ble creatures and great slobberers.
They drooled as he walked up to the low porch but uttered not a sound.

The man who opened the door was fat and needed a shave. He wore a
shiny, duraserge suit. "Follow me, please, Mr. Parker."

III

Doak followed him through a high musty living room into a small room
off this. There was a small hynrane heater in here, and the room was
stifling.

Senator Arnold sat in a wheel chair, his feet elevated. He wore a
greasy muffler around his thin neck and a heavy reefer buttoned all
the way up.

The fat man left, closing the door behind him. Arnold looked Doak over
from head to feet and came back up. "It's about time. Your
credentials?"

Doak handed over his wallet. There was, he saw, no chair in the room.
Evidently, he was supposed to stand through the interview.

The old man handed the wallet back. "The place is right up that road
to the south. First house, only house in sight."

Doak put his wallet in his pocket. "Just what kind of business do you
think is going on up there, Senator?"

The old man seemed to spit the word. "Readers."

Doak exhaled, saying nothing.

"And maybe more," the old man said and his eyes were unholy. "Maybe--I
wouldn't be surprised if they're--they're _printing_ something up
there." He coughed.

Sweat poured off Doak as the glowing hynrane heater made an oven of
the windowless room.

The old man closed his eyes. "In my home town, the vermin, in my own
town! They always laughed at me here but, by God, that was before the
state saw fit to send me to the Senate. The last laugh's been mine.
But now--right under my nose, you might say!" He opened his eyes and
glared at Doak.

"Subversive reading, you think?" Doak asked.

The old man stared at him. "Is there another kind? I shouldn't have to
ask that of a Security Officer. What kind of men is the Department
hiring these days?"

Doak thought of something to say and decided not to. He said, "I
wondered about how dangerous they were. If I'd need additional men."

"For readers? Young man, there must be some red blood in your veins.
By God, if I was two years younger, I'd go along just for the joy of
smashing them." He was trembling, leaning forward in his chair. "Go
now, go and trap the filthy scum."

Doak went. He left the hot and odorous room and went out through the
cool and odorous room to the front hall and out the front door. There
his nausea quieted a little under the sun-warmed air from t