Friday night Ge-Ge announced "Shamar, I can't stand much more of this! What's going to happen? What is Von Stutsman going to do? He's onto something. I sometimes wish--oh, God!--I sometimes wish something would happen so we'd know where we stand, so we'd know what to do!" He tried to put an arm around her, but she brushed it away. "Don't! Let me alone!" She retired to the other side of the room. For a moment, and for no reason, the hostility in the air between them was like ice and fire. "I'm sorry," Ge-Ge said curtly. "That's all right," Shamar said, his voice cold and distant. "Let's talk about something else." They were silent for a minute. Then he said, "I wanted to ask you. Of all the people I talked to, I couldn't find anyone who seemed to give a damn, one way or the other, about Earth. Why is that? You'd think they'd be at least talking about Earth." "Why should they be? We've got our own problems." At that point, the police arrived and took Shamar the Worker away. * * * * * They put him in a cell in which there were already three other prisoners. "What you in for, buddy?" Shamar studied the prisoner for a moment without answering. His companions looked up. "No visible means of support," Shamar said. "I'm Long John Freed." Shamar nodded. "They're trying to hook you for evading the productivity tax, huh?" Shamar declined comment. Freed settled back on his bunk. "I say take them for all you can. Now, look, you're a little guy. So they bleed us white. Take a factory manager or an important Black Market operator--you think they pay taxes? You can bet they don't. It's a racket. The poor pay and pay because they can't hire fancy lawyers to lie for them; and the rich take and take. I don't see why the Party puts up with it." Freed shifted his position. "Say what you will about the Party--and I know it's got it's faults--still, there are dedicated men in it. I may be a small-time crook, but I'm as patriotic as the next man. The Party's done a lot of good. "First time for you? How old are you, twenty-seven or so? First time, they usually try to recruit you for the Factory Force. "It's not such a bad racket. When you start out, they toss you in with lots of kids--usually the draftees. You get six weeks pick-and-shovel, and you're really dragging when you finish that. Then comes specialist school. "Try to get in as an electrician or plumber. Plasterers or bricklayers have to work too hard. Carpentry's not bad--I'd hold out for cabinet-making, rather than rough carpentry, if I had to go into that. Then there's real specialties. Tile laying. You have to have a personality for that, or you'd go nuts. Demolition's not too bad; you blow up obsolete factories. That would have been right down my alley." Freed was silent a moment, then he resumed: