ior didn't know what he was talking about. He said,
tolerantly, "Well, what's wrong with People's Capitalism? Everybody
owns the corporations. Damnsight better than the Sovs have."

Joe said sourly. "We've got one optical illusion, they've got another,
Max. Over there they claim the proletariat owns the means of production.
Great. But the Party members are the ones who control it, and, as a
result they manage to do all right for themselves. The Party hierarchy
over there are like our Uppers over here."

"Yeah." Max was being particularly dense. "I've seen a lot about it on
Telly. You know, when there isn't a good fracas on, you tune to one of
them educational shows, like--"

Joe winced at the term _educational_, but held his peace.

"It's pretty rugged over there. But in the West-world, the people own a
corporation's stock and they run it and get the benefit."

"At least it makes a beautiful story," Joe said dryly. "Look, Max.
Suppose you have a corporation that has two hundred thousand shares out
and they're distributed among one hundred thousand and one persons. One
hundred thousand of these own one share apiece, but the remaining
stockholder owns the other hundred thousand."

"I don't know what you're getting at," Max said.

Joe Mauser was tired of the discussion. "Briefly," he said, "we have the
illusion that this is a People's Capitalism, with all stock in the hands
of the People. Actually, as ever before, the stock is in the hands of
the Uppers, all except a mere dribble. They own the country and they run
it for their own benefit."

Max shot a less than military glance at him. "Hey, you're not one of
these Sovs yourself, are you?"

They were coming into the parking area near the Administration Building
of the airport. "No," Joe said so softly that Max could hardly hear his
words. "Only a Mid-Middle on the make."

* * * * *

Followed by Max, he strode quickly to the Administration Building,
presented his credit identification at the desk and requested a light
aircraft for a period of three hours. The clerk, hardly looking up,
began going through motions, speaking into telescreens.

The clerk said finally, "You might have a small wait, sir. Quite a few
of the officers involved in this fracas have been renting out
taxi-planes almost as fast as they're available."

That didn't surprise Joe Mauser. Any competent officer made a point of
an aerial survey of the battle reserva