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The Column Infiltrator

by Steven Gordon





Chapter 1





	It isn't easy, trying to sell state secrets.

	I should know, because I had to sit around, literally for days, 
waiting for the opportunity.

	I was in Banxital's, a seedy bar on the outskirts of Dulle.  
That's on Varisk II.  It's one of the most advanced planets in the 
League, so they say.  Dulle, the largest city  on the western coast of 
the main continent, was home to one of the biggest research centers of 
the fleet.  Very secret.  Very hush-hush.

	I sat in the bar, sighing as I sipped my drink.  I had let it be 
known, by means both subtle and otherwise, that I was a disgruntled 
employee at the local research base.  And that was all there was for me 
to do.  I had parked myself in this bar for the last week, and here I 
sat, here I waited.

	I hated waiting.  I was an operative, an agent, a man of action.  
Oh, I knew that some people enjoyed the prospect of tedious 
assignments.  They actually enjoyed the freedom from thought.  But not 
me.  No, I was going out of my mind from the dullness of this job.

	I was up for a vacation, but did I get it?  No.  I ask for 
infiltration work, and do I get that either?  No.  Instead, I sat 
there, waiting.  Me, Clifford Croft, the hottest young operative in the 
Column.  I could be on Sluria, on an important espionage mission.  The 
Column always needed more espionage work on Sluria.  Instead, I was 
stuck here.  I had very little patience for sit and bait work.

	The denizens of the bar seemed to be enjoying themselves well 
enough.  They sipped their watered down liquor and stared, often with 
unfocused eyes, at the transceiver mounted on the wall.  It was tuned 
into the finals from the zero gravity boosball tournament on Eridani II 
(Beta Centauri was ahead, last time I looked).  Everyone ignored me as 
I sat there, at a corner table.  I tried, with little effort, to look 
like just another grumpy worker.

	And then they showed up.

	Charles Waxman and Stanton Norno.  Not their real names, of 
course, simply the fictional ID's they had presented at the spaceport.  
And how do I know this?  I'm a spy, remember?

	Yes, they were using false ID's, to be sure.  I looked them over 
a bit.  One of them was short and thin, sporting a dull looking 
expression on his square-ish little head.  His head really did look a 
little square shaped.  It was symmetrical in almost every way.  I 
marveled at the creature before me.

	The other operative was taller, and looked normal, except for the 
moustache.  He wore a long and bushy creature, that, by the looks of 
it, slanted down over either side of his mouth, like the handlebars on 
a jetcycle.  Suddenly I blinked, forgetting their names.  Just what 
were they supposed to be called again?  I suddenly decided to think of 
them as just Squarehead and Handlebars.

	"Maxo Naxo?"

	I looked up.  They were now standing at my table.  That was the 
alias I had been operating under.  The trouble was, I wasn't very good 
with names.  I had a tendency to forget important ones, including my 
own.  My cover name, that is.  So I always picked a name that rhymed a 
little.  My real name, as I've mentioned before, was Clifford Croft, 
and everyone knew that--at the Column.  But these gentlemen didn't work 
at the Column.  At least, not at my Column.

	"Yes?" I said, looking up at Squarehead and Handlebars, with a 
slightly apprehensive look on my face.  That's good, I thought.  They 
would expect me to look that way.  I had purposely practiced in the 
mirror each morning to get that expression just right.

	Squarehead and Handlebars sat down, uninvited.  "We understand 
you're working at the base," said Squarehead.  He really did have a 
square shaped head.  It's almost as if you could turn it on its side, 
and it would still have the same width and height.  All that was 
missing were the four points at the corners. 

	"Maybe," I said, playing hard to get.  "What's it to you?"

	"We also understand you're experiencing certain... cash flow 
problems."

	"Who told you that?" I said suspiciously.  I couldn't be expected 
to be too naive.  Even these amateurs would begin to suspect.

	Handlebars grinned.  "We do our homework.  Mr. Naxo, we have a 
proposition we'd like to share with you." I wondered what kind of 
service hired such weird looking agents.  The problem with Handlebars 
was that he stood out too much.  That hairy beast under his nose looked 
so much like a lowercase 'n'.  N for no-good.  How inconspicuous could 
that be?

	"An offer for a mutual arrangement," Squarehead chipped in, as if 
Handlebars hadn't been crystal clear.  This was the offer to betray the 
research center I ostensibly worked at, in case I hadn't been paying 
attention.

	Well, it was about time.  I had been waiting nearly a week for 
them to show up.  The Chief knew that I was a top field agent, one of 
the best infiltrators he had.  And yet I had inexplicably been assigned 
this simplistic decoy assignment.

	They made me an offer, of course.  Money, in return for access to 
the base.  I tried to jack up the price--I'm always curious to see what 
the going rate for traitors are nowadays, and my new friends obligingly 
named a much higher figure.  By an order of magnitude.

	I whistled.  They must really want into the base, bad.  They of 
course didn't tell me what they wanted there, but once I got them in, 
they would have quite a range of defense secrets and other goodies to 
choose from.

	I haggled a little more over the price, but it was vanity, 
really--I could sense this was a one time deal, which probably meant 
that they would kill me afterwards, to obscure their tracks.  My, this 
assignment could get risky.

	But I agreed to their terms.  They wanted to go now, right then 
and there.  Evidently whatever it was they wanted to steal, they wanted 
to do so in a hurry.  Which was fine by me.

	It was night now, and my classification wasn't high enough to get 
us through the main gate, but I obligingly informed them of the alarm 
frequencies on the fence and they burned their way through.

	After that we darted through the darkness of the outer compound, 
evading the patrols.  My benefactors indicated they wished to go to the 
avionics building, and I used my passcard to gain us entrance.  As we 
entered we walked under a dim light, and I couldn't restrain the 
smallest of smiles.

	The records section was empty, no one was working there at this 
time of night.  After I secured their entry, Handlebars hurriedly 
closed the door behind us and then turned to search the files.  
Squarehead kept an eye on me and the door.  Very professional.

	I smiled innocently enough at Squarehead.  "Anything I can help 
with?" I said to Handlebars, who was rapidly tearing the files apart.  

	Handlebars ignored me.  He was tossing files on the floor as he 
combed through them.

	"Hey hey," I protested.  "You're making a mess!"

	Handlebars kept plowing through the records.  "Found it!" he 
said, seconds later.  He removed a file labeled "Digital Directional 
Circuitry."

	"Fine," I said.  "Would you like to pay me now, or when we get 
over the fence?"

	"Now," said Handlebars, nodding slightly to Squarehead.  
Squarehead drew a blaster, pointing it at me.

	"On second thought, you can pay me later," I said, trying to 
assuage their concerns about proper remuneration.

	"Don't move," said Handlebars, seeing my hand subtly moving 
inside my jacket.  I slowly removed my hand from my jacket, letting 
both arms fall to my side.  They had the drop on me.

	"We know what you're about, Column man," sneered Handlebars.

	Oh oh.  "You do?"

	"We've known all along that you're with the Column," Handlebars 
explained.  He looked pleased now, all too terrible happy.  "But we 
really needed to get into the base, and we didn't have the time to 
recruit a real traitor."

	"Uh-huh," I said, not even attempting to deny their allegations.  
It was time for a change of tact.  "You'll never get out of here alive.  
Our agents-"

	"-won't spring until you give the signal.  We're very conversant 
with Column procedure."

	Oh oh.

	Squarehead raised his blaster.  His fingers tightened on the 
trigger.  "And so, we'd like to thank you for your assistance-"

	"Wait!" I cried.  "If you're going to kill me, at least let me 
know what I'm dying for.  Who are you working for?  The Slurians?"

	Handlebars shook his head.  "Sorry, we don't take last requests."  
He dangled a passcard from his pocket.  "We'd love to stay and chat, 
but we've got a date with a transport."

	I started to put forward another objection, just as Squarehead 
pulled the trigger of his blaster.

	Click.

	Horrified, he checked the settings, pressed again.

	Click.

	Handlebars fired his own weapon, similarly to no avail.

	All the while I slowly drew a weapon from my own jacket.  "Want 
to bet on whether mine will work?" I said, smiling.

	They raged at me with dirty expressions on their faces.  
Squarehead muttered something intelligible.

	"You know, you really do have a square head," I commented, almost 
conversationally.  I covered them while my other hand went inside my 
jacket, pressing the signal activator. It was actually a squeeze toy 
that emitted a high pitch sound--it had no energy source of its own. 
But others were monitoring with sophisticated instruments and waiting 
for just such a sound.  

	As I did pressed the activator Squarehead ran for it, heading for 
the door.  I instinctively fired at him, and there was a loud swoosh 
and a thunk as a sleep dart slammed into his side.  Squarehead 
collapsed to the ground.

	My gun immediately swiveled to cover Handlebars.  "Don't try it, 
Handlebars," I said sternly.

	Handlebars looked puzzled.  "Handlebars?"

	I gestured with my free hands around my lips.  "The moustache, 
your silly moustache, you silly amateur, you."

	I heard the sounds of movement, and then my people suddenly 
trooped in, all at once, and took charge.  They grabbed the spies, 
dragging them away.

	"How....?" said Handlebars, as they slapped the electrocuffs on 
him.

	"Energy drainer," I said.  "We thoughtfully  put them up over the 
entrances to all the buildings.  Your blasters were drained the minute 
you stepped through the door."  I reached into his pocket, took out the 
pass card, dangling it momentarily in front of his face.  "But thanks 
for the information."

	They took him away, as I chuckled to myself.  "Amateurs."



	As I've said, I've been with the Column for some time now.  My, 
how time has passed quickly.  I remember that fateful day when I 
graduated college and had to make the big career decision.  I could 
have gone into the family business (boring), become a teacher (and 
taken a vow of poverty), or gone into politics (that vacuous field), or 
a half dozen other endeavors.  But the Column attracted me the most.  I 
liked the idea of traveling to other planets, sampling a bit of foreign 
culture, cracking into a top security installation, doing some spying, 
and, on occasion, catching some enemy spies.  It was a life of 
adventure, excitement, constant thrill and danger.

	At least, that's what I thought before  I joined.  It turned out 
that 90% of all Column people were paper passers and button pushers, 
analysts and logisticians.  I think I would've quit if I had ended up 
among them.  A scant 10% or so are field agents, and even most of those 
have boring jobs, like the sit and bait assignment I just pulled off.  
But I got into infiltration work.  That's the fun stuff.  Going to 
other planets, taking the fight to the enemy.  That's where the real 
challenge is.

	The only catch was the danger factor.  Agent casualty rates were 
considerably higher than those of comparable groups of businessmen, 
teachers, and politicians.  But capture, torture, and risk of death 
came with the job.  I never gave it much thought; I was always too good 
to be caught.

	The next day the Chief sent for me.  Alden Alderman himself.  I 
came, at the appointed time, only to find that I had arrived too 
precisely on the hour; I loitered for a few moments in the outer 
offices, so that I would be a few minutes late.  It's never good to 
show up to appointments on time.  Especially with superiors.  It gives 
them the wrong idea of who's really in charge.

	"You're late, Croft," the Chief growled, as I took a seat.  The 
Chief always growled.  That was the Chief's way.  He had a face like a 
bulldog, with loud jowls that flapped every time he talked.  I always 
thought he looked laughable, but now I realize he could have looked 
even sillier.

	He could have had a square head.

	"What can I do for you, Chief?" I said, giving A.A. my broadest 
smile.  "Did you wring those spies dry?"  That's a good tactic; it's 
always proper form to bring recent successes to the Chief's attention.  
A gentle reminder of my value to the firm.

	"Yes," he growled.  "They talked.  But they didn't know much.  
They were outside contractors.  We traced the passcard to a transport 
ship.  And then we traced the transport ship."

	'And?" I said.  I always had to prod A.A. for information; I 
think he liked it that way.  It showed him that the audience was still 
paying attention.

	"We traced it to the Happy Worlds."

	For a moment, my heart grew cold.  "The Happy Worlds." I 
repeated, a little dumbly.

	"We've detected a pattern of stepped up espionage of late," said 
the Chief.  "Many of our scientific and military installations are 
being raided for information.  We've traced several of the unsuccessful 
attempts to the Happy Worlds."

	Brrr.  That name again.  No one knew very much about the Happy 
Worlds, largely because no one ever went there.  The League didn't even 
have diplomatic relations with the Happy Worlds, and trade, as far as 
we know, was nonexistent.  But what we did know about the Happy Worlds 
wasn't very nice.

	The Happy Worlds, as they are known, are actually a group of 
systems in the rather remote Gamma Sector, at the fringes of human 
existence.  They are shut off, isolated from the rest of humanity.  
Their worlds are tightly controlled by a narrow circle of dictators.  
How tight is tight?  Well, intelligence reports, if one could believe 
them, state that each and every mind on the Happy Worlds is under the 
control of the rulers.  Each citizen is under a tight mental reign, 
conditioned to obey authority, to be productive, and... to be happy.  
Happy?

	I never believed the rumors, but then I had never gotten close 
enough to get an informed opinion of my own.  Nor did I want to.  
Unfortunately, I was getting an uncomfortable feeling....

	The Chief was looking at me.  "The next, step, logically, is to 
send a field agent-"

	"No.  No, no, and no," I said, making sure I was being thoroughly 
unambiguous.  "I categorically do not volunteer myself for this 
assignment."  I loved infiltration work, but this was suicide.

	"Croft, we need to know what is going on there.  You're one of my 
best people," he said, uncharacteristically softening a bit.

	"Send someone else," I snarled.

	"I have.  Two agents in the past three years," said the Chief.  
"Neither returned.  They have a very orderly society there.  It makes 
it difficult to infiltrate. We need to find out what is happening 
there.  We need to find out more about the Happy Worlds, and what it is 
they're after.  You will go."

	There was no arguing with the Chief.  A.A.'s mind was made up.  
Sighing, I made the best of it.  "Then I volunteer for this assignment.  
I'm happy to be on this mission. "  I got positively worked up about 
it.  "In fact, I'm glad to be a part of it."  

	"Good," said the Chief, ignoring the sarcasm.  "You'll be sent to 
Negan 14 immediately."

	"Negan?"

	"Negan 14, part and parcel of the Negan Empire.  That's what the 
Happy Worlders call it, at least," said A.A.

	"Negan 14?  Is that it?  There's no individual planet name?" I 
asked.

	"There's no individual anything on those planets," said A.A., 
matter of factly.

	I felt a small shiver go down my spine.  This was not a good way 
to start a mission.  "Nice name," I muttered.

	"You leave immediately," the Chief repeated.  Then, by way of 
dismissal, he said, "Report to Ops."

	The Chief turned to his paperwork.  That was that.  Another piece 
of cannonfodder had been sent on its way.  Not even a hearty "Go 
get'm!" or even a trite but appropriate "Good luck."  I sighed, and 
started to get up to leave.

	"Good luck," said A.A., not even bothering to look up.  Maybe he 
couldn't afford to make eye contact with an agent he was about to lose.  
But he did look at his watch.  "Better hurry along.  Ops is waiting for 
you."

	Ops was indeed waiting for me.  They strapped me into a helmet 
which went down over my forehead, and strapped monitoring instruments 
to my body.  But I ignored it all.  I was thinking about the Happy 
Worlds.  How did they control millions of people?  Drugs?  Telepathy?  
If it were telepathy, I would be spotted immediately.  I caught myself 
shivering, and forced myself to stop; twice in one hour was a bad sign.

	I felt a sting in my arm.  "Ow!" I said, complaining to the 
technician.  Then the helmet started to hum, and my mind started to 
feel fuzzy.  All my fears started to drain as my thoughts clouded....



	I saw, or imagined I saw, a small, foxy looking white animal. A 
dog, maybe.

	I opened my eyes, suddenly coming to with a start.  A thought 
faded, even as I grabbed for it.  I blinked, trying to remember 
something, even as a technician was removing my helmet.  I rubbed my 
arm, which was sore.  There were a number of pinpricks there.  I got 
up, cautiously stretching.  My mind felt disoriented.  I didn't 
remember hypnoinstruction being that rough.  But now I knew the native 
language, and I had the pertinent mission details in my mind.  I was 
ready.

	Or as ready as I was going to be.



Chapter 2



    	 I was alone.

	Alone, on a special stealthy Column scoutship.  No one could spot 
me.

	Well, maybe that's an exaggeration.  At close distances even an 
antiquated detection system would pick up my blip.  "Stealth" was one 
of those things, like deceiving your boss, that one could improve on 
over time, but never get entirely perfect.  If anyone was looking a 
little too closely, I would be discovered.

	But I was as stealthy as any League ship could be; in fact, more 
stealthy than most.  The Column never skimped on getting the best 
hardware.  They saved money by keeping other accounts trim, such as 
death benefits.

	My speedy scoutship was, in spaceship terms, the relative size of 
a pea.  A good salvo from a blaster cannon could demolish it.  Still, I 
hummed contently as the days went by; this was the safest part of my 
mission.  The real danger would come when I landed.

	The ship rocketed towards the Negan Empire, in particular the 
Happy World that the transport ship had been traced to.  Negan 14.  One 
of many Happy Worlds.  Soon I would be there, up to my armpits in Happy 
Worlders.  This thought did not make me happy.

	You have to understand; I'm good.  I'm really good.  I penetrated 
the sealed vault on Gulatron after four agents died trying.  I've 
infiltrated the upper reaches of the government on Callos IV.  I've 
invaded where others of my fellow agents have failed.  But the Happy 
Worlds gave me the shivers.

	I poured myself a drink and tried to be a little more analytical.  
It was the fear of the unknown, of course.  The Happy Worlds were cut 
off from the rest of the League.  Their societies were very ordered, 
very top-down controlled.  Though it would be more difficult to stay 
hidden in such a society, it would still be possible.  I could fool 
them; I hadn't yet met the adversary that I couldn't outthink.  

	But then there was the business of the mind control.

	I coughed, putting down my drink.  That was what was bothering 
me.  I've faced the risk of capture, torture, even death.  But I was 
greatly alarmed by the thought of my mind being taken from me, used, 
controlled, abused... or perhaps they would simply destroy my brain, 
and turn me into a genially humming vegetable.

	I idly thought of turning the scout around, and setting a course 
for a more, well, friendlier place.  But I was on a mission and I 
couldn't shirk my duty.  And besides, the Column would be more than a 
little peeved when they caught up with me.

	"Enough talk of gloom and doom!" I shouted, my voice echoing in 
the small command cabin.  I was the best of the best; I would show 
those Happy Worlders a thing or two.

	I sat there in the control room, musing over my situation.  It 
was impossible to make concrete plans because I had so little 
information.  Usually when I infiltrated a society I didn't even set a 
small toe in before I had had extensive briefings on its culture, 
psychology, sociology, technology, and a whole host of other ologies 
that make a society what it is.  But here I was, in a pea sized ship, 
speeding towards a planet I knew practically nothing about.

	"That's good," I said aloud, again solely for the benefit of the 
listening audience.  "Good.  It will give me flexibility.  Who needs 
plans?  Planners plan.  I'm a man of action."

	But I wasn't convincing myself.  Suddenly I thought of the image 
of electrodes wired to my head, sapping my personality...  I blinked, 
forcing the image from my mind.  I checked the rangefinder.  I was 
coming up on the planet.  I had to be ready to land.

	Or not to.  Our feeble intelligence branch couldn't tell me very 
much about the state of Happy World technology.  If their space 
defenses were more advanced than ours, I would be discovered and shot 
down in short order.  My ship would burst into flames and blow up in 
the atmosphere.  Not a nice thought.

	But I tended to doubt that would happen.  For one thing, if their 
technology was superior to the League's, what were they doing stealing 
League technology?  That was the very question I had been sent to 
answer.

	

	I arrived.  

	Negan 14, the Happy World I was heading for, was a large 
magnesium copper rock, about 50,000 miles in diameter.  My passive 
detectors picked up some pickets in the area, but they were slow 
moving, and didn't seem to notice my approach.  

	So I hoped.  I kept a careful eye on them as I monitored the 
rangefinder.  A sudden movement towards me would indicate detection.  I 
watched them make their plodding circuits around the system.

	They paid me not the slightest attention.  As I entered the 
atmosphere of planet 14, I slowed, braking as I decelerated.  Perhaps I 
would be able to land undetected after all.

	And then I saw the red light blinking on my console.  Someone had 
gotten a lock on me.  I immediately activated my active detection 
systems.  There, on the screen, were three surface to air missiles.  
All homing in on me.

	They were large, oval shaped brutes.  I set the analyzer to the 
merry task of finding out just what it was that they had sent up after 
me.  When the answer came I raised my eyebrows.  Chemical rocket 
engines... graviton stabilizers... Pallium warheads.  My my.  What an 
odd mix of the new and the old.

	Even before the analysis came through I was accelerating to 
maximum speed.  The ship creaked, and skipped a little on the 
atmosphere, but I wasn't worried about burning up; the missiles would 
reach the scout long before that would happen.  For although these were 
mere chemical rockets, they were built for easy maneuvering in an 
atmosphere, and my ship wasn't.  A small oversight.

	I periodically glanced at the rangefinder to track the progress 
of the missiles as I loaded my equipment in the escape pod.  
Unfortunately, my scoutship was unarmed, another technical 
specification I had not been not very pleased with.

	I threw everything I would need into the escape pod as fast as I 
could.  But when I was done I stopped for a moment.  Had I forgotten 
anything?

	"Impact in forty seconds," said my instrument panel.  I had keyed 
it for verbal transmission.  It was really quite versatile.  And, in a 
few seconds, it would no longer exist.

	"Thirty seconds," said my instruments.  Had I forgotten to pack 
something?  Or was I just delaying, fighting an unconscious urge to 
abandon the mission?  It was too late to back out now.

	"Twenty seconds."

	I was feeling uneasy about the mission, I had to acknowledge.  No 
amount of doublethinking on my part would obscure that.

	"Ten seconds."

	That was the last time announcement that I heard from the 
cockpit.  In a few short seconds the scoutship exploded, and burst into 
a million pieces.





	But I was not in the scout; I had ejected, just several seconds 
before.  The shockwave from the nearby explosion rocketed the pod, and 
I was so shaken up I was afraid I had timed it too closely.  I had 
wanted to make it appear as if the escape pod was a piece of debris 
from the scoutship.  The rumbling continued shaking the escape pod for 
a moment, but things quickly calmed down and I steered a path down to 
the planet surface.  If I was picked up, I would hopefully be perceived 
as a piece of wreckage.  Hopefully.

	I steered for an uninhabited area.  I didn't want to land too far 
away from a populated zone, but I didn't see any easy way to infiltrate 
by landing in the middle of a crowded street.  No, better to land away 
from prying eyes, and then to make a slow, cautious contact...

	Unfortunately, it was not to be.  As soon as I stepped out of the 
pod, I could see several speedy hovercraft in the distance.  Heading 
straight for me.





	The adrenaline was pumping, I won't deny it.  For a moment I 
thought I had been set up.  Then I forced myself to relax.  I hadn't 
expected this degree of vigilance, but I was prepared to cope with it.

	Several minutes later the hovercrafts closed on the pod.  This 
was, by and large, a flat terrain, but there were several outcroppings 
of rock in the area, and I took the opportunity to conceal myself 
behind one of them.  Not that it would hide me for very long.

	The hovercrafts were troop transports.  They looked like large, 
whale shaped vehicles that could carry a lot of people.  I eyed the 
large whales approaching me, and a fine sweat broke out on my back.  I 
was about to make contact with the enemy.

	The whale-shaped vehicles slowed as they got closer, and then 
they stopped, a few dozen feet from the pod, and the troops 
disembarked.  And then I got my first good look at some Happy people.

	They were wearing bulky suits, which looked like they had large 
interior pouches, for carrying objects, no doubt.  And they were armed 
with blaster weapons, rifles and pistols.  But what struck me the most 
were the plates.

	They wore what looked like license plates, one on the front, one 
on the back, and each soldier had his own number.  They were ten digit 
numbers, that started off with a letter, then a dash followed by ten 
digits.  The first letter always seemed to be a "D".  Very interesting.

	And none of them were smiling.  They all had blank expressions on 
their faces, as far as I could see.  So much for the Happy people being 
happy.

	The troops started to nose closer to my pod.  That naturally 
would be the first thing they would search.  But before any of them got 
really close I activated the electrotrigger.

	The pod blew up.  The Happy people immediately jerked, staring at 
the explosion.  But there was still no emotion on their faces.  When 
their attention turned away from the explosion, nothing had changed.

	Well, maybe there was a minor change.  I was now standing by the 
Happy soldiers, with a similarly dumb expression on my face.  A soldier 
turned, looked blankly at me, and then looked away.

	You doubt me?  Well, the Column wasn't entirely  bereft of 
intelligence about the Happy Worlds.  Several flights by remote stealth 
craft had gotten us some magnified holos of their world.  Including the 
citizenry, and the clothes they wore.  Need I add that I was, not 
coincidentally, wearing a bulky suit and two license plates, one front 
and one on the back, like all the other troops?  I even had gotten the 
license plates right--with a quick alteration, mine now began with a 
"D" as well.  The only problem was the gun.  My gun resembled their 
blaster pistols, but wasn't quite identical.  I fretted a little about 
this but held mine low, hoping no one would notice.

	"It blew up," said one of the troops dully.  "This must be 
reported."  The rest of the troops milled about aimlessly, walking in 
slow circles with vacant expressions in their eyes.

	So did I.  But I was constantly looking about.  And then I 
noticed something alarming.  I saw a little piece of silver, on the 
backs of one of the soldier's necks.  I stole another glance.  Then I 
shivered.  Everyone, everyone here had a small piece of metal 
protruding from the back of their necks.  Everyone but me, that is.

	Slowly and smoothly I backed up, so that a hovercraft was at my 
back.  This was one thing the intelligence boys had missed.  I wasn't 
too sure what that metal sliver was, but I had an idea.  And it wasn't 
a nice one.

	We stood about for a few minutes, until another hovercraft 
arrived.  But this one was only a two seater.  Obviously a VIP.  The 
driver slowed to a halt.

	When the occupant got out I immediately noticed the difference.  
He walked quickly, with a spring in his step, and his eyes darted 
about, sharply taking in the scene.  He wore the same uniform as the 
others, but the first letter on his license plate was a "B".  And, as 
he walked passed me, I noticed that his was the only neck that didn't 
have a silver lining.

	He looked over the wreckage, snapping questions to some of the 
D's on the scene, who answered in a dull monotone.  As a D without a 
metal sliver, I made sure to keep my back to him; in fact, I tried to 
keep an inconspicuous distance from the B.  But I watched what was 
happening very closely.

	The B played with some of the wreckage from my pod, but he didn't 
look like he was having very much fun with it.  He kicked a still-
sizzling piece of the outer hull and I would almost bet that he was 
frustrated, if such a feeling were possible and permitted on this 
world.  The B then ordered us to search the area and we did, stumbling 
about a bit, but we found nothing (there being nothing, besides me, to 
find).  Finally, disgusted, the B decided to called it quits.  He took 
out what looked like a pocket calculator and pressed a button.  
Immediately all the D's started to file back into their hovercraft.

	Interesting, I thought, as I obediently stood in line to enter 
one of the whale-shaped vehicles.  The D's were evidently under remote 
control.  But how could one hand held device control so many troops?  
The answer was that it must be a relay.  But a relay to what?

	Answers were not forthcoming from my companions in the hovercraft 
transport, who sat there with dull looks on their faces.  They didn't 
look happy.  All those blank expressions were already driving me crazy; 
several times on the trip back I had the urge to make faces at them.

	We arrived back at what I presumed was an army base, in the 
center of a nearby city.  The trip itself took over an hour, which made 
me wonder:  how did they find me so quickly?  Unless they started off 
the minute my ship entered the atmosphere, they never could have 
reached me as soon as they did.  Which meant that they were very well 
coordinated.  But how could these dim witted types do anything right?  
They must have some smart B's directing them, I decided.

	Our vehicle stopped at an army base, and we all filed out.  I 
uncomfortably noticed a camera above the entrance.  In a not too subtle 
fashion, I looked down at my license plate.  If they scanned our 
plates....

	Of course, there might well be someone with the license plate D-
3857463982.  But it was unlikely that that particular soldier was 
assigned to this base.  If the camera was scanning our plates....

	There was nothing I could do about it.  I walked by it, just like 
the rest.  If the authorities noticed something, they weren't revealing 
it for the moment.  No guards rushed up to grab me, no alarm bells 
rang.

	I wanted to heave a sigh of relief, only it would have been out 
of character.  Or rather, it would have been a show of character.

	But then alarm bells did ring and everyone stopped.  Simply 
stopped moving, as if to some unspoken command.  I slowly turned 
around.  The last soldier had just reentered the base.  I immediately 
knew what the problem was, what had given me away.

	One soldier too many had reported back from the expedition.



	We were ordered, verbally, to go to the parade grounds, where we 
would join others who were already in formation.  I could see them 
standing there, while other soldiers, carrying an electrical device, 
walked by them.  Surely an electric eye.  Surely one that was scanning 
their license plates, as I feared they might do before.  Surely they 
would scan my plate.  Surely they would catch me.

	 My stomach started to tie itself up in knots.  Now I knew why 
none of our agents had never returned.  This society was too organized 
to infiltrate.  I had made a mistake to join the armed forces, which 
would be the most organized of all the segments of society.

	There would be time for recriminations later.  Right now I had to 
think of a way out of this.  Think, Croft, think!

	Fact:  If I reported to the parade grounds, I would be caught. 

	Fact:  If I attempted to run, I would give myself away awfully 
quick.  

	Conclusion: I had to do something else.

	Amended Conclusion:  And whatever I was going to do, I needed to 
do it quickly.

	Every second brought another step, another shuffle closer to the 
parade grounds.  We marched closer and closer.  I would have to do 
something.  I would have to take a risk, a number of risks.

	I slowed my steps until I was the last man in my squad.  My 
fellow soldiers did not object to my tardiness, or, apparently, take 
any notice.  They also hadn't noticed the lack of metal hanging from 
the back of my neck, and I was counting on the fact that they weren't 
very observant.  So I hoped.

	As we walked by a shed I tripped the last man in line, and 
dragged him in.

	He looked at me and said, "We must report."

	"Yes," I said in monotone.  "Let me help you up."

	So I did, slowly, removing his license plates.

	"Those are mine," said the D, in a slow monotone.

	"So they are," I said, handing them back.  "Here, I will put them 
on you," I said, doing so.  Without comment we exited the shed and 
continued our march to the parade grounds.

	Oh, did I fail to mention that I switched license plates with the 
other soldier?  Actually, hidden in my suit pouch I had any combination 
of numbers that I might have added or changed to my license plates, 
altering my own ID number.  The problem was I needed a real live number 
for someone who had been on the mission.  It wouldn't have helped to 
copy someone else's number, for two people with the same number would 
similarly attract suspicion.

	I tried to put as much distance between the soldier I had 
assisted and myself.  When we stood in formation on the parade grounds 
I tried to ignore my heart, which was beating wildly.  There was still 
one more risk I was taking.

	Two D's carried around an electronic eye, on a wheeled cart, 
through each row.  A beam shot out of it, analyzing the numbers on each 
soldier's license plate.  When they reached my friend, the machine 
burped, and guards grabbed the hapless soldier, taking him away.

	I inwardly heaved a sigh of relief.

	But then the machine kept going.  These Happy people were nothing 
if not thorough.  And then the machine came to me.

	I won't lie about it, I was worried, and I'll tell you why.  If 
the machine simply scanned the license plates, as it seemed to be 
doing, I would be all right.  But if it also matched faces to license 
plates, then I would be in trouble.  I did not resemble my former 
friend at all.  I was playing a hunch, and at this point I had no other 
options.

	The machine came to me, flanked by many guards.  I put on my best 
blank expression, and tried to look half moribund.

	There was a hum, the machine paused for a moment...

	and moved on.

	I had done it.



Chapter 3



	I really should have left the army immediately.  It really would 
have been very foolish for me to stay.  I realized that when they 
interrogated my "friend" that they would be able to trace me very 
quickly.  Once they found out who my friend was, all they had to do was 
trace his number, and then they would be able to find me.  Under those 
circumstances it would have been only prudent to exit this base very, 
very quickly.

	But I was curious, and I wanted to poke around a little.  
Curiosity has killed a lot of cats, and a goodly number of agents, but 
now that I was inside a military installation I didn't want to pass up 
an opportunity I might not get again so easily. 

	We were ordered back to our quarters, but no one noticed when I 
slipped away.  It seemed like all the enlisted men were D's, and I 
truly think I could have mugged someone right in front of them and they 
wouldn't have blinked, unless they were ordered to.  The officers, what 
few there were, all seemed to be B's.  They were the real danger.  I 
would have to avoid them.

	Or join them.  I dodged into a secluded supply shack, and took 
some equipment out of my pouch.  In seconds my license plates, front 
and back, began with a "B".  I also changed the numbers on my plates, 
just to confuse the trail further.  Fortunately the officers I had seen 
didn't seem to have any badge of rank, so no additional accessories 
were required.

	I exited the shack, and started looking about.  No one paid the 
slightest attention.  Certainly not the D's, who walked past me as 
though I didn't even exist.  The only B I passed just nodded slightly, 
giving me a broad smile.  It took me only a moment to recover from the 
shock of this unexpected facial expression, but I managed to return it.

	I started a little tour of the buildings at the center of the 
base.  The base itself was a large, fenced in compound with a large 
training center and parade ground.  A fleet of hovercraft were parked 
in one corner of the base.  I made note of it, but for now I was more 
interested in the enclosed buildings.  One of them, marked "Armory" in 
the native language, was my first stop.  I needed to find out more 
about Happy Worlder technology, and weapons were a good place to start.

	At the entrance to the Armory there were two D's, both armed, on 
duty inside.  They looked dully at me.

	I momentarily debated whether to show facial expressions to them.  
I decided not to; the effort would probably be wasted.

	"I wish to see the weapons storeroom.  Now," I said, walking up 
to them.  Would I need a special pass?  Or would they just let me in?

	"Yes sir," said one of them dully, as he moved to let me walk by.

	It was that easy.  I made a nice tour of their weapons supply, 
crates of carefully stacked weapons neatly labeled in the hideous local 
language, as I took copious mental notes all the while.

	One thing I noticed almost immediately: their level of technology 
was below the League.  They had blaster weaponry, to be sure, but most 
of this stuff looked a generation or so behind standard League fare.  I 
got the chance to study one of their blaster rifles closely.  Even I, 
no engineer, could see that the power packs were of low reliability and 
would have to be replaced frequently.  The focusing tunnel was 
primitive but serviceable, but I shook my head; it was no wonder that 
these people were stealing League technology left and right.  But what 
were they really after?

	I toured more of the weapons stores, taking a few items that I 
thought the natives would not be likely to miss very soon.  I was 
turning to leave when I heard the sounds of people entering.

	I was preparing to turn into my brash officer mode when I saw who 
it was.  Three officers.  And the one in the middle, a thin fellow who 
seemed to have a permanent squint, had some sort of insignia on his 
collar.  This must be an important officer.

	They smiled at me and nodded and I immediately did the same, 
wondering whether I should have been the first to smile and nod and 
further wondering if getting out of the armory now would be quite as 
easy as getting in.

	It wasn't.

	I was just turning to leave I heard a voice say, "Just a moment."

	I turned, to see Squinty beckoning me with a crooked finger.  He 
had a broad smile on his face, but I don't think I liked it.

	"What are you doing here?" he smiled, speaking in a calm voice.  
Again, that smile.  It seemed to be plastered to his face.  It was 
bland, but I found it threatening.

	"My weapon malfunctioned.  I was getting a replacement," I said, 
in the same level tone.  I held up my blaster pistol.  It wasn't my 
off-planet weapon; I had switched mine with one of the primitive native 
versions several minutes ago.

	The officer nodded.  Squinty stared at me sharply.  He seemed to 
be thinking something over.  "Very well," he said.  "You may go."

	I did.

	I must say that had been quite a close one.  If I had had any 
sense at all, I would have left the base, right then and there.  I eyed 
the aircars in the distance.  They were tempting me very much right 
now.  But I turned away.  I still had work to do.

	I entered another building, the cafeteria.  I had some condensed 
provisions in my pouch, but I would prefer real food, if I could get 
it.

	I had obviously come to the wrong place.  D's were on a long line 
leading to the serving area, but I cut ahead of them.  (Rank does have 
some privileges).  They were all being served the same thing:  a purple 
drink, and a large tan cube.  I looked around.  Only D's were in sight.  
I surreptitiously took a piece out of a cube, put it in my mouth-

	and involuntarily spat it out, with the remains landing on a 
soldier's food tray.  The D in question looked a little surprised, but 
said nothing, and, commencing to pick up the discarded cube, he popped 
it into his mouth.  Evidently a half chewed saliva encrusted piece of 
food was not objectionable to him.

	Meanwhile I was gasping for breath from my experimentation with 
the local menu.  The taste of it had been so pungent, so burning, that 
it felt like the flavor had already burned into my mouth.  If that was 
all there was to eat on this planet, I would starve.  Right now my 
immediate priority was to wash this foul taste out of my mouth, but I 
instinctively knew better than to try the purple liquid.  Instead, I 
went into the kitchen.

	The chefs were D's, too.  They didn't seem to mind when I elbowed 
one of them out of the way as I ran for the main sink, rapidly putting 
my head under the faucet and turning the controls.

     Aaahhh.  That was better.  Much better.  I grimaced as I felt 
remnants of that foul food still clutching to my tastebuds, but it was 
now vastly diluted.  If the chefs were surprised by the sight of a 
solider gulping down water in their sink, they didn't communicate it to 
me.  Wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, I decided to explore the 
rest of the kitchen.

	Bad move.  The next thing I saw was the food preparation process, 
which almost made me sick again.

	The food blocks were made of a liquid that was put into brick 
shaped pans.  No surprise there.  But the batter itself was in a large 
dirty bowl that stank from across the room.  I watched as a D 
dispassionately poured a chemical into a brown stain incrusted vat.  
Drugs, perhaps, to keep the troops docile?  Possibly

	But the sight that really disgusted me were the rats.  They were 
everywhere. Running along the floors, the walls, the countertops.  The 
D's either didn't notice or didn't care.  What almost made me lose my 
lunch was the sight of several tails in the food vat.  Even as I 
watched another rat, balanced on the edge of the vat, slipped and fell 
in.  A large crunching device came down over the vat, mixing it and 
processing it.

	I was definitely going to be sick.  I got out of there 
immediately.  How could they tolerate that?  Were they so drugged that 
they didn't care about anything?  Anything at all?

	In the open air outside I started to regain my strength.  Which 
was a good thing too, because an officer and a squad of D's was 
approaching.  They stopped a soldier in front of me, scanning his ID.

	Oh, oh.  My deception hadn't lasted.

	I didn't hesitate to think what would happen if they scanned my 
ID.  It might not be a problem--it seemed very possible that there 
might be another officer in their registry with my serial number.  But 
if the scan was a little more specific, they might be checking to see 
if an officer with my ID was currently assigned to this base.  The 
problem was, I didn't know their procedure.  Time to leave.

	I started to turn the corner around the (gag!) cafeteria.  The 
hairs stood up on the back of my neck.  If they called out to me....

	But they didn't.  I started for the hovercrafts, at a brisk pace.  
As I walked I saw I passed a building marked 'administration'.  And 
then I stopped.

	This was too good of an opportunity to miss.  If there was 
anything useful to find on this base it would be in there.  And yet it 
seemed almost certain that further delay would increase the chance that 
I would be apprehended.  I didn't know what they did with prisoners 
here but I wasn't anxious to find out.

	Fear won out over curiosity, and I had just started walking 
again, when three shapes came out of the Admin building.  Squinty and 
his two officer buddies.  And one of them carried a scanning device.  I 
turned my back on them, and was glad of it.

	"B-3756493271!  Halt!"

	I halted, slowly turning around, with a grin plastered on my 
face.  All three of them were armed, and there were other soldiers 
walking by us.  This was not the place for a confrontation.

	I continued to smile, uncertain what to say.  When in doubt, 
smile.  Smile smile smile.

	"B-375, your attention, please," said Squinty.  "There is an 
intruder on the base.  We have reason to believe that it is an alien 
from another world."

	"An alien," I said, still keeping the smile up.  Hm, who could 
they be referring to?

	"Yes," said Squinty.  "Have any of the men in your unit been 
acting... unusual lately?"  He looked at me strangely, as if there were 
something mildly wrong.

	"No, sir," I said, still smiling, still trying not to look 
nervous.  But I worried whether I was trying so hard not to look 
nervous that I looked nervous.  I didn't have a mirror in front of me, 
I had no way to tell.

	Whatever expression I was showing, it was obviously looking 
strange to Squinty.  He looked at me even more curiously, as if he 
suspected.

	"B-375, what is your name?" said Squinty calmly.

	That chilled me to the bone.  Until this moment I had had no idea 
that Happy Worlders even had names.  I didn't know what typical Happy 
Worlder names were, or even if they used one name, or two.  Or more?

	Squinty was expecting an answer.  I thought I had better say 
something.

	"Br'atra," I mumbled.  There, that could be interpreted as one 
name, or even two.

	Squinty continued to smile at me, but it was a little strained 
now.  "I don't believe I know you.  What unit are you with?"  Out of 
the corner of his eye I noticed his hand straying closer to his 
holster.  He knew.

	"4-14," I said, recalling the number I had seen on one of the 
barracks.

	"Hm," said Squinty.  He snapped his fingers.  The junior officer 
came up to me, and scanned my license plate.  Soldiers continued to 
walk around us.

	After an interminable second, the scanner beeped.  I didn't know 
whether that was a good sound or not, but the tension in the air 
suddenly evaporated.

	"Very well," said Squinty.  "Maintain your vigilance."

	"Yes," I said, turning to go.  I couldn't believe it!  They had 
let me get away!  I started a fast march for the hovercraft.

	A mistake.  Just as I reached the parked fleet of sleek vehicles 
I heard a voice from behind me.  Calling to me.  I turned around.  It 
was my buddy Squinty again.  And his two pals.  Surely this wasn't a 
coincidence.  I looked around, without making it obvious that I was 
looking around.  There were four D's on guard here; hardly great odds, 
but better than they had been in the middle of the encampment.

	I pasted a smile on my face as Squinty approached, and I put a 
hand in my pouch.  My blaster remained holstered; it would have been 
suspicious had I drawn it.

	Squinty walked up to me.  "What are you doing here?" he said, 
fixing me with a sharp glare.  He wasn't smiling anymore.

	"Inspection," I said.  It seemed like a good thing to say; they 
were always doing a lot of that in the army, right?

	"You are to report for readjustment.  You are malfunctioning, 
come with us," said Squinty.

	 Ah, Squinty, you haven't guessed the half of it.  "Certainly," I 
said, starting to walk forward towards them.  And then I pressed the 
pocket activator in my suit pouch.

	There was an enormous explosion, as the weapons armory went up in 
flames.  Even at this distance we were pushed to the ground, and I'm 
afraid to even think what happened to the people and buildings in the 
vicinity of the weapons storage facility.  For there had been a large 
cache of explosives in the building, much of which could be set off by 
remote control detonation.  And at the time  I simply hadn't been able 
to resist taking one or two detonators with me.

	We were all forced to the ground by the power of the blast, but I 
was expecting it, and Squinty and his friends weren't.  I was the first 
one up, and the blaster was out of my holster in an instant.  I fired a 
stun bolt at each of Squinty's friends, but missed Squinty, who was 
struggling to draw his own weapon.

	"Not today, Squinty," I said, shooting him.

	I immediately turned around, ready for the hovercraft guards.  
They had gotten up, but they were just standing there.  Suddenly they 
all got stiff for a moment, and they froze.  And then they all started 
to draw their weapons.

	I found that interesting, and, had I more time to analyze their 
reactions, I might have spent some time in contemplation.  But, as it 
so happened, I was a little rushed, so I settled for shooting them.

	Or rather, shooting at them.  I shot one, and he went down, and 
then I shot at another, but he ducked to the side.  Then they started 
moving incredibly rapidly, much more rapidly than I had thought that 
such lethargic soldiers could, and they were firing at me!  I ducked 
behind a hovercar.  Not only were their shots getting close, but they 
were positioning themselves to rush the craft I was hiding behind.  One 
of them fired at me while the other two circled my position.  Perfect 
coordination.

	Two soldiers ran around the car I was using to cover myself... 
only to find I wasn't there.  That must have puzzled them a bit.

	And then I fired on them.  Or, to be more precise, I fired on 
their feet.  That was all I could see from under the bottom of the 
hovercar.  Luckily the one I had hidden under had already been revved 
up, or else there would have been nothing to slip under.  Even so I had 
to aim carefully as the condenser thrust virtually pinned my body to 
the ground.

	The wonderful things about blasters set on stun is that, given 
enough power, it doesn't matter which part of the body you hit.  
They're stunned.  I had reset the weapon to heavy stun for good 
measure, and in seconds two D's were lying by Squinty and his friends.

	That left one of the D's.  I popped up around the other side of 
the car, he turned, wheeling to face me, there was a weapons discharge, 
and-

	He fell to the ground, to join his sleeping friends.

	I looked in the distance.  Several companies of soldiers were 
running towards the hoverpool.  It was time to go.

	I entered the revved up aircar.  The controls looked simple 
enough.  They were.  I started it forward, towards the front gate.  But 
as I left the hovercraft parking area I tossed an object, which landed 
in the seat of one of the parked hovercraft.

	I gunned the craft towards the front gate.  There were troops 
there, all armed, all with rifles pointed at me.  They were firing.

	Blaster fire whizzed by me.  I changed directions.  But then I 
saw I was quickly heading towards several platoons of soldiers, on 
foot.  Not good.  I veered away, towards the fence.

	To my left I saw that troops were on the verge of reaching the 
hoverpool and were climbing into vehicles.  That was something I wasn't 
ready to tolerate so I touched the second activator in my pouch.  The 
explosive I had lobbed in the hovercraft went off, exploding 
marvelously.  The hovercraft were all parked very closely together and 
a chain reaction started and soon most of the hovercraft were burning.

	I would have liked to stay and further admire my handiwork but I 
realized that now was the best time to be going.  I taxied up to a 
thick steel fence on the perimeter.  It looked like a most imposing 
barrier.

	"Now, I know I saw blasters mounted on this thing... but which 
buttons activate it?"

	I pressed one button.  Wipers started to swish-swish on the front 
of the car.  "No, it isn't that one."

	I turned at the sound of further explosions.  The hovercraft lot 
was really going up.   But then I saw that several aircars were 
approaching me.  Either they had salvaged a few of them or they were 
coming from a different part of the base.  Which was irrelevant.  I 
just had to get out of there.

	I pushed another button, and a screen lit up, and a face stared 
at me.  A beam came out of the screen, lighting up the number on my 
license plate.

	"You're the wanted one," said the face.

	"And you must be one of the wanters," I said, turning the screen 
off.

	I looked behind me.  The hovercraft were getting closer.  Time to 
go.

	I revved up the engine.  The steel fence was reinforced with 
concrete.  I didn't know if I could break through, but I was going to 
find out.  I touched the accelerator-

	and a twin beam of blasters stabbed out of my hovercraft, slicing 
into the fence.  I looked more closely; I had actually pushed the small 
button next to the accelerator.  I fired again, and a section of the 
fence toppled.  It was an opening, albeit a narrow one.  I edged the 
hovercraft through, and, with some scraping, I made it.  I threw 
another explosive behind me, and waited.

	When the first of the pursuing hovercraft had nearly gotten to 
the hole in the fence, I activated it.  There was a brilliant 
explosion, and the hovercraft, swerving, crashed into the fence.

	"Time for some shore leave," I grinned, gunning the hovercraft 
onto the street.



Chapter 4



	My happiness quickly wore off.  I had had a series of narrow 
escapes.  My problem lay in the fact that I knew so little about this 
world, that it was difficult for me to blend in, even if I were 
ostensibly dressed like the Happy Worlders.  Right now I was in a 
stolen army vehicle which probably wouldn't be too difficult to track.

	But I was going into the civilian sector now.  Even on the Happy 
Worlds there must be fewer controls there.  Right?

	Wrong.  As I drove down the streets of a nearby city, I saw 
everyone wearing the same bulky suit I was.  That was the good news.  
The bad news was that everyone was wearing a license plate.  I sighed; 
I had been expecting that, but there was something a little depressing 
about seeing everyone walking around wearing a long number.

	And then I noticed the lettering scheme.   C, C, C, C... I saw 
one or two D's, and a few B's.  But C's were definitely in the majority 
here.  I still wasn't sure what the significance of the letters were; I 
guessed that the first letters, the A's and the B's, had authority over 
the later letters, the C's and the D's.  But there seemed to be more to 
it than that.  All the D's I had seen had metal strips coming out of 
the back of their necks.  And the B's seemed quite alert.

	Right now I needed someplace to put the car.  Like everything and 
everyone else on this planet, it had a license plate.  It probably 
wouldn't take the authorities too long to find it, and me as well, if I 
were still in it.  The problem was that wherever I dumped it would soon 
be discovered by the authorities.  Unless I thought of a clever way of 
getting rid of it....

	A bit of driving around gave me a clever idea.  I turned the 
hovercraft into a junk yard, and turned off the motor.  The craft 
sighed as it slowly dropped to the ground.

	As I got out a Happy person approached me.  He was a C, and he 
was smiling.

	I was a still a B, though I had altered my numbers using the 
symbols kit in my pouch.  I had a strong hunch that a B topped a C, 
meaning I could order him around.  I resolved to test that.

	"Happy day," said the man, smiling at me.

	"Happy day," I said, smiling back.

	"What can I do for you, friend?" said the man, speaking slowly.

	"I want to dispose of my car," I said, pointing to the trash 
compactor.

	The man silently took that in.  

	I waited, a bit uncomfortable with the silence.  "My car, it's a 
piece of junk."

	"A piece of junk," said the C, slowly, as he frowned slightly.  
"What can I do for you, my friend?"

	"I want you to do something about my car," I said, starting to 
lose patience.

	"What shall I do?"  His eyes were empty, vacant, almost.

	"Whatever your procedure is."

	"My procedure?"

	It was obvious that I was getting nowhere.  So I tried a 
different tact.  "Drive my car into the compactor, and then crush it."

	"Yes sir," he said.  He got into my hovercraft, and nudged it 
into the compactor.

	It was that simple.  All I had to do was give the orders.  The 
only snag occurred when the compactor started to come down, and the C 
was still in the car.  I had to order him to stop the compactor and get 
out before continuing.  I'm afraid he had taken my order rather 
literally, which raised a whole host of other questions in my mind.

	He was brainwashed, obviously; the question was, how?  And how 
complete was it?  These C's didn't seem to have any common sense at 
all.  I had looked at his neck when his back was turned to me, and 
there was no little metal sliver, as the D's had.

	I pondered this as I walked out of the junkyard, whistling.  Let 
them try to trace the car now.

	By the time I had exited the junkyard and was walking down the 
road back to the city I had changed identities again, just in case the 
C had remembered my number.  Though from the looks of him I doubted he 
could remember much of anything.  In a short time I reached the 
downtown area again.

	My, the city was quite bustling with activity, with B's, C's, and 
D's walking about everywhere.  I noticed a fair number of D's armed 
with blaster rifles, all in hovercrafts, patrolling the streets.  They 
were undoubtedly looking for me.  Probably I was the first foreigner to 
make an unscheduled trip to their planet in a long time, so they were 
devoting all their attentions to me.

	I was very flattered, but all I did was walk along the street, 
with a vague smile plastered to my lips, as all good B's and C's did.  
The D's did not smile, which made me wonder what had been done to them.  
Not all D's were armed, by the way; some walked the streets, with 
aimless looks in their eyes, which forced me to conclude that the 
letters did not necessarily correspond with certain professions.  But 
this was definitely a class based society:  B's were more important 
than C's, who were in turn more important than D's.  The scheme, of 
course, suggested that there were A's.  I couldn't wait to capture and 
interrogate one.

	But right now I had more immediate needs.  The first was food.  I 
still had some concentrated rations but they weren't very filling, and 
I really wished to conserve them for emergency situations.  As I walked 
along I noticed a food store, and I immediately turned in.

	I was only somewhat surprised to find row after row of the square 
tan blocks filling the shelves.  I didn't find the prospect of eating 
rat byproducts very enticing and I almost sighed, but turned it into a 
cough at the last minute when a C stared at me.

	But a few doors down I found another food store.  Bracing myself 
for the inevitable food cubes, I entered.   I was surprised to find a 
fair assortment of normal foods.  There were apples, raisins, bread, 
noodles--the choices weren't enormous, there was no meat, and much of 
the fruit looked badly decayed, but in hungry state it looked like a 
banquet.  I noticed that all the patrons in this store were B's.  And 
suddenly I remembered that all the people in the previous food store 
had been C's.  Ah, ha!

	I found my mouth watering as I eyed a loaf of bread.  I was 
starting to get really hungry now.

	Careful, careful.  I loitered around the checkout area.  What did 
these people use for money?  The answer, I quickly found, was nothing.  
Scanners at the checkout counter played a light over the consumer's ID 
plate, and then beeped.  Presumably this reduced the consumer's credit 
account by an appropriate amount.

	What did this mean for me?  My current license plate was B-
8472648597.  If there was in fact a B-8472648597 in existence, an 
appropriate amount would be taken out of his credit record, and I would 
be free and away.

	But if there wasn't, an alarm could go off.  No, I had to be 
reasonably certain that I was using a valid ID.  Dejected, I left the 
food store.  I supposed I could have copied down any B's ID and 
switched mine in a secluded alley (if any existed on this planet).

	But then I had a better idea.  I decided to secure lodgings 
first.  There was an apartment building above the food store.  I would 
be living there, I decided.

	I loitered around the lobby for a bit.  All the people going in 
and out seemed to be B's.  I don't know where the C's and D's lived, 
although I guessed that for them mass dormitories would probably be 
more the rule than the exception.  But B's were the elite; they would 
be entitled for their own apartments.  So my theory went.

	I waited until a single B got into an elevator, and then I jumped 
in after him.  He was a thin fellow, a young man wearing the typical 
bulky suits that Happy people do.

	"Happy day," he smiled at me.  It was a wide, beautiful smile, 
the same kind of smile that half the morons on this planet must be 
wearing.

	"Happy day," I smiled back at him.

	He didn't seem surprised when I got off at the same floor when he 
did, although the B did look over his shoulder when he saw me walking 
behind him.  These B's were definitely more self-aware than the C's or 
the D's.  When he reached his door I walked past him, keeping an eye 
out for how he was able to get in.  A scanning light reached out and 
touched his ID, and the door clicked open.  And then the door closed.

	I went to the end of the hallway, where there was a camera 
mounted on the wall.  I almost couldn't stop myself from chuckling.  
These people didn't go in for subtle surveillance.  Reaching behind the 
camera, I pulled out its operating wires.  I expected I would be 
restoring it to good working order before the malfunction was noticed.  
I just didn't want anyone who might be watching to look in on this 
floor at this particular moment.  For the next few seconds I needed a 
bit of privacy.  I went back and knocked on the B's door.

	He opened the door.  He looked a little puzzled to see me again, 
but he said, "Happy day."

	"Happy day," I smiled at him.  Then I shot him with my blaster 
pistol.  I had it set on 'stun'; there was no need to kill him.

	He slumped to the ground, and I entered his apartment, quickly 
closing the door behind us.

	Trouble.  There was a camera, mounted on the wall.  It didn't 
seem likely it could scan the alcove where the door was, so if anyone 
had been watching, they wouldn't have seen what had happened.  Still, 
my dragging in an unconscious body might attract a bit of attention.  I 
bit my lip momentarily, wondering how often each camera was tuned into 
by the central authorities.  Well, there was no way to tell.  
Whistling, I reached up the camera, disconnecting it.  Even if a 
warning buzzer flashed at headquarters, I doubted they would race out 
to repair it in ten minutes.  Which would be all the time I needed.

	I took the camera down, and opened it up.  "Ah!" I said, 
delightedly.  It was better than I hoped.  The camera contained a 
taping mechanism, which I readjusted.  I was still working on it when I 
heard a groaning from the door alcove.  I got up and went over to my 
friend.  "Oh, you're waking up," I said, momentarily putting a helping 
hand on his shoulder.

	Groaning, he started to get up.

	"Here, let me help," I said, and I shot him again.  "I'll get to 
you in just a moment.  But for now, please be quiet," I said, returning 
to my work.

	After a little more work I completed my task.  "There!" I said.  
I reinstalled the camera, stood directly underneath it, and was very, 
very quiet for about five seconds.  When I heard a click, I 
disconnected the camera again.  Then I made some final adjustments, and 
reconnected it.

	Then, whistling with the satisfaction of a job well done, I 
tended to my new friend.  As I looked around for something to tie him 
up with, I took notice of the apartment itself.  It was boxed shaped, 
aside from the door alcove, and it was quite small, essentially a one 
room studio.  There was a screen mounted in one wall which I hoped 
didn't transmit as well as receive, but right now it was off and I 
would attend to it later.  I hoisted my friend up on a chair, and 
securely tied him with strips of a shower curtain I had cut up.  It was 
the toughest thing I could find, fabric embedded with metallic fibers, 
and I had to really struggle with a cutting tool to make the strips, so 
I supposed they would hold him.

	He started to come around just after I returned from the hallway, 
where I restored the camera there to good working order.  As he reached 
consciousness my host started to smile instinctively, but quickly 
dropped it when memory came flooding back to him.

	"Well, well, a Happy Worlder who doesn't smile," I said.  I 
certainly was smiling at him.

	"You are an Unadjusted," he said, glaring at me.  Good, I liked 
that.  Anything was better than the moronic smile.

	"Oh, I'm quite well adjusted," I said, filing the word away in my 
mind.  That would be another topic to ask about.  "But for now, you're 
going to help me."

	"I don't think so," said the B, smiling at the camera on the 
wall.

	I calmly took a seat, munching a piece of bread I had found in 
the kitchen.  It was tasteless and stale, but I was hungry, and it did 
not matter much.  "Sorry, pal.  We're off the air.  I taped a five 
second loop of an empty room, and inserted it into the feeder.  That's 
the only thing that the home office will see on their holovision."

	"Help!  Help!"  The B cried.  He was so pitiful, I was almost 
tempted to laugh.

	"Ha ha ha," I said, easily giving in to the temptation.  "I fixed 
the sound, too.  Package deal.  Now, let's get down to business.  For 
starters, what's your name?"  I was interested in finding out what 
typical Happy Worlder names were.

	The Happy Worlder was silent.  I knew that he understood my 
question, but he simply did not want to respond.

	"You won't even give me your name?" I said.  "If we're going to 
get stuck on that, then it's going to be a long, long night, I can 
promise you that."  And I gave a powerful smile, for effect.  I don't 
like torture; I much prefer intimidation.  It's less messy.  And more 
fun, too.

	But my words had little effect on the Happy Worlder.  He sweated 
a little but said nothing.

	"Odd," I said.  "That you're resisting already."  I considered; I 
had a small amount of truth drug, but I wanted to save that until I 
came across someone important.  Not merely any old B.

	He was trying to resist but he didn't realize that he couldn't.  
This brainwashed sod was up against one of the cleverest minds in the 
galaxy.  Me.

	"All right," I sighed, in mock frustration.  "We'll play it your 
way."  I picked up my blaster with one hand, putting down my piece of 
bread with the other.  "See what you're making me do?  You're making me 
cut short my lunch."  In an overdramatic way, I adjusted the setting on 
the blaster.  "I don't like people who interfere with my meals."  I 
raised the blaster, pointing it at him.  In the past that always seemed 
to help people make a decision.

	"No!" he cried.  My captive was obviously no exception.

	"Tell me your name," I said.

	"My name is-" a pained expression appeared on his face.  
"Wa...ta!"

	"Wata?  Or Wa Ta?" I said.

	Wata, or maybe his name was Wa Ta, I don't know, screwed his face 
again as he tried to answer my question.  But he was having a difficult 
time of it.

	"What's the matter?" I said curiously.  "Why can't you answer?"

	The B nodded.  "I can't answer," he said, breathing more easily 
now.

	Hm.  Curiouser and curiouser.  "Well, then we'll have to do it my 
way," I said, shooting him.

	A beam of light stabbed out at him from the barrel of my gun, and 
he cried out as he was shot, slumping back in his chair.

	"Most interesting," I said, reaching over to peel back an eyelid.  
I had reset the blaster to heavy stun; he would be out for a while.

	I taped his lids open and then started to slap him on the face 
with moderate force.  When he blinked, or rather, tried to blink, and 
his eyes started to move, I knew that he was starting to come out of 
it.

	Which was precisely the state that I wanted him in.  I quickly 
took the hypnocube out of my pouch.

	One of the many small items I had brought with me to this most 
inhospitable planet was the hypnocube, a small device shaped like a 
cube (and hence the 'cube' part of hypnocube), a device that flashes 
patterns of into the optic nerve in such a way as to induce a trance-
like state, suitable for many purposes.  Especially interrogation.  The 
only problem is that unwilling victims need to be susceptible to the 
hypnocube in the first place, which is why I had to shoot my new friend 
again, much as it pained me to do so.  But, as an experienced spy, I've 
long been hardened to the realities of my work.

	Wata started talking.  That was his name; evidently, Happy People 
only had one name.  (Or perhaps B's only rated a single name; I had yet 
to interrogate an A, a little piece of work I still was looking forward 
to).  Wata was the manager of a government clothing distribution 
outlet.  I can't say that I was surprised to learn that all clothing 
outlets were government run.  And all food stores.  And all stores.  
And everything else, for that matter, including the people, their 
thoughts, and their minds.

	I quickly found out why Wata had been less than cooperative with 
me in his conscious state.  There were strong impulses in his mind to 
be loyal to the state, to give absolutely nothing away to the enemies 
of the state, the Unadjusted, or the Unprocessed, as they were also 
called.  I surmised the Unprocessed were people who had somehow escaped 
brainwashing, but Wata was able to tell me little of them, as he did 
not customarily mix and mingle in such circles.  For Wata had been 
conditioned.

	Or brainwashed, to put it bluntly.  Wata had obviously had his 
mind tampered with, this was very clear to me.  When I asked how this 
had done he was a little vague on the subject, but I suspected that he 
had been hypnotized, not unlike he was now.  Probably repeatedly.  They 
had strung his brain out in hypno sessions, ensuring his absolute 
loyalty.  At the same time they had left other parts of his brain 
alone, which explained why he retained more awareness than C's and D's.

	I had identified myself as his superior, and, in his current 
state of mind, Wata was trying very much to be helpful.   We talked 
about the other classes of citizens in this sick society.  I had been 
right when I surmised that there were A's, on the top of the pecking 
order, followed by B's, C's and D's.  Wata gave me the impression that 
C's were also conditioned, by the use of drugs.  That explained why 
they were slow witted.

	But my blood ran cold when he described the D's.  Remember the 
metal slivers I had seen in the back of their necks?  Those had been 
miniature antennae that kept them in continuous communication with 
their masters.  They were under the most complete control of the state, 
complete mental control, told what to think at every given minute of 
their grubby little lives.  They had no freedom, no individuality, no 
personality.  They were little better than robots.

	Which was to my advantage.  For though large numbers of them 
could be coordinated very quickly, they didn't have any initiative.  I 
could rob a bank in front of a company of them if they didn't have 
orders to stop me.

	I also probed Wata for information about A's, but Wata had never 
even seen an A, leading me to believe that they were very few and far 
between.

	I mulled this over for a while, and asked some more questions 
about this Happy World.  Wata knew a fair number of things about this 
society, but he wasn't very certain about how it was run, or who even 
ran it.  He had a vague notion of a "Master" and a "Super Master", but 
he didn't seem to know very much about them.  Only that they were in 
charge.  I sighed; that was all he really needed to know, I suppose.  I 
reflected upon the fact that this B, part of a relatively senior and 
relatively pampered segment of society, was still little more than a 
cog in a machine.

	I questioned Wata late into the night, picking up on everything 
from local customs to procedures for accessing mass transportation, 
trying to absorb everything I possibly could.  Finally, I got too tired 
to continue, and I brought him out of it.

	He glared at me when he came to.  I had tried to implant a 
suggestion that he should be friendly, but his conditioning was too 
strong, so Wata still wasn't feeling very amicably towards me.

	"You won't get away with this!" he yelled.  "Help!  Help!"

	I looked about.  I had no idea how thin the walls were here.

	"Help!  Help!" he cried.

	I stunned him again, and put a gag over his mouth.  "Nighty 
night," I said, as he slumped in his chair.  I went to bed too; I 
figure he wouldn't mind if I used his mattress. It was hard like a 
rock. It was probably made of food cubes.



Chapter 5



	"Good morning!" I said to my bound and gagged companion.

	"Mmm Mmmgh!" said Wata.

	"Mmm mmm, breakfast does smell good, doesn't it?" I smiled, 
laying out a hunk of cheese and a piece of bread for each of us.  I 
ungagged him, making him very aware of the unpleasant consequences that 
would come from yelling or loud noises.  But Wata's hands were still 
bound.  I set the food down before him.

	"How do you expect me to eat?" he said, glaring at me.

	"Be creative," I suggested, washing down the dull cheese with 
water.  "But if you're not hungry...." I added, giving him ample motive 
to be creative.

	It worked.  Still glaring at me, Wata bent over stiffly, putting 
his head to the plate.  When he came up he had a chunk of cheese in his 
mouth.  "Mumph Anarno!" he said accusingly.

	"Really? I've been told I can be quite a good caterer," I said 
sweetly.

	If Wata understood me, he didn't let on.  He just kept glaring at 
me as he swallowed large chunks of cheese.  I smiled encouragingly at 
him, as I would a small child that I was encouraging to eat.

	"You enjoy this," he muttered.

	"What?" I said.  I looked up, a little stunned.  Wata was getting 
an insight.

	"You enjoy taking people captives, controlling them."

	I laughed.  And I laughed and I laughed.  I laughed so hard that 
I almost fell out of my chair.  Wata just glared at me.

	"'What's so funny?' you might ask," I said, when I managed to 
calm down.  "That's what we call irony.  You, and all of your people, 
are under the control of others.  And not merely physically.  Your mind 
has been taken."

	"I have been guided," said Wata stubbornly.

	"Guided," I said, considering that for a moment.  "And you like 
it?"

	"What?"

	"Being guided?"

	"Of course.  It's necessary."

	"Hm..."  I said, taking that in.  I watched at he pecked at his 
food, like a large bird leaning down to the ground to pick up bits of 
edibles.  That made me laugh again.  "Ha ha ha," I said.  But when my 
laughter subsided I pulled the plate away from Wata.

	"I'm not done," said Wata.

	"Yes, you are," I said, getting up.  "You need to go on a diet.  
Consider it guidance."  I wanted to make a point, but I also wanted to 
be on my way.  There was much to be done today, and I didn't enjoy 
frittering away my time watching Wata peck at his food.

	I made some final preparations, then I said, "Well, I'm off for 
the day.  Wish me well."

	"Once you leave you'll never get back in!" Wata sneered.

	Wata wasn't very smart. Had it been true, he shouldn't have 
warned me.  "And why not?"

	"The door only opens to my code," he said, looking down at his 
license plate.

	"Ah hem," I said, tapping to my own.  It was identical to his.  I 
put the gag back in place.  "I'll be back for dinner.  And I may go 
shopping, so I hope you have appropriate credits in your account."

	He started to open his mouth to complain, just as I clapped my 
hands twice in rapid succession.  Suddenly, Wata slumped in his chair, 
falling asleep.

	"I like that," I said, smiling as I headed out the door.  I 
hadn't been able to alter Wata's original hypnotic programming, but I 
had been able to amend it.  Now whenever he was awake and heard a 
double clap, he would immediately fall asleep.  Not only would this 
help Wata pass time more quickly, but it would allay whatever fears I 
had that he might get out of his bonds and escape while I was out.  The 
last thing I needed was to return home after a hard day of espionage to 
find an entire platoon of troopers staked out for me.

	I started to walk in the streets, the standard smile plastered to 
my face.  I noticed that the troops who had been milling about 
yesterday were gone, and for that I was relieved.  Either they had 
called off the search or they had gone elsewhere, believing I wouldn't 
be stupid enough to stay in the city.  But I was.

	"Happy day," said a smiling C, passing by me.  I returned his 
greeting.

	As I walked across a street I noticed several B's, each wearing a 
stripe around their waists.  This was the first time I had noticed any 
Happy People dressing even slightly differently, so my attention would 
have been caught even if I hadn't noticed the long poles they were 
carrying.  And they were stopping people.  And asking them questions.  
And scanning their ID plates.

	I casually turned around, to head in another direction, and saw 
several more striped B's, doing the same interrogation bit.  I tried to 
brace myself; after all, I had nothing to be concerned about.  I had a 
valid ID plate, courtesy of my friend Wata.  What could I possibly be 
afraid of?

	And then I saw just what it was I could possibly be afraid of.  
Some of the C's that were stopped were given injections, with air 
hypos.  And some of the B's were being made to stare into small objects 
that I suspected weren't too different from hypnocubes.  They knew I 
had blended in with the local population.  They knew I was here.  They 
knew, and they were trying to ferret me out with random sweeps.

	Immediately, I felt a panic grip me.  I looked about, but there 
was no way to escape, unless I started running.  Which was definitely 
an option.  The striped B's didn't have distance weapons; all they had 
were those long poles.

	Or so I thought.  Suddenly, to my great surprise someone started 
running.  I couldn't see his ID clearly, but I think it was a C.  Some 
of the B's started chasing after him. 

	He didn't get far; one of the B's raised his pole, aimed it, and 
fired.  There was a wooshing sound, and the fleeing C fell to the 
ground.  The B's closed on him.  The C started to get up, but I saw he 
was limping.  They must have hit him in his leg.  He tried to get away, 
but the B's caught up to him, and he was cornered against a wall.

	"No, no!" he cried, his face a mask of agony and terror.

	One of the B's touched him on the shoulder with the rod.  
Instantly his face relaxed, and a gentle smile graced his face.  "Thank 
you," I heard him say.  

	A small van hovered up to the scene.  Still smiling, the C 
allowed himself to be escorted into it.  And then the van sped away, 
and everyone resumed going about their business, like nothing had even 
happened.

	But a chill went down my spine.  That easily could have been me 
that had been tapped with the rod.  And what would happen to the 
captured C?  Mental conditioning?  'Processing'?  I shuddered, and went 
about my way.

	I tried to explore some of the city, but I felt wary about going 
far from the apartment building.  From a distance I saw two more sweeps 
being conducted.  Inwardly I wondered whether I had made a mistake by 
staying in this city.   But I would have been willing to bet that there 
were roadblocks all around the city, with travelers being given the 
same treatment.  No, I couldn't leave now, not until I found a secure 
method of travel.

	All the architecture here was squat, white, boxshape, and 
extremely functional.  I was almost surprised when I walked by a large-
ish building flanked by pillars.  Just what could this place be?  I 
looked up at the native lettering.

	"Hall... of... Memory...." I read, slowly translating it from the 
native tongue.  Hm.  Could that be a museum of sorts?

	It could.  I decided to take a look.  It was a building of wide 
halls and tall ceilings, decidedly most atypical, for Happy Worlder 
architecture.  I looked around at the displays.  They depicted the past 
history of the Negan empire.  I studied a large mural, depicting 
valiant warriors leading a victorious battle.  Underneath was a series 
of lettering.

	"Everyone suffered in the chaos of before, until they masters 
came.  They restored order, and gave us happiness."

	Hm.  I walked on, glancing at exhibits. Nothing exceptional; just 
standard propaganda, as I would have expected.  I went casually from 
room to room, pausing by exhibits only infrequently.

	But I stopped at the head.

	There was a head, mounted in a glass booth.  It looked like the 
head of a person.  I looked more closely.  It was obviously a plastic 
replica.  But it looked real.  It was labeled, "The head of Blurpus, 
the anarchist.  Turn the lever, and hear what he has to say."

	Turn the lever?  This looked interesting.  I looked to the side 
of the booth, and sure enough, there was a lever.

	"Hm, a show and tell museum," I said, grasping the lever firmly.  
I turned the lever, and the mouth started to move!

	"Bla Bla-"  I stopped turning.  The mouth stopped moving.

	I started again.  "Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla," said the 
anarchist, making wild movements with his eyes.  I stopped turning.

	I don't suppose I had expected to actually see another point of 
view here.  The only point of view that mattered was the state's.  
Everything else was bla bla bla.

	I looked a little more, but my heart really wasn't in it; it was 
obvious that there was nothing of value to be learned here.  As I 
exited I noticed a small child by the head.  He pointed up at the 
display case, and said, in a high voice, "Bla bla bla."

	"Well, he's learned something," I muttered, hastily making my 
egress from this insane asylum.

	I walked around a little more, but by mid afternoon I returned to 
the apartment.  Wata was still asleep, which was fine with me.  I put 
him into a trance again.

	I needed to be more focused, I realized that much now.  Every day 
I stayed on this world increased my chances of being caught.  But I had 
been sent here on a mission:  to put a monkey wrench into the 
technology piracy operation that was being carried out from this 
planet.  But in order to do that I had to break into their secure 
defense installations.  I didn't even know where to find their secure 
defense installations.

	I put that very question to Wata.  Not very surprisingly, he 
didn't know very much about their secure facilities either.  I asked 
him where the top security government offices were.  Again, he didn't 
know.  I asked for a map of the city.

	"We don't have maps," said Wata in a dreamy voice.  He always 
sounded like that when I hypnotized him.

	"No maps," I said dully.  "Then who knows where anything is?"

	"The peacemen," said Wata.

	The peacemen.  Wata identified them as the striped men with the 
rods.



	I didn't decide to take action that evening, perhaps because I 
didn't have the necessary courage.  Instead I sat back, watching Happy 
broadcasts on the screen transceiver.

	I had no problem choosing a selection because there was only one 
channel.  The screen was also an interpersonal communicator but I 
didn't feel like talking to anybody.  Instead, I watched what I 
supposed passed for their version of the news.

	"Economic production is up 4.4% in the industrial sector," 
rumbled the broadcaster, a thoroughly bored looking B.  "As a reward 
for our hard work, the Master has raised our annual work quota 10%."  
How nice.  This Master fellow must be a real sweetheart.

	Most of the broadcast went like that, with the Master saying 
this, the Master doing that.  The Master exhorted workers to submit to 
an essay contest detailing how to increase productivity in 500 words or 
less.  The Master inaugurated the opening of a new Zeno production 
plant (I suppose one can never have enough Zeno).  The Master awarded 
the citizen of the week decoration to some anonymous C, who persuaded 
his factory workers to give up their free time to increase 
productivity.  The Master exhorted citizens to eat their food cubes so 
they would stay healthy and productive.

	Master knows best, I thought as I gave a yawn.  I wondered if 
there even was a real person who was the Master, or if he was simply a 
symbol put together by this controlling society.  There were many 
reports on his doings, but video footage didn't seem to be the style of 
this broadcast.  But then the announcer said, "And now, for our final 
message of the broadcast, we have a special treat.  I am pleased to 
announce a message from... the Master!"

	The image on the screen changed.  It now showed the face of an 
individual with piercing eyes and a slightly balding head.  Those eyes 
seemed to stab out at me, and I found myself involuntarily recoiling 
from the screen.

	Hawkeye spoke.  "Citizens. It had come to my attention that there 
has been a recent increase in the number of unprocessed fugitives.  I 
encourage you to report anyone you have even the slightest suspicion 
of.  No harm will come of them, if they are truly citizens of the 
state, and you will be doing the state, and yourself, enormous 
service."

	He paused, and the camera got a closeup on his face.  "Serve the 
Master.  Serve the State."  And then the broadcast ended.

	Suddenly I felt alone, very much by myself.  It had been like 
this before, on other infiltration missions, but I felt it all the more 
even now.  Every single citizen on this planet wouldn't hesitate to 
turn me in, much like Wata.  They were all against me.  It sounded very 
much like a paranoid's nightmare, but here nightmares were a living 
reality.  Quite depressing.

	"Buck up!" I said to myself.  "This is a fundamentally sick 
society, and if you can throw a wrench into the works, it will be worth 
the effort."  I clapped my hands once, then again, trying to drain the 
stress within me.

	Wata stirred in his chair.

	"Oh, sorry!  Go back to sleep, Wata,"  I said, clapping twice 
again.  Wata obediently fell asleep.



	"It's Croft... get him!" said a groaning voice.  The crowd surged 
forward.  I tried to run, but bodies blocked my exit, surrounding me.  
Hands reached out at me.  I chopped at one, two, three, four, but more 
kept coming.  Finally they grabbed me, and held me still.

	"Process him!  He must be processed!" said the groaning voice.

	

	I woke up in a sweat.  For a moment I trembled, looking around.

	I was alone.  Wata lay tied in his chair.  The wild look in my 
eyes faded.  I realized what had happened.  Or rather, what hadn't.

	I feared getting caught.  The fear was always there, 
unconsciously, on any mission.  But on this planet getting caught was a 
greater peril.  I would be processed.

	I cherished my individuality above all else.  I didn't want to be 
consumed, to become part of a large machine.  What, I wonder, would 
life be like with thoughts in my mind that weren't my own?  Or being 
unable to think at all?

	After a long time I drifted back into an uneasy sleep.



	The next day I set out to catch myself a policeman.  

	Was I mad?  Perhaps.  I felt mostly recovered from my experience 
of the night before, and I felt it important to confront my fears.  
Sitting around would only magnify them.  Besides, each day I 
procrastinated in the city increased my chances of being caught.  I had 
to do something.  So I went around, hunting for a cop.

	But the coppers found me.  I was walking along, on a nondescript 
city street, when I suddenly noticed the area being cordoned off.  
Hordes of striped police, en mass, where closing in.

	This wasn't quite what I had in mind.  I quickly looked about; 
there was no possibility of escape to another street.  I looked to my 
left.  There was a large building there, with a sign over it "Connector 
Orientation".  At that moment any exit from that street looked good to 
me.  Perhaps I could slip out through a back entrance.

	I had no idea what "Connector Orientation" meant, but whatever it 
was, there was a receptionist in the front, a B.  He was flanked by two 
D's, both of which were armed.  Immediately I tensed up.  Wherever I 
was, I was obviously in a secured area.

	"Your business?" said the B, smiling at me.

	I was acutely aware that both D's were grasping their weapons.  
Each stared at me with dull orbs.  All it would take would be a shouted 
command for them to open fire.  I was also acutely aware that outside 
on the streets the sweep was continuing.  Time to think fast, Croft.

	"I'm here from connector supply," I said, being careful to smile.  
I still had no idea what connector orientation was, but I figured there 
must be a supply source.

	B nodded.  Evidently I had provided a valid answer.  But there 
was a second hurdle.  "Your business?"

	My, these B's were on the ball.  This was going to be a lot 
harder than ordering a stupid C around.  I felt myself start to sweat.  
"Um, inspection tour."

	The B raised a hand scanner, and a light played over my ID plate, 
and immediately I had a thought.  He could be checking to see if I was 
affiliated with the Connector group, whatever that was.  In that case I 
was a dead duck.  Or he could be checking to see if I had a rogue ID.  
In that circumstance I shouldn't have any problem.

	It seemed like an eternity before the scanner beeped.  The B 
nodded to me, "You may go forward."

	Nodding, I said, "Happy day," keeping my voice carefully calm.  
That had been close.

	I started looking for a back door almost immediately.  But I 
passed a hallway of rooms, and I couldn't resist taking a look.  After 
all, A.A. had wanted me to find out everything I could about these 
people.

	One room contained stacked boxes.  I slipped in, opened one.  And 
came out with a small metal component, connected to a thin metal 
strand.  A chill went through me.  These were the mental control boxes 
that all the D's wore.  That the authorities would undoubtedly like to 
put in me.  My hand shuddered as I put it back into the box.

	I should have left right then and there, but I still was curious 
what the other rooms contained.  I shouldn't have even looked into the 
next room.  But there was a window set into the door, and I couldn't 
resist.

	There were a number of citizens, sitting in a corner.  At a 
keyboard sat a B.  He pressed a button and said, "Get up."

	They all got up, displaying jerky and uneven coordination.

	"Go to the other side of the room," said the B, pressing another 
button.

	They obeyed him, trooping across the room.

	"Pick up the pistols on the ground you see before you."

	They did so.

	"Now, fire them at each other."

	They obeyed.  But the guns only clicked.  It had been a test.

	"Very good," said the B, making a note.  To the B, it was all 
just an experiment.  Experimenting with people's minds.  To make sure 
they were under total control.  I'd like to have made a note of him.

	"No..." said a feeble voice.  It was one of the test subjects.

	"What?" said the B.

	"No," said one of them, starting to walk towards the door.  

	"You may not leave!" said the B, pressing a button.

	"No!" said the resister.  He grasped the back of his neck.  He 
seemed to be in pain.

	"Obey!" said the B.  He pressed another button.

	"No!" the resister screamed, grabbing the back of his neck.

	"Obey!" the B shrieked, pressing another button.  Hard.

	The resister's breathing grew softer.  His eyes grew vacant.  "I 
must obey," he said dully.

	I got out of there quickly.  I had the strong urge to go in there 
and splatter that B against a wall.  I could have done it; but that 
wasn't my mission.  I wasn't supposed to risk myself, I kept repeating.

	But I felt lousy as I exited the building.

	"Come again," smiled the B at the front desk.

	I felt a little better after I had taken a short walk.  The 
absolute control exercised by the Master was really obscene.  And what 
bothered me the most was that I could have been one of them. One of 
those D's, with a box implanted in my neck, telling me what to think 
every moment of my life.

	I fled in revulsion, losing track of time. When I looked up, I 
noticed that I had walked to the edge of the city limits.  There were a 
number of trees here along the road, and I only knew that I felt better 
away from those zombies.

	Only I wasn't entirely away from them.  As I walked along the 
road a hovercraft slowed and stopped right ahead of me.  Two striped 
men got out.  They both carried rods.

	"Identification," one said, raising a hand scanner.  The other, I 
noticed, had an air spray on his belt, as well as what I suspected was 
a hypno device.  As I was a B, they would probably use the hypno device 
on me, if anything.

	I stood still as they took my ID.  The scanner beeped.

	But that wasn't the end of it.  "What are you doing here, citizen 
Wata?" said one of them.

	"Taking a walk," I said, smiling.  "Thinking about the wisdom of 
the Master."  That seemed like a good thing to say.

	Not to these fellows.  "It says here that you're in 
manufacturing.  Why aren't you on shift?"

	"Well, ah...."

	One of the policemen took a small device from his belt.  "Look 
into this, please," he said.

	"Look into this," I counteroffered, drawing my blaster from my 
pouch, gunning him down.  The second whirled his rod to tap me on the 
shoulder.  I shot him and he fell, the rod dropping from his hands.

	I quickly dragged the bodies in the forest behind some trees, and 
went rummaging about in their patrol car.  I had given them the heavy 
stun treatment, so they wouldn't be awake for some time.  A few hours, 
perhaps.  Just the time that I would need.

	I entered their patrol car.  "Next stop, police headquarters," I 
said, taking a deep breath.



	It is a misperception that agents, even the best of agents, are 
always cool customers.  We're just under better emotional control than 
the average citizen.  But no amount of control I could muster could 
totally dispel the anxiety I felt when I parked my hovercar in the 
local police HQ.  I was wearing a bulky suite with a stripe on it, 
courtesy of one of my new friends who was sleeping it off in the 
forest.

	It was my understanding that there were several police precincts 
in the area.  I didn't know which one these fellows worked for, but, as 
I was appropriating the ID of one of them, I hoped I wouldn't run into 
other policemen who knew them.  The fear of discovery, though, kept the 
adrenaline pumping.

	I walked in the station.  Striped B's milled about, busy at work.  
No one seemed to take notice of me.  I sat down at an empty terminal, 
and requested access.

	The screen scanned my ID, and the words ACCESS GRANTED appeared 
on the screen.

	The system was very user friendly, which I quite appreciated; 
there were a number of menus, all of which could lead to interesting 
things.  But what I wanted was classified defense installations.  I was 
having trouble punching them up; evidently my classification wasn't 
high enough to access that information.  Instead I settled on a map of 
the region, along with a listing of 'classified' zones in a 500 unit 
area.  As the printer chugged out hard copies I couldn't resist a 
smile.  It was so easy!

	I started exploring the database some more.  I checked RECENT 
BULLETINS.  There was one item there that was of special interest to 
me.



	ALIEN OF 04-85-38 STILL EVADING CAPTURE.  ORIGINS UNKNOWN.  
INTENT UNKNOWN.  BUT PRESUMED TO BE AGENT OF HOSTILE POWERS.  SWEEPS 
CONTINUING IN ALL SECTORS IN 1500 UNIT AREA.



	A 1500 unit area!  Well, well, they must have thousands of people 
looking for me!  But wait, there was more.



	ALIEN SUSPECTED OF DISGUISING SELF IN ROLE OF CITIZENRY.  SWEEPS 
WILL CONTINUE UNTIL CAPTURE IS EFFECTED.  ALIEN IS SUSPECTED OF BEING 
EXTREMELY INTELLIGENT



	So, they did  have some accurate information about me.



-AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.  REWARD OF 5000 PRESTIGE UNITS GOES TO THE 
CITIZEN WHO ASSISTS IN THE CAPTURE.



	I whistled inwardly.  5000 prestige units.  I didn't know how 
much that meant, but it sounded like a lot.



REPORT CAPTURE TO CENTRAL CONTROL FOR PROCESSING AT EARLIEST 
OPPORTUNITY.



	That was the end of the bulletin.  Again I felt a chill.  They 
wanted to process  me.  Well, they weren't going to, not if I could 
help it.

	I got back to work on the database.  I printed out the names of 
the serial numbers of other policemen, information which I thought 
could be useful.  And then I was sorting through other databases and I 
caught the category "MALADJUSTED" and I just had to look.  Anything 
that was labeled maladjusted in this society was probably worth looking 
at.

	I quickly got the idea that this was a database for resisters.  I 
didn't have time to search all the names, but the database was 
prioritized according to threat potential.  I punched up the name of 
the citizen with the most threat potential.

	And came up with a long serial number (which I copied down) and a 
name:  Banner.  And punched up another series of buttons to find out 
more about him.  My stomach twisted.  He had just been caught.  And 
recently, too.  Circumstances?  Trying to steal information from a 
classified installation.

	I think I needed to have a talk with Mr. Banner.

	But I had to make the most of my time; I had already been at the 
terminal for over two hours, and I realized that my two friends who 
were sleeping in the forest could wake up soon. But then I saw a menu 
labeled "D CONTROLS", and I just had to take a peek.  D's evidently 
were remote controlled by something called central processing.  But 
they could also be controlled by individual handheld units.  I had just 
started to punch up a request on those when I felt a tap on my 
shoulder.

	Instinctively, I froze.  Then I slowly turned around, a small 
smile but stupid on my face.

	I was facing another striped B.  "You are not on priority duty," 
he said, smiling genially.

	"No," I said, not certain if this were a statement or a question.

	"This unit is malfunctioning," said the B, speaking loudly.  I 
looked about.  They were on to me!  I was all set to bolt from the 
chair when the B handed me an electronic notepad with a serial number 
on it.  "Take this unit in for readjustment."

	Oh.  I felt a big sigh of relief.  And withheld it.  I was still 
under the watchful eye of this B.  Now I had to perform an assignment.  
There was no getting out of it.  I was sent out in a hovercar with 
three other B's.  They smiled at me as we drove along to our 
destination.

	"I don't believe I've seen you here before," said one of them.  
He looked rather stupid and dull, more insipid than even an average 
member of this brain dead constabulary.

	"Neither have I," said the second one.  The third one nodded for 
effect.

	"No," I smiled.  "I have just been transferred."

	"From where?" said the stupid looking one.

	"From... 384.4 by 849," I said.  Happy World places did not have 
names.  Everything, I learned, was in map coordinates.  I had just 
picked those out of my head.

	"Odd," said the stupid B, as the hovercraft sped on.

	"What?" I said, still smiling.

	"I believe 384.4 by 849 is in the ocean," he said.  The stupid B 
evidently was not that stupid.

	"Did I say 384.4 by 849?  I meant, by 349," I said, hoping I had 
struck dry land.

	The B nodded, but he looked a little suspicious.  I wished we 
would get to our destination.  He kept giving me sharp glances, and I 
wished I could have smacked him a little.  He was going to blow my 
cover.

	In a few short minutes, we arrived at our destination.  We were 
at an apartment complex, actually not far from the one where I lived.  
We entered the main elevator, each of us carrying a police rod.

	When we reached the appropriate door, one of the B's knocked.  
When the occupant opened the door, he was wide eyed with surprise when 
he saw the four of us, rods ready.  He backed away, into the apartment, 
as we calmly marched in.

	I saw that he was an ordinary B.  He tried to smile, but he 
looked nervous.

	"B-8959278112?" said one of the B's.

	"Yes?" he said, still smiling.

	The B removed a hypnodevice from his belt.  "Please look into 
this."

	The B started to comply, but then he shielded his eyes.  "No, 
no!" he cried.  He tried to run past us, for the door.

	One of the B's easily tapped him with the rod.  He froze in his 
tracks, and gave a broad smile.  "Thank you," he said gently.

	What could I do?  There were three of them, and only one of me.  
It sickened me to do the state's work, especially this sort of state's 
work, but there was little I could do about it.

	But that could have been me.  That could have been me that had 
been tapped with the rod.  And then, what next?  Processing?  I started 
to shudder again, but turned it into a bright smile when I caught the 
dull B looking oddly at me.

	One of the B's called in on his pocket radio.  He said, "Mission 
accomplished.  B-8959278112 apprehended, returning to base."

	There was a short voice, and then a curt voice said.  
"Affirmative.  But note instructions now amended.  Apprehend B-
7563847279 as well.  Immediately."

	Oh well, we were being given another job.  After a few moments I 
had managed to calm down a bit, and I was now a little desensitized by 
this mission.  I was even rather ho hum about it, idly wondering who 
our next victim would be.

	And then I saw the others looking at my license plate, mouthing 
the numbers.  I looked down.  I was B-7563847279.  

	They had discovered my sleeping police friends.  They were after 
me now.



Chapter 6



	One of the B's whirled about to bring the rod down on my 
shoulder. I parried his rod with my own, and with my other hand brought 
the blaster out of my pocket.  I fired on one of my fellow coppers, and 
he fell, slumping to the ground.  I fired on a second, but he ducked, 
behind a piece of furniture.

	Meanwhile, my third associate was still trying to tap me with the 
rod.  He slammed down hard with his rod and mine went crashing to the 
floor.  But then I shot him, and he went down.

	Meanwhile the other B I had missed was crawling surreptitiously 
towards the door.  I picked up my fallen rod and smartly tapped him on 
the shoulder.  It was my dull friend, the one who had been suspicious 
of me earlier.  He wasn't suspicious now.  He just sat back and smiled.  
"Thank you," he said.

	"You're quite welcome," I said, smiling just as broadly.  I 
gestured to the rod.  "You wouldn't mind telling me how this works?"

	The B I had tapped with the rod gave a broad smile.  "Thank you," 
he said.

	"Hmmm."  If I were to get any answers, I would have to find them 
for myself.  I looked more closely at the rod.  How come it didn't 
affect the person who held it?  Then I noticed a guard grip at one end.  
The safe end.

	I approached the B we had apprehended.  He was still standing 
there, just smiling.

	"Snap out of it," I said, snapping my fingers in front of his 
face.  He didn't blink.  I tried slapping his face a few times, but 
that didn't work either.  All he did was thank me.

	I sighed.  I really should be getting out of here.  But I 
resolved to give it one more try.  I took out my own hypnocube, putting 
it up to his eyes.  He responded immediately.

	"Listen," I said, "You are no longer dazed.  Act normally.  Act 
normally."

	It seemed to have an effect, for as I put the cube away, the 
fellow blinked.

	"What happened?" he said, seeing the bodies of my fellow peacemen 
on the ground.

	"Just another sterling example of your tax dollars at work," I 
said.  "I suggest you leave. Now."

	"But you're..." Realization suddenly dawned on his face.  "Thank 
you!" he said, racing past me for the door.  In moments he was gone.

	On second thought, I should have stopped him to ask a few 
questions.  If he had been part of an underground organization, I had 
lost a valuable opportunity to make contact with them.  I sighed, 
preparing to depart.

	Suddenly one of the pocket communicators crackled.  "Report, 
report," it said.

	I paused for a moment, considering what to do.  If I didn't 
answer it, they would get suspicious.  If I did answer it, I might be 
able to bluff them.  But even if I didn't, I could escape before they 
sent in reinforcements.  On the other hand, it might be interesting to 
respond. For a moment I remained indecisive.

	"Report, report," it said again.

	I picked up the comlink, activating it.  "B-2244857684 here," I 
said, carefully reading the license plates off of one of my fallen 
companions.

	"B-7563847279 has been identified as the wanted alien.  He is 
dangerous, repeat, most dangerous.  You are to bring him directly to 
control.  At once.  You have apprehended him?"

	"Well," I said, taking a deep breath, "Yes, and no."

	"B-2244857684, repeat message.  Did not read."

	"B-7563847279 was so clever, that he managed to overpower us," I 
reported.  "I think he's smarter than we are."  And then I gave a 
chuckle.

	"B-2244857684..."  there was a pause.  "You are the alien."

	"Give the man a cigar," I chuckled.

	"Give yourself up, alien.  You cannot escape.  You will be 
captured."

	"I don't think so, pal.  You haven't had much luck so far, even 
with the resources of half the planet mobilized against me."

	"You will be captured.  You will be adjusted.  You will be made 
to fit."

	"I don't fit in very easily," I confessed.  "I never mix well at 
parties."

	"You will be taken."  The voice was flat, matter of factly.

	 I cleared my throat.  Time to wrap it up.  "Yes, Well, I'd like 
to stay and see you try, but I've got things to do, places to go, you 
know how it is.  Happy day," I said cheerfully, signing off.

	And then I got out of there, quick.  For I was certain that they 
would be there in minutes.  I took the elevator down and nearly dashed 
out the front entrance.  I didn't know when they would arrive.

	They didn't take very long to get there, and when they did, they 
arrived in numbers.  And in force.  Watching from a rooftop two blocks 
away, I saw how seriously they took me.  Literally hundreds of striped 
troops converged on the building.  They would search it from top to 
bottom, no doubt, tapping everyone in the building with their rods in a 
vain attempt to get a lead on me.  Well, let them spend all the time 
and effort they wanted; they could use the exercise.

	That evening Wata tried to engage me in conversation.  "You've 
assumed the role of a peaceman now," he said.

	"Oh, is that what they call them?" I said innocently, feeling the 
stripe along my waist.

	"You're going to be caught sooner or later.  Everyone is.  You 
might as well give yourself up.  It's for your own good." said Wata.  I 
think he was trying to play the role of my friend now.  Previous taunts 
were being overlooked for the greater good, getting clinical help for 
poor old me.

	"I should accept processing?" I said.  "No thanks.  I'd rather be 
in jail."

	"Incarceration?" Wata frowned.  "Why?  Why wouldn't you want the 
peace and harmony of correct thinking?"

	"Correct thinking," I chuckled.  "Listen to yourself.  Where I 
come from there are many ways of thinking.  People are allowed to think 
for themselves."

	"Chaos!  Anarchy!  Crime must be-"

	"A problem.  Well, yes, to a degree.  People can think anything 
they like, but if their thoughts led to actions that harm others, well, 
then, we draw the line, and apprehend them.  But your society engages 
in total thought control.  Look at your poor D's!"

	"The D's are happy," said Wata.

	"The D's are programmed to be happy.  They're not human beings, 
they're robots!"  Wata's attitude disgusted me.  I wondered if would he 
like to become a D.

	"But... what would they do with more initiative?  Most D's are 
simple laborers.  They have no need for it," said Wata.

	"Need for it.  You mean, the state has no need for it."  I 
sighed.  Why was I bothering to argue with him?  This brainwashed 
sliver of a cortex didn't have any thoughts of his own.  "Do you know 
you've been hypnotized?  Processed?"

	"Yes, of course."  Wata said it matter of factly, as if it didn't 
bother him.

	"And you don't mind?"

	"Why should I?  It is for the good of society, and-"

	"You disgust me.  Go to sleep, Wata," I said, annoyed, as I 
rapidly clapped twice.  He instantly dropped into a slumber.  But I 
kept frowning.

	I was so irritated by our discussion that I tried to watch some 
broadcast transmissions to take my mind off of it.  I turned on the 
viewer, only to see a drama about C's who were working extra hard to 
increase their productivity.  Their B supervisors were pleased, and it 
all ended happily.

	I turned off the TV, and tried to get to sleep.  





	The next day I paid a visit to the local insane asylum.

	Of course, it wasn't called that.  It wasn't even called "Mental 
Hospital".  The title of the building I entered was "Rehomogenization 
Facility 102."  My ID was scanned at the desk, but I wasn't pestered 
with any irksome questions. I was a peaceman, again, only this time 
with a valid ID.  Valid IDs would no longer be a problem, as long as I 
was a copper; I had a long list of current ones I had recorded when I 
had accessed the police terminal.

	I walked along the corridors of the facility, carrying my 
peaceman's rod.  The rod, I had also discovered, could be used to fire 
a paralyzing field, simply by squeezing the handle.  Very neat.

	I heard a high pitched whine coming from a room to the right.  I 
know I shouldn't have looked,  but I did.

	It was a conveyor belt of bodies.  They were all face down, but 
their faces were turned to the side, and I could see an idiotic smile 
on their face.  But what repulsed me the most was the machine above 
them.  Every time the conveyor belt moved forward, a body moved into 
position underneath it.  Then, with lightning quick speed, a laser 
burst out of the mechanism, cutting into the upper neck of the patient.  
And then a mechanical arm came close and inserted something into the 
victim.  The victims were so drugged up that they didn't even scream.

	But I wanted to; I had a fair idea what was happening here.  
These poor fools were being fitted with mind control units.  That's 
what they could do to me if I were captured.  That could be me lying on 
the table there, the beam cutting into my skin, the alien device being 
inserted into my mind, probing, controlling....   My stomach heaved, 
and I felt queasy; I grabbed my waist, and leaned against a wall.  

	"Can we help you?" said a C, smiling at me.

	I whirled about.  There were two C's, standing by the door.

	I immediately stood straight, ignoring my discomfort.  "This 
procedure...."  I was at a loss for words.

	"We are helping integrate citizens into society," said a C, 
smiling at me.  "These people had a difficult time adjusting.  But now 
they'll fit in very well."

	I wanted to bash his face in.  My first instinct was to blast 
those C's, wreck the machinery, and free those poor victims.

	But I had a job to do, and I couldn't risk myself.  

	I can't risk myself.  I'm too important to risk myself.  I can't, 
I can't.  I kept telling myself that.  Wordlessly, I marched from the 
room.

	I shouldn't have gone into the next room either, but there were 
no doors, and I couldn't help but see what was going on.  This was 
obviously the post operative ward.  Citizens were jerking, just 
wandering aimlessly, until a voice in the wall said, "Sit."

	They all sat.

	"Obey the master," said the voice.

	They repeated it.

	I had seen this all before, and I forced myself to move on.  This 
is what they wanted to do to me.  This is what they would do to me if 
they captured me.  I self consciously rubbed the back of my neck.

	I must have entered a C ward next, for the next thing I saw was a 
large room full of people being injected.  They stood there, dully in 
line, as a technician shot something into their arms.  Suddenly, one of 
them jumped out of line and yelled incoherently, "No, no!  Fuck, fuck, 
fuck!  I have to wash my hands!  I have to wash my hands! Jail! Jail!"

	I was surprised to see that this was not a resistor, but a newly 
inoculated patient.  He was a large man, with big pouting lips, and he 
was now running around wildly in circles, waving his hands in the air.

	"He's having a negative reaction," said an orderly.  "Prepare to 
wipe him clean again."  Several orderlies grabbed the fellow.

	"No! No!  Hands!  Hands!  Jail!  Jail!" The man shrieked.  But 
they held him down, and injected him with something else.  He slumped, 
unconscious.  A small trail of drool flowed out of his mouth onto the 
padded floor.

	I winced inwardly.

	"Happy day."

	I turned, to look into the face of a B who stood behind me.  Had 
I shown any negative emotion?

	"Happy day," I smiled.

	"Can I help you, peaceman?" said the B.  "My name is Banta.  I am 
the director of this complex."

	"Pleased to meet you," I smiled.  "I am Dulhead.  I am looking 
for one," I looked down at a piece of paper, "B-8392857362."

	"Ah, Banner," said the B.  "You'll find our patient in the B 
wing.  Follow me, please."  He escorted me down the hall.  "May I ask 
why you wish to see our patient?"

	"Peaceman business," I said.  "He is an unadjusted, you know."

	"Yes... so he was," said Banta.

	I didn't like the sound of that; had I arrived too late?

	I was brought to a small room.  When I entered I saw what must 
have been Banner.

	Banner smiled up at me.  "How may I help you, citizen?"

	I was surprised; Banner was a woman.  I hadn't known that before.  
She was slim but well proportioned, and had long straight hair brown 
that went down her back.  In other circumstances she might've been 
pretty.  But then I stared into his eyes.  They were empty, vacant 
things.  I had arrived too late.  I abruptly turned to go.

	"Leaving so soon?" said Banta.  "I thought you wanted to see 
Banner."  There was something in his mood, something I couldn't put my 
finger on, that put me on guard.

	"Ah, yes," I said.  "I forgot something in my vehicle."  I 
started to turn the corner.  

	And almost ran into five peacemen.  All with their rods aimed at 
me.

	"Happy day," I said, smiling.

	"It is a happy day," said Banta.  "We have you caught, alien."

	I raised my rod in one smooth motion.  But I couldn't be quicker 
than a trigger grip.  One of them fired, and there was a loud noise, 
and I noticed, with some shock, that I was incapable of moving.  I was 
frozen in place.

	Move, muscles, move.  I tried to jerk my arms, my legs.  But I 
wasn't going anywhere.

	"You may be wondering how you were caught, clever alien," smiled 
Banta.  "We were alerted that you might be coming here.  When central 
control realized exactly which false ID you used to access our systems, 
we simply examined the files you looked for.  When control noticed your 
examination of the Banner file, they arranged to greet you here."

	I had been outthought.  I hadn't considered that my research 
would be recorded.  And now I was caught.  My hand was still on my rod, 
my hand on the trigger grip.  If I could just move it a few inches....

	Banta reached into down and took the rod from my limp hand.  
"Central Command is sending a convoy for you within the hour.  In the 
interim, we'll do our best to make you comfortable."  He brought his 
face next to mind.  "You'll soon know the peace of mind and happiness 
that comes from conversion," he said.

	I tried to growl something defiant, but my vocal cords weren't 
working.

	And then, to my horror, one of the peacemen came forward, staff 
in hand.  He looked as if he was going to use it.  He brought the staff 
down on my shoulder.  I felt a tap, a tingling through my body, and 
then my mind ceased functioning.



Chapter 7



	"Thank you," I felt myself say.  Suddenly I felt a surge of 
happiness.  I smiled.  There were nice people all around me.

	The nice people led me away.  I found that I walked uncertainly, 
though I didn't understand why.  But gradually walking got easier again 
and my friends were very patient with me.

	They took me to a room and had me lie down.  I obeyed, though my 
body was still clumsy; I wanted my new friends to like me.  When I lay 
down they put metal clamps over my arms and legs.  I didn't know why 
they did that.

	I saw a nice machine over me.  For a moment I had just a drop of 
apprehension, and then it faded, and I didn't even know what I had been 
thinking.  I just lay there, smiling.

	Part of the machine above me came down and touched my arm.  There 
was a slight hum, and I felt a little vibration over my body.  Then 
that part of the machine lifted away.



	And my mind returned to my control.  Suddenly I was thinking very 
clearly again.  I looked left and right.  A double pair of bodyguards, 
all armed.

	I sighed.  I had tried to deny it, but I knew it could have come 
to this.  I had been caught, just as the other Column agents had.  This 
had been bound to happen.  This would probably be the last few minutes 
of my life that I would be exercising independent thought.  The laser 
would stab out, and one of those control devices would be planted in my 
neck....

	But I was facing up, not down!  Whatever that machine above me 
was, it wasn't a control device implanter.  A small ray of hope 
pervaded me.

	"The alien returns to its unadjusted self," said a voice that I 
recognized as Banta's.  But I couldn't see him.  

	"Sorry if I don't get up," I said.

	"Apology accepted.  I'm actually not far from you, just a few 
feet away at the control panel here.  Your escort to control central 
will be arriving in just a few minutes.  Until then we should be making 
productive use of our time together, don't you think?"

	"Sure.  Productivity is my middle name."  Keep him talking.  As 
long as I had my mind, I had a chance.  I was still in the same 
clothes, though I think they had emptied my pouch of all its devices.  
But had they found my hidden pouch?

	"To begin, what is your name?" Banta asked.

	"Floppo the Clown," I said.

	Suddenly I heard a high pitched noise, and a beam stabbed out of 
the machine, hitting me in the shoulder.  I felt a terrible shock.

	"That is a lie.  Your real name, please."

	"Go jump in the river."

	The machine stabbed out again.  Only this time the pain didn't 
stop.  It kept coursing through my body, wracking it with pain.  I 
tried to scream, but I couldn't make a sound.	

	And then it stopped.  I gasped for breath.

	"Your name, please."

	"Clifford Croft," I gasped.

	"What is your mission here, Cliffordcroft?" said Banta.

	"I'm a traveling deodorant salesman," I snarled.

	And then the pain kicked in again.  It increased very quickly, 
stabbing into my body, and I felt a strong pain of nausea in my gut.  
And then the pain ceased, and I was gasping for breath again.  It took 
me a moment to realize that there were newcomers in the room.

	"What is happening here?" said a new voice.

	"I am attempting to extract information from the alien," came 
Banta's voice.

	"The orders were that nothing was to be done to the alien until 
he was at control," said the newcomer.  It had a voice of authority to 
it.

	"The alien is unharmed," said Banta, sounding a little 
uncomfortable.  

	"I see," said the newcomer.  "You must be punished, of course."

	"Of course," said Banta, in a resigned way.

	"Inform control that you are to log two hours in the agony 
field."

	"Yes... thank you."

	Thank you indeed!  My only wish was to have seen poor Banta 
serving his sentence.

	"You are welcome," came the voice.  Then, "Prepare this alien for 
travel."

	"Shall we put him to peace?" came a voice.

	"No.  That is a risk, however slight, and he must not be damaged, 
not before the receipt is signed for him," said the newcomer's voice.  
"Fetch a standard C preparation, 100% strength."

	"I have one right here."  Footsteps clattered in the distance.

	A standard C preparation!  That sounded like a drug.  This was 
it; this would probably be my last moments of free thought.  I tried to 
struggle as the hand with the air hypo came into vision, but the metal 
clamps had me thoroughly bound.

	And then the hypo was against my skin, and I heard a hiss.



	And then everything was all right.  I smiled gently.  My mind was 
cluttered; what was I doing here?

	A man smiled at me.  "Come with me, Cliffordcroft," he said, 
guiding me by the hand.

	My mind tried to assimilate this.  "Going?"

	"Yes, you are going, to meet new friends."

	"Hmmm, friends," I heard myself say.

	They led me outside.  There was a whole convoys of hovercars 
there, many of them filled with people.

	"Ooooh," I said, eyeing all the vehicles.  "For me?"

	The man did not respond.  He left my field of vision, but gentle 
hands escorted me into a small four seater hovercar.

	We had a nice drive through the countryside, and after a short 
time we reached a place with aircraft.  A lot of them.

	Helpful hands propelled me up an airplane's steps.

	"Go trip?" I said.

	"Yes, a nice one," I was assured.

	But I was sad to leave all my new friends.  Only a few were going 
with me.

	But I enjoyed the plane's takeoff, and I made vroom-vroom sounds 
as we sped off the runway into the air.  We were on a small plane, but 
I didn't mind that; a few of my friends sat about, some watching me, 
others looking out the window.

	I looked out the window.  There were clouds, nice clouds.

	Nice clouds.

	I blinked.  Clouds... I was in a plane.

	A plane.

	I blinked again.

	I had been captured by the Happy Worlder authorities.



	Suddenly, as if I had taken off a pair of colored glasses, 
everything looked normal to me again.  They had drugged me, and were 
now taking me to their Central Control.  Not a place that I would 
minded going to, though not exactly under these conditions.

	I looked about.  I was guarded, but not restrained in any way, 
not even by electrocuffs.  Why?

	They thought I was drugged!  They were so confident in their 
methods, so sure of their means, that they were certain that I was 
drugged.

	And I had been.  I dimly remembered that now.  What had happened?

	I rubbed a slightly sore part of my arm.  One of my captors 
looked sharply at me.  I smiled at him.  He smiled back.

	There were small bumps in my arm.

	Inoculations.  The inoculations had worked.

	The Column had tried to prepare me as best they could.  During my 
preparation process they had given me an experimental drug inoculants.  
Theoretically, if it worked, it was supposed to cancel out the effects 
of any mind altering drug.  Theory was fine, but at the time I had 
pooh-poohed it.

	But it had worked.  My mind was free, free!

	I decided to postpone the celebrations.  I was in the air, in a 
plane full of guards, and... I looked out the window.  There was even a 
fighter escort.  These people really went in for overkill.

	I casually looked about the cabin.  There were three... no, only 
four of them.  All armed with rods.  Great odds.

	But the odds would be even worse on the ground.  Once I was in 
their labs, I was sure, they would drain any free thoughts I might 
still have.  Therefore I must never reach their labs. Once on the 
ground I'm sure I would be surrounded by a large convoy whose job would 
be to ensure that I reached those labs.  Therefore this plane must not 
reach its destination.  I would have to turn this plane around.  

	I looked out the windows at one of the escorting fighters.	One 
of the peaceman cast a glance towards me.  

	"Nice plane!" I said, waving out the window to it.  Well, maybe I 
wouldn't be able to turn things around so quickly.  First things first.  
Time to take control of the plane.

	I gradually let my smile fade, and then turned it into a frown.

	"Is something the matter?" said a peaceman.

	"Have go bathroom," I said.

	The peaceman nodded, and lifted me by the arm, out of the seat.  
I noticed that he left his rod in his seat.  That wasn't part of my 
plan.

	The washroom was in the rear of the plane.  He opened the door to 
the tiny compartment for me.

	But I just looked confused.  "Have... have go bathroom," I said.

	The peaceman's smile was beginning to wane, but he sighed, 
resigning himself to the inevitable.  He bent down to open my trousers-

	and got a knee in the face for his troubles.  And a good karate 
chop on the back of the neck; I wasn't feeling in a charitable mood.  
It was done silently, quickly,