irrul
struggled to find a flaw in it--for a man cannot easily watch his
dream turn to dust in his hands.

They drove on into the city. Rows of men and women in working clothes
lined the streets, cheering wildly in unison. Crossed Vininese flags
were draped between the buildings and brave-colored streamers danced
in the wind.

"A reception is good for them," the Vininese said. "We need heroes
occasionally. It's fortunate you came when you did. The vagabonds have
had a disturbing effect on morale and it's impossible to suppress the
news entirely."

The vehicle stopped before the towering government building. Dirrul
was led up a flight of stone steps to a wide porch overlooking the
mass of cheering upturned faces in the public square. He stood
motionless while speeches were made and gay ribbon was draped around
his neck. The air shook with bright explosions--a huge flag was
unfurled over the porch--band music began to blare and a tidal wave of
precision-trained Vininese infantry wheeled into the square.

An official touched Dirrul's arm. "You must take the salute of our
work-leaders now."

Dirrul was pushed back against the stone railing as an orderly mob
filed past, blank-faced and chattering with meaningless pleasure. Many
of them pressed forward to touch his hand before the guards tactfully
hurried them on. When the organized confusion was at its height a tiny
square of paper was slipped into his hand.

Dirrul had no idea which of the mob had given it to him and he dared
not glance at it. But he managed to hide the paper in the band of his
tunic.

Hour by hour the throng filed past, endless and meaningless. It was an
agony for Dirrul. For the first time he looked into the face of his
dream and saw the reality of Vinin--order, discipline, efficiency--and
utter blankness. Unhappily he recalled one of Dr. Kramer's lectures.

"... Defiance of convention, confusion, frustration, stubbornness--yes
and a touch of the neurotic too--these goad the individual into
solving problems. And problem solving is progress. An orderly society
that asks no questions of itself, a society that has no doubts, is a
dying society...."

Dirrul understood the professor at last. He looked squarely at the
fact of what he was, a traitor to his own people, on the verge of
betraying them. He had been wonderfully deluded by his own
self-deception.

But the job wasn't quite finished. The Vininese would not have gone to
take Glenna from the