lsh on.
The muscle boys in the party organization saw to that. But still,
fifty thousand....

Across the table John, his sixteen-year-old adopted son, stirred. "I
guess you aren't as hungry as I am, Phil."

"What? Oh, sorry." John--down here for breakfast? What was the
matter? The kid sick or something? Every morning he took his meal to
his room to eat in solitude. Funny kid.

Philon removed the food capsule from the wall dock, stopping the soft
gushing of air in the suction tube. Setting it on the table he snapped
it open and removed the individual thermocels of food.

Philon poured coffee from the thermos and absently stirred in cream
and sugar. Fifty thousand....

John was well into his breakfast already. "Phil, I was down to visit
those people on the corner--you know, the house that appeared there
over-night."

"Um."

"Their name is MacDonald," John said. "And they have a son, Jimmie,
just my age, and a younger girl, Jean. Gosh, you ought to see the
inside of their house, Phil. Old-fashioned! At the windows they got
something called venetian blinds instead of our variable mirror
thermopanes. And you know what? They don't even have an FP connection.
They prepare all their meals in the house!"

John's excitement finally aroused Philon's attention. "No Food
Preparation service? But that's unheard of!"

"They're sure swell people though."

"Where in the world did they come from?" Philon poured more coffee.

"Some place out West--Oregon, I think. Lived in a small town."

"How come their house appeared over-night?"

"Yeah, I asked them about that," John said. "They said their house is
a prefab and it was cheaper to move it from Oregon than to buy one
here. So they moved in one night--lock, stock and barrel."

John looked at Philon with a tentative air. "And another thing--Jimmie
and Jean are their real children."

Philon began to frown in disgust. "Real children--how vulgar! No one
does that anymore. That custom went out years ago with the Eugenic Act
of two thousand twenty-nine. Breeding perfect children is the job of
selected specimens. Why, I remember the day we passed our check over
to Maternity Clinic! You were the best specimen in the place--and you
carried the highest price tag too--ten thousand dollars!"

At that moment Ursula, his wife, her green rinse tumbling in stringy
tufts over her forehead pattered into the breakfast room. Her right
eye was closed in a tight squint against her cigarette