[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction April 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"What's in a name?" might be very dangerous
to ask in certain societies, in which sticks
and stones are also a big problem!
I fought to be awake. I was dreaming, but I think I must have blushed.
I must have blushed in my sleep.
"_Do it!_" she said. "_Please do it! For me!_"
It was the voice that always came, low, intense, seductive, the sound
of your hand on silk ... and to a citizen of Northem, a conformist, it
was shocking. I was a conformist then; I was still one that morning.
I awoke. The glowlight was on, slowly increasing. I was in my living
machine in Center Four, where I belonged, and all the familiar things
were about me, reality was back, but I was breathing very hard.
I lay on the pneumo a while before getting up. I looked at the
chroner: 0703 hours, Day 17, Month IX, New Century Three. My morning
nuro-tablets had already popped from the tube, and the timer had begun
to boil an egg. The egg was there because the realfood allotment had
been increased last month. The balance of trade with Southem had just
swung a decimal or two our way.
I rose finally, stepped to the mirror, switched it to positive and
looked at myself. New wrinkles--or maybe just a deepening of the old
ones. It was beginning to show; the past two years were leaving traces.
I hadn't worried about my appearance when I'd been with the Office of
Weapons. There, I'd been able to keep pretty much to myself, doing
research on magnetic mechanics as applied to space drive. But other
jobs, where you had to be among people, might be different. I needed
every possible thing in my favor.
Yes, I still hoped for a job, even after two years. I still meant to
keep on plugging, making the rounds.
I'd go out again today.
The timer clicked and my egg was ready. I swallowed the tablets and
then took the egg to the table to savor it and make it last.
As I leaned forward to sit, the metal tag dangled from my neck,
catching the glowlight. My identity tag.