He sipped more tea. Charlie leaned forward, intent.

"Some of my colleagues and I have been fighting against this indecent and undignified proposal. But we're losing."

So, Charlie thought, he is a world councillor.

"The proposal is that every adult be implanted with a microtransmitter that will emit the individual's coded ID. Satellites and local stations will receive this whenever it's being transmitted, and that will be all the time except when the person is stoned. They'd like to have it transmitting then, but that's impossible.

"What this means is that the government can locate any person within a few inches of his position and can also identify that person immediately."

Charlie tried to rock mentally with the punch, but he was nevertheless partly stunned.

"Why, that means that no one can daybreak without being found at once!"

"That's true," Immerman said. "However, putting your personal problem aside for the moment, the proposal robs all human beings of any dignity whatsoever. Strips them, makes them ciphers, zeros with numbers, you might say. We don't want that, and we don't want the monitoring we now have. It's better for humanity that we have the dangers of democracy along with the benefits. You can't have one without the other.

"But this is only one of our goals. We believe, we know, that there is more room on this planet than the government says there is. The population can be increased without any loss of the comfort and well-being we now have. It should be a gradual process, of course. That radical Wang wants to stop all methods of birth control, but he's crazy. You know whom I mean?"

Charlie nodded and said, "He doesn't have a chance of being elected. He shouldn't be elected."

"There are others like him in all the days," Immerman said. "All, of course, working for the government and acting on its orders."

Charlie sat up and said, "What?"

"Wang and the others are agents provocateurs. They propose these radical measures just to anger the population and to make themselves look ridiculous. Thus, more moderate and quite reasonable proposals are rejected. The people classify the radical with the moderate. They're manipulated by the government for the government's purposes. The government wants a status quo."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Charlie said.

"We intend to establish a government that won't use such underhanded and unethical methods."

Immerman looked at the clock strip.

"We don't intend to do it through swift and violent means until the time is ripe for such means. We have been working slowly and subtly to get the family into high positions in the government. You'd be surprised if you knew how large the family is. But the bigger it becomes, the more danger there is of its being exposed. And the more danger there is, the tighter we have to control our members. It's unfortunate but necessary."

Charlie thought, That's exactly the excuse the government has used since the beginning.

Immerman stood up, and Charlie also rose from his chair.

"I know what you're thinking. We won't be any better than the government we now have and possibly we'll be worse. Don't believe it. We've been working on the best system of government possible, given the human situation. Someday, that plan will be revealed. Meanwhile, remember this. It was Thomas Jefferson who said that the best government is that which governs least. You were named after him. Or didn't you know that?"

Charlie shook his head.

"I must be going now," Immerman said.

"One thing," Charlie said. "I believe that there's only one situation in which killing is justified. That's when it's in self-defense."

"Ah, but what is self-defense? Aren't there many kinds?"

"I won't be confused by all that," Charlie said. 'My ethics are of being rather than of words. I know what's right."

"Very admirable," his grandfather said. "Which one of you is saying that?"

Ohm was surprised when his grandfather stepped up to him and embraced him. While hugging Immerman, Ohm looked over his shoulder at the seventeenth-century tableau. Yes. He had no doubt now, and he hated Immerman for what he had done.

On his way out, he picked up his shoulderbag. It was noticeably lighter, but he said nothing. Immerman would wonder why his grandson wished to keep the weapon when there was no logical reason to do so.

The trip back was almost a complete reversal of the trip up. However, Ohm did not go to his apartment. Instead, he walked into The Isobar. The usual uproar and odor of beer and liquor greeted him. He waved at various patrons in various stages of drunkenness and went into the manager's office. After getting a mild chewing-out (no sympathy for his supposedly hurt back), Ohm put on an apron and went to work behind a long curving oak bar on which stood the statuettes of three patron saints:

Fernand Petiot, creator of the Bloody Mary, W. C. Fields, and Sir

John Falstaff. Only half the customers were local weedies. The rest were slummers or organic agents. The latterwere hoping to catch someone making a barter deal for bootleg liquor.

Ohm was not a complete weedie in that he had not been satisfied to live off the minimum-income credit furnished by the government. His job, however, was not just to supply himself with extra goodies. He overheard much while behind the bar and in front of it after working hours. Sometimes, he picked up information that the immer council could use.

Today did not go as most. He drank very little, and he was so evidently wrapped in his thoughts that some of the patrons kidded him about it. Not sure that he was lying, he told them that he was in love. What he had seen on the screen in Immerman's room, the voices that shouted inside him, and his efforts to select the elements of a new personality beat at him like waves against a seawall. He was glad when quitting time came; he rushed out past his relief with a short good-bye and walked to his apartment. There he ate a light supper and then paced back and forth as if he would wear off the rug and reveal the coded answers to his problems on the floor beneath. He stopped when, at 7:35 P.M., Mudge came to the door.

Bearer of a scowling face and bad news, Mudge told him that Immerman had changed his mind about his disposition of Ohm. It would be better, thus, imperative, that Ohm be stoned and shipped to Los Angeles in a box labeled as goods. The California city was due next week for an influx of ten thousand immigrants from Australia and Papua. Arrangements would be made so that Ohm would be listed among them. Tonight, Mudge and Ohm would work on the new ID. After Ohm got to Los Angeles, he could create the fine details of his persona.

Charlie sat down, breathed deeply, and said, "I suppose there's no use protesting?"

"None," Mudge said. "Hetman Immerman said that you must get far away from Manhattan."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night. A Sunday agent will take care of everything."

Ohm thought, What guarantee is there that I'll ever be destoned? The logic of the situation demands that I just disappear from the living, be stuck someplace where I won't be found.

Mudge removed a tape from his bag and handed the tiny cube to Ohm. "Here's the outline of the new persona, the really vital vital statistics and the outline of your background."

"Already?"

"The council members are old hands at this sort of thing. They must have these in stock. A few changes, and they're ready. Study it tonight and then erase it. You'll be given another one when the time's right."

Which may be never, Ohm thought. Or am I just too suspicious?

He needed a drink, but he would not allow himself to have one.

Mudge walked to the door and turned. Instead of saying good-bye and good luck, he said, "You've sure been a lot of trouble. I hope you stay out of it in L.A."