At another time, Shamar tried to explain free elections to a female. He was informed, "Man, just give me a way to cast a vote against all those crumbs--and then I'll think twice about all this guff you're peddling." A sober, scholarly man told him, "Join the Party? Whatever for? You join the Party and you're expected to spend all your free evenings at rallies and meetings and speeches and in ceremonial parades in honor of the ground breaking for a new automated factory. No, thank you." Another told him, "You need a lesson in economics, son. What do you mean by free society? The only way you can run an industrial society is to limit production. If you produce enough for everybody, the government would produce itself out of business. Look here. The Party has millions of tabulating machines of one kind or another clicking happily away day and night arranging production to fit income distribution. They've never been known to goof and produce a surplus of anything. Why, damn it, if every man, woman and child in the world went out to buy a pound of nails apiece, the shortage of nails would be fantastic. But would they produce more nails? You know they wouldn't. 'So you want more nails?' they'd say. 'Well, damn you, work for them!' And the price would go up. See what I mean, son? They'd have another stick to beat us with." Later, Shamar found himself seated on the floor across from an aesthetic in his late thirties. "You see, my friend, force and violence never accomplish their stated ends. We must stand firmly on the principle of non-violence." "But that's taking it laying down," Shamar protested. "No! Sometimes I think it goes to the very core of human existence. Perhaps this is the central import of all philosophy: the way things are done is more important than the ends that are obtained." At that point, Ge-Ge arrived breathlessly. "Shamar, quickly! We must go!" "Huh? I'm having this interesting little talk--" She tugged him from the floor. Baffled, he followed her. As he did so, the fighting broke out in the far corner of the room. "Quickly!" she said. "Let's get out of here before the police come." They fought their way, hand in hand, to the door. There they paused for a moment to look back. "It's a couple of rival socialist parties fighting," she explained breathlessly. "What about?" "God knows. Hurry." They were in the street. "Don't run, walk," she cautioned. After a block, she said, "I didn't even need to watch you at the end. Everybody got so drunk nobody noticed you much." "Even the spies?" "Oh, they always get the drunkest." The siren sounded. "Let's hurry." When they arrived at Shamar's apartment, she asked, "Well, what did you think of the party?" "It was an education," he said after a moment. V The following week Shamar spent many hours walking the streets of Xxla. He tried to convince himself that the people he had met at the party were not representative. They were.