es of the resulting traffic jam by six. If you'd
filed a flight plan for Santa Barbara and come on down the coast you'd
have avoided all this."

"I'm not required to listen to newscasts," Fred replied tartly. "I own
the requisite number of receivers and--"

"Now, listen, Fred," Harding interrupted. "We need you down here so
hurry up!"

Fred heard him switch off and sat for a moment trembling with rage. But
he ended by grinning wryly. Everyone was in the same boat, of course.
For the most part, people avoided thinking about it. But he could now
see himself as if from above, spending his life flitting back and forth
between home and plant, plant and home; wracking his brain to devise
labor-saving machines while at the plant, then rushing home to struggle
with the need to consume their tremendous output.

Was he a man? Or was he a caged squirrel racing in an exercise-wheel,
running himself ragged and with great effort producing absolutely
nothing?

He wasn't going to do it any longer, by golly! He was going to--

"Good morning!" A chubby young man in the pea-green uniform of a
ration-cop opened the door and climbed uninvited into the cockpit. "May
I check the up-to-dateness of your ship's equipment, please?"

Fred didn't answer. He didn't have to. The young officer was already in
the manual pilot's seat, checking the secondary controls.

In swift routine he tried motor and instruments, and took the craft
briefly aloft. Down again, he demanded Fred's papers.

The licenses that pertained to the gyro were in order, but there was
trouble over Fred's personal documents: his ration-book contained far
too few sales-validations.

"You're not doing your share of consuming, Oldtimer," the young cop said
mildly. "Look at all these unused food allotments! Want to cause a
depression?"

"No."

"Man, if you don't eat more than this, we'll have mass starvation!"

"I know the slogans."

"Yes, but do you know the penalties? Forced feeding, compulsory
consumption--do you think they're fun?"

"No."

"Well, you can file your flight plan and go, but if you don't spend
those tickets before their expiration dates, Mister, you'll have cause
to regret it."

With a special pencil, he sense-marked the card's margins.

Fred felt that each stroke of the pencil was a black mark against him.
He watched in apprehensive silence.

The young cop was also silent. When finished he wordlessly returned the
identification, tipped his cap