to the truck, which
had been once used for hauling cattle, he had more room to breathe than
most of the others. He faced the rear bars. The vehicle was heading into
the sun. Its rays were not as hard on him as on some of those who were
so jam-packed they could not turn to get the hot yellow splotch out of
their eyes.

He looked through lowered lids at the youths on either side of him. For
the last three days in the transie jungle, the one standing on his left
had given signs of what was coming upon him, what had come upon so many
of the transies. The muttering, the indifference to food, not hearing
you when you talked to him. And now the shock of being caught in the
raid had speeded up what everybody had foreseen. He was hardened, like a
concrete statue, into a half-crouch. His arms were held in front of him
like a praying mantis', and his hands clutched a bar. Not even the
pressure of the crowd could break his posture.

The man on Jack's right murmured something, but the roaring of motor and
clashing of gears shifting on a hill squashed his voice. He spoke
louder:

"_Cerea flexibilitas_. Extreme catatonic state. The fate of all of us."

"You're nuts," said Jack. "Not me. I'm no schizo, and I'm not going to
become one."

As there was no reply, Jack decided he had not moved his lips enough to
be heard clearly. Lately, even when it was quiet, people seemed to have
trouble making out what he was saying. It made him mildly angry.

He shouted. It did not matter if he were overheard. That any of the
prisoners were agents of the Bureau of Health and Sanity didn't seem
likely. Anyway, he didn't care. They wouldn't do anything to him they
hadn't planned before this.

"Got any idea where we're going?"

"Sure. F.M.R.C. 3. Federal Male Rehabilitation Camp No. 3. I spent two
weeks in the hills spying on it."

Jack looked the speaker over. Like all those in the truck, he wore a
frayed shirt, a stained and torn coat, and greasy, dirty trousers. The
black bristles on his face were long; the back of his neck was covered
by thick curls. The brim of his dusty hat was pulled down low. Beneath
its shadow his eyes roamed from side to side with the same fear that
Jack knew was in his own eyes.

Hunger and sleepless nights had knobbed his cheekbones and honed his
chin to a sharp point. An almost visible air clung to him, a hot aura
that seemed to result from veins full of lava and eyeballs spilling out
a heat that could not be hel