l. He had outlived his economic
usefulness; George had seen it happen before. His real father had died
a natural death--from strain and overwork--when George was four. His
mother had since then bought four other husbands; but, because boys
were brought up in rigid isolation, George had known none of them
well. For the same reason, he had no personal friends.

He climbed the narrow stairway to his cubicle. It was already late
afternoon, almost time for dinner. He showered and oiled his body
carefully, before he put on his dress trunks, briefs made of black
silk studded with seed pearls and small diamonds. He was permitted to
wear the jewels because his mother's stockholdings were large enough
to make her an Associate Director. His family status gave George a
high marriage value and his Adonis physique kicked the asking price
still higher. At nineteen he stood more than six feet tall, even
without his formal, high-heeled boots. He weighed one hundred and
eighty-five, not an ounce of it superfluous fat. His skin was deeply
bronzed by the sunlamps in the gym; his eyes were sapphire blue; his
crewcut was a platinum blond--thanks to the peroxide wash his mother
made him use.

Observing himself critically in the full-length mirror, George knew
his mother was justified in asking twenty thousand shares for him.
Marriage was an essential part of his own plans; without it revenge
was out of his reach. He desperately hoped the deal would be made with
Jenny Harper. A young woman would be far less difficult for him to
handle.

When the oil on his skin was dry, he lay down on his bunk to catch up
on his required viewing until the duty bell called him to the house.
The automatic circuit snapped on the television screen above his bunk;
wearily George fixed his eyes on the unreeling love story.

For as long as he could remember, television had been a fundamental
part of his education. A federal law required every male to watch the
TV romances three hours a day. Failure to do so--and that was
determined by monthly form tests mailed out by the Directorate--meant
a three month sentence to the national hero's corps. If the statistics
periodically published by the Directorate were true, George was a
relatively rare case, having survived adolescence without serving a
single tour of duty as a national hero. For that he indirectly thanked
his immunity to the compound. Fear and guilt kept him so much on his
toes, he grew up an amazingly well