that believed in God. Just as, I suppose, you were raised in
one that didn't." He lifted his shoulders slightly in a shrug. "Neither
of us seems to be particularly brilliant in establishing a position of
our own."

Vovo snorted. "Never thought of it that way," he admitted. "We're
usually contemptuous of anyone still holding to the old beliefs. There
aren't many left."

"More than you people admit, I understand."

Vovo shook his heavy head. "No, not really. Mostly crackpots. Have you
ever noticed how it is that the nonconformists in any society are
usually crackpots? The people on your side that admit belonging to our
organizations, are usually on the wild eyed and uncombed hair side--I
admit it. On the other hand, the people in our citizenry who subscribe
to your system, your religion, that sort of thing, are crackpots, too.
Applies to religion as well as politics. An atheist in your country is a
nonconformist--in mine, a Christian is. Both crackpots."

Jim laughed and took a sip of his drink.

Vovo yawned and said, "How long are we going to be in here?"

"I don't know. Up to us, I suppose."

"Yes. How about another drink? I'll make it. How much of that cola stuff
do you put in?"

Jim told him, and while the other was on his feet mixing the drinks,
said, "You figure on sticking to the same line this year?"

"Have to," Vovo said over his shoulder. "What's the alternative?"

"I don't know. We're building up to a whale of a depression as it is,
even with half the economy running full blast producing defense
materials."

Vovo chuckled, "Defense materials. I wonder if ever in the history of
the human race anyone ever admitted to producing _offense_ materials."

"Well, you call it the same thing. All your military equipment is for
defense. And, of course, according to your press, all ours is for
offense."

"Of course," Vovo said.

He brought the glasses back and handed one to the other. He slumped back
into his chair again, loosened two buttons of his trousers.

"Jim," Vovo said, "why don't you divert more of your economy to public
works, better roads, reforestation, dams--that sort of thing."

Jim said wearily, "You're a better economist than that. Didn't your boy
Marx, or was it Engels, write a small book on the subject? We're already
overproducing--turning out more products than we can sell."

"I wasn't talking about your government building new steel mills. But
dams, roads, that sort of thing. You cou