station, sealing it tightly at surface level. But on this day, midmorning of Hendley's second day in the custody of the Morale Investigating Department, the sun shone brightly and was reflected with glaring brilliance from the smooth surface of the landing field.

The field's perimeter was completely enclosed. Hendley stood in a boarding area with the Investigator looking out at the field through thick plastic windows. The circle of the open roof line cupped a patch of blue sky. Once in the copter he would see nothing until he arrived at the Freeman Camp. The pilotless, instrument-guided planes had no windows.

"This is your ship now," the Investigator said.

One of the copters glided close to the boarding area where Hendley waited. It hovered a few feet above the ground, supported on columns of air. As an enclosed boarding ramp swung out to meet the ship, a panel in its side slid open to receive the ramp.

"You have your visitor's card?" the Investigator asked.

Hendley nodded, but he fished automatically in his pocket for perhaps the twentieth time to check the card. It bore an impression of his own identity disc. Its authorization was for twenty-four hours from time of arrival at Freeman Camp No. 17. Idly Hendley wondered how many camps there were, and how many Freemen enjoyed the pleasures of each.

"I may not see you again," the Investigator was saying. "Other assignments are waiting for me, but you can be sure I'll check on your progress reports. Enjoy your freedom, TRH-247. Experience it! For one day you will know pure pleasure!"

"Pleasure Is Pure," Hendley murmured, echoing one of the familiar Freeman slogans. "Freedom Is All."

"Open your heart to it," the Investigator urged him warmly. "I know you'll come back a dedicated man."

Before the big man's enthusiasm Hendley felt a confusion of emotions. The Investigator so obviously believed in what he was doing. It seemed to Hendley that he should at this moment voice some grateful phrase, give some evidence of excitement felt and eagerness shared. But the words were blocked by the ambivalence of his reaction, as if his instinct warned him that the freedom he was shortly to discover was itself some kind of trap, like an exotic plant whose beauty concealed a deadly poison.

"I guess it's time," he said. "They're signaling for passengers to 

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