds of leisure time; on the surface it sounds attractive. But let me give you an example. Say it is monthly realfood day. You go to the store, your mouth already watering in anticipation. You take your place in line and wait for your package. The distributor takes your coupon book and is all ready to reach for your package--and then he sees the fatal letters N/P. Non-Producer. A drone, a drain upon the State. You can see his stare curdle. He scowls at the book again. "Not sure this is in order. Better go to the end of the line. We'll check it later." You know what happens before the end of the line reaches the counter. No more packages. Well, I couldn't get myself off N/P status until I got a post, and with my name I _couldn't_ get a post.