"Be that as it may," said Lloyd, "let me say something: Quit. Quit now. Get out of this movement, whatever it is. You can't win, you know. The Goons are invincible. And I hate to think of you, falling under a Snapper Beam." "Death is death," the girl sighed. "One way or another." He looked at her, genuinely at sea. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Miss. I only helped you avoid hospitalization because I myself--Well, let my reasons go. But you shouldn't _fear_ going. Sure, it's annoying to be laid up for awhile, out of the swing of things, but--" The girl pulled her hand away. "You're joking," she said. "You must be joking. If you're truly the son of the Secondary Speakster, you _must_ know the truth!" "I still don't follow you," Lloyd said sincerely. "You _don't_ know!" the girl said, shaken. "You're really convinced that--Listen to me, listen carefully: There _are_ no hospitals! There is no Readjustment! There is only death." "You're out of your mind," Lloyd said, recoiling from her vehemence. "Of course there are hospitals. I've _seen_ them--!" "Sure," said the girl. "From a Tourgyro. Or in the movies. But have you ever _been_ to one? Have you ever met anybody who _returned_ from one?" "My dear girl," Lloyd protested, really growing concerned for her, "do you realize the _odds_ against meeting a hospital patient? With disease almost completely obliterated, and a civilization of ten million people--!" "Exactly," said the girl, with a peculiar note of triumph. "Ten million people. Never so much more as ten million and one, and seldom any less. Doesn't that perturb you?" "The wars--" Lloyd began. "Please," the girl groaned, shaking her head. "Spare me the enlistment speeches. I know the tales of all the men lost in the battles every quarter, giving their lives in defense of the Hive. Except that there _aren't_ any wars, nor battles, any more! There's nothing out on the planet except wild animals and growing plants! We're the only ten million people on Earth!" "That's impossible," said Lloyd. "It's childish to be so insular-minded. Our Hive is one of ten thousand such--" "Have you seen another, even _one_ other?" "For what?" said Lloyd. "All the Hives are alike." "They've really got you brain-washed, haven't they! You believe everything the Brain dictates, without question!" "I have to," said Lloyd, with what he thought was irrefutable logic. "There's no way of checking things like--Well, like your story of no wars. I mean, can I be expected to check out ten million people to see if the number of war dead coincides with the total in the Brain?" "No," said the girl. "You can't. Not so long as your movements are restricted to certain sectors, and you're told which street to use, which side of the street, which direction to walk, which hand to turn the knob with, which--" "Those are only traffic rules," Lloyd objected. "Can you imagine ten million people all going to the same sector at the same time? It'd be disastrous."