akes. Headlights flickered in the darkness as cars whirled past,
ascending and descending on the loading platforms. The signal systems
winked from the walls, and tires screeched defiance to the warning
bells.

Old-fashioned theologians, Harry remembered, used to argue whether
there really was a Hell, and if so, had it been created by God or the
Devil? Too bad they weren't around today to get an answer to their
questions. There _was_ a Hell, and it had been created by General
Motors.

Harry's temples began to throb. Through blurred eyes, he saw the
attendant beckoning him down the line to a platform marked _Check-Out
#3_. He stood there with a cluster of others, waiting.

What was the matter with him today, anyway? First the headache, and
now his feet were hurting. Standing around waiting, that's what did
it. This eternal waiting. When he was a kid, the grownups were always
complaining about the long seven-hour work days and how they cut into
their leisure time. Well, maybe they had reason to gripe, but at least
there _was_ some leisure before work began or after it was through.
Now that extra time was consumed in waiting. Standing in line,
standing in crowds, wearing yourself out doing nothing.

Still, this time it wasn't really so bad. Within ten minutes the light
blue Pax rolled up before him. Harry climbed in as the attendant slid
out from behind the wheel and prepared to leave.

Then a fat man appeared, running along the ramp. He gestured wildly
with a plump thumb. Harry nodded briefly, and the fat man hurled
himself into the seat beside him and slammed the door.

They were off. Harry read the signals impatiently, waiting for the
green _Go_. The moment he saw it he gunned his motor and got the car
up to twenty-two and zipped away.

That's what he liked, that's what he always waited for. Of course it
was dangerous, here in the tunnel system under the garage, but Harry
always got a thrill out of speed. The Pax could do thirty-five or even
forty, probably, on a theoretical open road. Still, twenty-two was
enough to satisfy Harry.

He whizzed up the ramp, turned, headed for the street-level, then
braked and waited for the signal to emerge.

Harsh sunlight pierced the smog and he felt his eyes watering. Now the
street noises assailed his ears; the grinding of gears, the revving of
motors. But at least the total volume was lower, and with the windows
tightly closed against the acrid air, he could hear.

Turni