H.D. shrugged off a faint twinge of apprehension and leaned back in his seat. He looked out. The flyer was rocketing through clear air, high above a sea of crimson cotton, no longer accelerating. He relaxed and permitted himself a smile. He had life, health, and millions. The billions would come easily enough. Pah, what "unpleasant things" could mar this paradise? "You did have some news value as the oldest and one of the deadest Sleepers--but you've been thoroughly Probed out this last year." H.D. frowned impatiently. "What's this 'Probe' business? That woman mentioned it, and some 'Code'." "The Farbenstein Probe," Garry said, looking thoughtfully out at the darkling horizon, "is, in simple terms, a hypno-bio-physical technique for reaching and interpreting buried memories. Your thoughts and experiences are on file and the newsworthy ones have been published." H.D.'s mind refused to accept this horrible thought. He stared stupidly. "_No!_ It can't be!" he gasped. "It's--it isn't possible! It isn't _decent_!" "Oh, not _all_ your thoughts," he explained quickly. "Just--well, I'd better just tell you as well as I can about the Code." A very uneasy feeling mounted in H.D.'s breast as Garry continued. "The Ascension Code made some basic changes in the conditions of life. What it really did was take most of the irresponsibility out of people's behavior. Because the freezatoria gave people hope that had no faith in Heaven--so the Code gave them fear, that didn't fear God. The Code put justice on a remorseless eye-for-an-eye basis." H.D.'s blood ran slowly cold. He repressed the thought, denied it, rejected it, but in his heart he knew. His intuition had made the connection. Garry noted his heavy breathing, and felt a stir of pity. He continued, gazing out. "It's simple enough, in practise. Every fifty years each person must submit to a Survey--and all Sleepers when they're revived. By association techniques they're made, under the Probe, to admit everything they've done that was wrong, either by their own conscience or by the written law. "Then--well, you see--one outgrowth of the Probe is that _suffering_ has been classified, qualitatively and quantitatively. Oh, it's arbitrary on the edges, but not very, and where there's doubt there's charity, of course. "After the Survey, if he's passed a certain allowable maximum in wrongdoing, a person must go to--the penal colony and experience himself all the suffering he has caused, qualitatively and quantitatively as closely as possible." The question was only a whisper. "How long will I have to spend at this--this place--where did you say?" "The penal colony? It's on the fourth planet. I guess we used to call it Mars." He hesitated. "In your case, I'm afraid--well, they say you hurt a lot of people."