he remembered the Censors. The religious, the political, the
scientific, the capitalist, the communist, the ridiculous and the
absurd.

Arnold had unified the Censors and they had made strange bedfellows.
For where one bit of ink and paper might be anti-Christian, the next
might be anti-anti-Christian and the next anti-anti-anti--ad
absurdium. And sex? Where couldn't one find sex in print, even among
the prissy writers? For wasn't a large part of it boy meets girl? And
they didn't meet to exchange election buttons--that much was certain.

Well, there were the P.T.A. and the N.A.M. and the fine if disguised
hand of the Lenin lovers and the S.P.C.A. who didn't like dogs to play
a sub-human part in the world of letters. All these, fighting each
other, until Senator Arnold came forth.

The Senator had never enjoyed a favorable press and had a habit of
saying things that looked silly, three years later, in print. The
Senator was the new spokesman for the Censors.

And those who loathed sex or Christians or Republicans or Democrats or
the Big Ten or the small snifter were unified under this noble man who
read with his lips.

They were for him. And they established the biggest lobby ever to
crawl out of the woodwork in Washington. They had their day.

The printers fought a little but were offered jobs in Hollywood. The
paper manufacturers were promised all the government map-work plus a
new sheaf of picture magazines. The publishers were all rich and ready
to retire anyway.

The writers? They were disorganized because some were rich and some
weren't, the game being what it was, and the difference in viewpoint
between a rich and a non-rich writer makes McCarthy and Malenkov look
like brothers.

_There shall be in that area of the galaxy under American control
no material of a literary or non-literary, educational or
non-educational, pertinent or impertinent nature, which is printed,
written, enscribed, engraved, mimeographed, dupligraphed,
electro-graved, arti-scribed, teleprinted...._

That wasn't the exact wording, but close.

Simple enough--how can there be subversive literature if there is no
literature?

There were still sex, Democrats, Lenin lovers, some religion and two
Republicans (on Venus). There was, of course, no Post Office
Department, nor need for any.

On Connecticut Ave (S.E.) there was a girl named June waiting for a
call from Doak. She had been in a negative frame of mind for two
months, but