It might be called a philosophical anarchy. Superficially, there was perfect freedom. The general law had almost no regulations on individual behavior. There was, apparently, universal content.

Decadent? No, not in the usual sense. These people were too magnificently healthy, too full of life and laughter. But they were certainly not progressive.

Hart tried to make friends with the nurses, and failed completely. They were all frigidly polite. The male staff members were cordial enough, but there was an inward reserve which increased with the days. Hart wondered what was the matter. His unhappiness waxed with his returning strength.

Chang came in at last. “I think du can leave clinic no,” he said cheerily. “Du have best undergo periodic checkups for a yaar or twuw, but all medics are shoor du are guwing to recover completely.” He handed the patient a set of clothes like his own, but without the group insigne.

Hart got out of the hospital robe and climbed into the garments. “And now what?” he asked. “I’ve tried to plump everybody on what I’m supposed to do, but they’re all so evasive I haven’t really learned a thing.”

Chang looked uncomfortable. “We have place for du,” he said. “It have taak unusually long time to analyze psychometric results duurs. Dey are su very different from ordinary.”

“Well…” Hart waited impatiently. They’d been stalling him long enough.

Chang explained as well as he could. Psychometry and preventive psychiatry were really the basis of society. The fundamental personality of the individual was determined at an early age and he was “developed” throughout life in accordance with that—conditioned to society, but not in such a rigid fashion as to interfere with really basic urges. Vocations, recreations, social life were all planned in accordance with psychometric data.

“Planned?” exclaimed Hart. “How on earth can you plan everything?”

Well, not exactly planned either. Guided. An individual had such and such an I. Q., his main interests were so and so, his personality factors were as follows—it all went into a great electronic “file,” in the powerful psychosymbology of the time. And any citizen had access to that file, with technicians to help him in its use. Thus you could find your likes, your associates, wherever they might happen to live, rather than leave it to chance encounters. It was scientifically predictable whether a friendship, a marriage, a business association, would be really of mutual profit. Naturally, everyone made use of the service, and adjusted his life accordingly.

“But—ye gods! You mean anyone can find out all about you at any time? What kind of privacy is that?”

Privacy? Chang was puzzled now. The word still remained in the language, but it had come to mean simply solitude. Why should you care whether or not anyone else knew just what you were? It didn’t make you any better or worse, did it? You could find your kind in the world—those whose company was most pleasing to you. You could know yourself, and set your goals accordingly; you could change most really undesirable characteristics, with the help of psychiatry or even endocrinology and surgery.