southwest by south at an altitude of eighty miles. Stephen was not terrified at being kidnapped, for he had never heard of such a thing, but there was one thing that did worry him. "I shall be late for work," he said.

"Work," the young man said, "is a bore."

Stephen was shocked. Work had always been the sacred principle of his life; a rare and elevating sweetness to be cultivated and savored whenever it might be offered. He, himself, had long been allotted alternate Thursday afternoons as biological technician at Mnemonic Manufactures, Plant No. 103, by the Works Administration, and he had not missed a day for many years. This happened to be one of his Thursdays, and if he did not arrive soon he would be late for the four-hour shift. Certainly no one else could be expected to relinquish a part of his shift to accommodate a laggard.

"Work is for prats," the young man said again. "It encourages steatopygia. My last work date was nine years ago, and I am glad that I never went back."

Stephen now felt a surge of fear at last. Such unregenerates as this man were said to exist, but he had never met one before. They were the shadowy Unemployed, who, barred from government dispensation, must live by their wits alone. Whimsical nihilists, they, who were apt to requisition human life, as well as property, at a breath's notice.

Small lightning sheeted in front of their bow. A voice crackled in the communications disk. "Attention! This is an official air barricade. Proceed to Level Twelve to be cleared."

"Pretend to comply," the young man said. "Then, when you are six or eight levels below these patrol skimmers following us, make a run for it toward that cloud bank on the horizon."

"Very well," Stephen said. He had quickly weighed the gloomy possibilities, and decided that his best chance for survival lay in instant compliance with this madman's wishes, however outrageous they might seem.

He nosed down, silently flitting past brightly painted fueling blimp platforms and directional floats with their winking beacons. To the east, the City lay, with its waffle-like subdivisions, its height-foreshortened skyscrapers, and its vast Port, where space rockets winked upward every few minutes.

"If you were only on one of those!" Stephen said feelingly.

His abductor smiled—a rather malicious smile. 

 Prev. P 2/15 next