"How do you know all this?" Hendley felt the ground shifting under him once more. She couldn't be right. To suggest that the Organization was corrupt at the top went far beyond his own questionings. It made the entire society a fraud. It made all work futile, purposeless. She was silent, studying him. "Do you know about architects on a higher level? What happens to them?" Hendley frowned. "They get better assignments, more important ones. They work on the bigger projects. They get to do the more creative work. A 4-Dayman is a draftsman, for instance. A 2-Dayman designs." "It's the same with us," Ann said simply. "We know about the girls above us. The ones who are assigned to the Freeman Camps are like me. Mostly 5-Daygirls, some 4's, a few 3's. Almost none higher." She paused. "Where do you think the best girls go? Who do you think gets them?" Hendley was sitting up now. His head was spinning. He didn't want to hear any more. "The really beautiful girls," Ann said, "the ones who are much more attractive than I am, are pulled out of the group. They don't get the routine assignments. They're saved. When they're ready, they go on special order. Usually we don't see much of them after that. But we know where they go. We don't talk much about it, but we know." She pulled Hendley toward her again. Her voice was earnest. "You mustn't worry about these things, Hendley. There's nothing anyone can do. It's just the way things are." Her hands were urgent, pleading as her voice pleaded. "We've talked enough. There isn't much time left tonight. Love me, Hendley!" He clasped her with a kind of desperation. The warmth of her body, the resilient softness of the bed, the close dark intimacy of the small room--these were real, a speck of sanity careening through a universe of chaos, without sun or stars, without order or meaning. The texture of Ann's skin suddenly felt rough under his hand, prickling with cold. "You're cold," he murmured. He started to smile. "Or is it--?" He paused. A draft touched his body like cool fingers. But the air curtains shut out cold. And the door ... He twisted away from Ann, rolling toward the edge of the bed. He was too late. Heavy hands caught his legs. An arm encircled his neck tightly. As he struggled to break free someone fumbled at the left sleeve of his coverall, rolling it up. The technique was practiced, deft, quick. He felt the prick of the needle, but there was little pain. "Release him!" a voice spoke. There was amusement in the voice, a controlled, urbane mockery. "You!" Hendley stumbled to his feet. There were three men in the room. Two were strangers to him, including the one slipping a hypodermic needle into a small case. Recognition of the third man stung him to incredulous anger. "How did you get here?" Nik laughed. "I haven't lived in this camp all my life without learning a few of the ropes." "Is this your idea of pleasure-pure? Get out!"