dad strode to his easy chair by the fireplace. he sank into its foam-rubber softness, sighing. he murmured a syllable into a tiny ball-mike on the side of the chair. a metallic hand raised a lighted cigarette to his lips.

"come here, son."

ronnie followed and sat on the hassock by dad's feet.

"maybe i've never really explained things to you, ronnie. you see, you won't always be a boy. someday you'll have to find a way of making a living. you've only two choices: you work for the government, like i do, or for a corporation."

ronnie blinked. "mr. davis doesn't work for the gover'ment or for a corpor-ation."

"mr. davis isn't normal," dad snapped. "he's a hermit. no decent family would let him in their house. he grows his own food and sometimes he takes care of gardens for people. i want you to have more than that. i want you to have a nice home and be respected by people."

dad puffed furiously on his cigarette.

"and you can't get ahead if people know you've been a reader. that's something you can't live down. no matter how hard you try, people always stumble upon the truth."

dad cleared his throat. "you see, when you get a job, all the information you handle will have a classification. it'll be restricted, low-confidential, confidential, high-confidential, secret, top-secret. and all this information will be in writing. no matter what you do, you'll have access to some of this information at one time or another."