_While the hunter was still engaged in caring for his two sick charges, the drone of an aircraft wove a thin thread of sound across the bright blue sky. Reaching the drifting smoke signals, the aircraft swung in slow circles, each one lower. It was a crude craft, lightweight and spindly looking, but very maneuverable._ _The hunter glanced up. Banking low above him, the aircraft seemed to balance on one wingtip. From the windowed cabin the pilot waved. The hunter, smiling, returned the salute._ _As the plane veered off toward the flat plain below, where it would be safe to land, the hunter rose. He began to search the area for materials from which to fashion a stretcher. It would take, he reckoned, a half hour for the pilot to reach him, another hour to transport the two strangers down to the aircraft. He set to work._ _The man on the ground stirred and opened his eyes._ * * * * * RIGID! LOCKED! ENSLAVED! that was our Earth in 2200. East and West had merged at last, so there were no more wars, no more political differences. Citizens everywhere could concentrate on working off their TAX DEBTS! If you were capable and industrious, you might be able to make freeman status for the last few years of your life. No one questioned. No one spoke out. No one rebelled until one bright morning Citizen TRH-247 decided not to go to work--and worse than that, became desirous of a girl below his own classification! Thus he made himself an outcast with the whole world against him and mere survival dependent on his wits, his daring, his strength. THE SENTINEL STARS--a novel of our world run as the Bureau of Internal Revenue would run it!