"You're under arrest," said the Secret Policeman. "Why? What have I done?" "Not a thing, as far as we know," said a Storm Trooper. "Not a single solitary thing. That's why we're arresting you." "Arbitrary police powers," the Secret Policeman explained. "Suspension of search warrants and habeas corpus. Invasion of privacy. War, you know. Come along quietly, sir. You have a special and very important part to play in the war effort." "What's that?" "You have been arbitrarily selected as Martyr," said the Secret Policeman. Head held high, Thrang marched proudly to his destiny. * * * * * The whole of Mala took to war with a will. Soon books began to appear on the stalls: _War and You_ for the masses, _The Erotic Release of War_ for the elite, _The Inherent Will to Destroy_ for philosophers, and _War and Civilization_ for scholars. Volumes of personal experiences sold well. Among them was an account of daring sabotage by a former zipper salesman, and the dramatic story of the Martyrdom of Thrang. War eliminated a thousand old institutions and unburdened the people of the heavy hand of tradition. War demonstrated clearly that everything was as temporary as a match-flash except Art and Man, because cities, buildings, parks, vehicles, hills, museums, monuments were as whispers of dust after the bombers had gone. Among the proletariat, the prevailing opinion was voiced by Zun, who was quoted as saying at a war plant party, "Well, there ain't nothin' in the stores I can buy. But I never made so much money in my life!" In the universities, professors boned up on the subject in order to fit themselves for Chairs of War that were sure to be endowed. All they had to do was wait until the recent crop of war profiteers were taxed into becoming philanthropists, or driven to it by the sense of guilt that the books assured them they would feel. Armies grew. Soldiers learned to paint, salute, curse, appreciate home cooking, play poker, and fit themselves in every way for the post-war civilian life. They broadened themselves with travel and got a welcome vacation from home and hearth. War, the Malans agreed, was certainly one of the cleverest of Earth institutions and as educational as it was entertaining. * * * * * "Nope," Beliakoff was saying, "you wouldn't like Ran-hachi Prison, not one little bit. It's on Mercury, you know, in the twilight zone. You blister by day and you freeze by night. Only two men have escaped from Ran-hachi in the last hundred years, and one of them figured his curve wrong and flipped into Sol." "What about the other one?" Kelly asked, perspiring lightly. "His gyros fused. He was bound straight for the Coal Sack. Take him a couple of thousand years to get there, at his speed," Beliakoff finished dreamily. "No, Johnny, you wouldn't like Ran-hachi." "Okay, okay," Kelly said. "The death penalty would be better."