Foreman looked angry. "Do you get how stupid that is? Postponing a defeat is not a victory. It is still a defeat! You're just stretching out the whole tragic exercise. And you call that a life? Yes, some of you are beginning to realize the cost of a lifetime

= dedicated to survival. There's no life at all in that kind of a life." For some reason, Ozalie was in tears now. She stood beside Foreman, weeping quietly; the tears were running down her cheeks.

Foreman handed her a tissue and waved her back into her seat. He crossed to the opposite side of the room. "All right, I said I needed two volunteers. You've already selected yourselves. Everybody check the bottom of your chair. You will find an envelope taped to the bottom of it. Don't open it yet."

I felt around under my seat, expecting to find nothing-and for a moment, I did. Then my fingers brushed the edge of the envelope and I pulled it off and brought it out and looked at it.

The people around me were finding envelopes of their own. We glanced at each other's, but they all looked the same.

Foreman was looking around the room. "All right, here's how it works. Don't open your envelopes yet. I'll tell you when. All of the envelopes have cards in them. All but two of the envelopes contain blank white cards. The two remaining envelopes have red cards in them. The assistants do not know which envelopes contain the red cards. The envelopes were shuffled for fifteen minutes before they were taped under the chairs. Nobody knows, not even me, where the two red cards are. And you know that you selected your seats at random, the same way you have every day for the past six days.

"Now, everybody's going to go through this process, but two of you are going to go through it up here on the platform as a way to demonstrate it for everybody else. The two of you who have volunteered to demonstrate this process have volunteered by the simple act of sitting down in the chairs that have the envelopes with the red cards in them taped to the bottom. You may now open your envelopes."

I fumbled with my envelope and dropped it. While I was picking it up, a woman on the other side of the room gasped. She stood up, white-faced. She was holding a red card.

"Where's the other one?" demanded Foreman. "Who hasn't opened their envelope yet?"

The woman next to me nudged my shoulder. I looked down. I'd opened my envelope and taken out the card, but I hadn't looked at it yet.

It was bright red.

And on it, there were plain black letters that spelled out:

You are going to die.

I looked up to Foreman, confused. Hurt. Angry. This was a nasty trick.

I looked at the woman next to me, resentfully. This was her card. She had asked me to move over one seat. This wasn't fair. And even as I was thinking all of those thoughts, I was standing up slowly.

I held the card up for Foreman to see. "I have it," I said.

And that's how I joined the Tribe. It was that easy.

The difference was simple. Instead of waiting until I was told to do something, now it was my job to invent my own responsibilities. If I saw something that needed doing, it was my job to see that it got done.

For example, about a week later I went to Jason and said, "I think we need weapon drills, Jason. I think everybody over the age of fourteen should know how to use a gun. I'm prepared to start teaching the classes twice a week."

Jason nodded and replied, "That's fine, Jim. We'll announce it at circle tonight." And then he thought a moment. "Let's make it an honor; you'll teach two at a time. That way we don't pull the rest of the camp off purpose. You choose who you want to honor, check it with me, and I'll announce it at circle. All right?"

"That's it?"

"You look surprised."

"I thought you might be a little concerned about teaching the children how to use guns."

"No," said Jason. "You've obviously thought it out, you think it's necessary-and for what it's worth, I agree with you. That business with the bikers proves you right."

And that was that.

I fell into the routine without question. I worked naked in the gardens for an hour every morning. I enjoyed singing to the plants; I liked to see their long spiky black tendrils unfold to the sun each day. I helped prepare dinner three days a week, and I herded bunnydogs the other four.

Hoolihan had given birth to several hundred libbit-babies. We culled out the fattest and pinkest and put those in cages to grow, at least twenty or thirty. The rest we ate.

Every other week, we went out scouting. I didn't go every time, but I went along often enough to not feel left out when I wasn't invited to join. Jason thought we might be able to move the camp within a month; he had an idea we might be safer higher up in the mountains, and everybody agreed with him.

In the evenings, we circled and danced. And we slept with each other. Loolie and Jessie and Marcie; and Jason and Danny and Billy. Frankenstein was the most tender lover I'd ever known. Loolie was the most playful of them all. I'd been wrong about her age; she was almost eleven, but so small she still looked like a baby. Sex to her was not a serious business, but a silly one, and not about penetration as much as it was about being naked and tickling.

I should have been happy. And I was. But, at the same time, I felt troubled. It bothered me.

Because I thought that I shouldn't be feeling so troubled. I should have been as joyous as everybody else, shouldn't I?

This was a place of happiness and love. Even the Chtorrans were more affectionate to me now. Once, when we were all in circle, Orrie came up behind me and gave me a friendly bump and a purr. Everybody laughed. Including me. I liked Orrie. He was a person.

Finally, there was nothing for me to do but tell Jason of my conflicts. He only said, "You're asking me for help, Jim. I don't help people. It takes away their opportunities to be responsible for themselves. This is one you have to create yourself. Let me know what you want to do." Then he sent me back to my chores.

I knew I was marking time. I was waiting for something to happen, something that would answer the question for me; and I knew that was dangerous. Jason had this to say about waiting: "There are two basic conditions in the world of the unconscious. One is waiting for Santa Claus. We're all like that when we're kids. One day we figure out that Santa Claus isn't coming, that's when we slip into the second condition: waiting for rigor mortis. Around here, we've given up waiting. We don't wait. We create. We can't afford to wait, can we?"

No, we can't.

I understood exactly. I realized that I was not the same person anymore. I was experiencing the truth of what Jason said. It wasn't that hard to create myself as an extraordinary being, not when I was surrounded by other extraordinary beings, all of whom were also committed to functioning at that level. If I forgot, there was always someone there to remind me. If they forgot, then I was there to remind them. We supported each other in staying extraordinary. We were all flushed with enthusiasm for our lives. It was an exciting and exhilarating time.

And then, one afternoon, a wave of excitement swept across the camp. "It's happened!" One of the little girls came running across the main field. "It's happened! The new god is born. We have a fourth corner!"