Would you like to see all hell break loose? Just make a few holes in nothing at all—push some steel beams through the holes—and then head for the hills. But first, read what happened to some people who really did it.

Would you like to see all hell break loose? Just make a few holes in nothing at all—push some steel beams through the holes—and then head for the hills. But first, read what happened to some people who really did it.

HOLES INCORPORATED

HOLES

By L. Major Reynolds

The red-headed secretary asked, "Names, please?"

The

"Ted Baker."

"Bill Stephens."

"To see H. Joshua Blair. We have an appointment."

"It's for three-thirty. We called up two weeks ago."

The secretary said, "Oh, yes. I have you on the list." She checked them off, studied them vaguely, asked, "What was it you wanted to see Mr. Blair about?"

Ted Baker held out the small steel box he was carrying. "About this."

"Ah—what is it?"

"It's a box."

"I can see that," the redhead snapped. "What is it for? What does it do?"

"It's for construction work. It makes holes."

The girl sighed. It was late in the day and she didn't care much, really. She snapped an intercom button. An inquiring voice rasped at her. She said, "A Mr. Baker and a Mr. Stephens to see you."

Evidently it was all right because she snapped off the button and pointed to a door. "In there."

They went in the door and faced a desk large enough to play tennis on. The man behind the desk 

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