“Yeah,” Eric said ruefully. “Did they pick you as my training officer before or after I threw the stool through the window?”

“Before. Now stop the runaround. If you’ve got something to say, get it out.”

“Okay, I will. Why is it everyone is so eager to talk about all the wondrous advantages of life in the Alliance, and yet every time I raise a question about some problems, defenses spring up like dandelions on a ditchbank?”

When Clayne didn’t immediately answer, Eric pushed on. “Nicole tells me everyone here is ecstatically joyful, but she admits that an electronic fence keeps people in the Happiness Corral. The penalty for escape is merely death. Every time he turns around, the Major is pontificating on how they’ve eliminated all evil in men, and yet your family is experiencing one of the most ancient and persistent of all evils—racial discrimination. Everyone raves about what a thoroughly delightful place the AFC is, and yet the hospitals are clogged with neurotics and psychotics, and the birthrate is so low you have to drag people in by the hair to maintain a growth potential.”

Eric raised his hands in a gesture of puzzlement. “I was just curious, that’s all.”

Clayne looked at him, his features expressionless, then finally shook his head. “Leave it alone, Eric.”

“See. That’s what I mean.”

“Leave it alone, or it’s going to break you. You’re here. You’re in it. Your only hope is to get it through that boyish head of yours that this is the way things are. They’re not perfect. Nobody claims they are. But if you want to get any freedom at all, leave the rest alone.”

Eric started to smile, about to quip something cute and deflect Clayne’s sober intensity, but then suddenly he became equally serious. “I don’t think I can, Clayne. It’s too terrible to leave be.”

“I was afraid of that.” Clayne turned back around and started the motor. As he eased off the clutch, he looked at Eric again. “I’m just telling you, it’s going to break you. So—”

Suddenly the radio blared. “Baker Able Seven.”

Clayne picked up the mike and pressed the button. “This is Baker Able Seven, over.”

“Baker Able Seven,” intoned the female voice in a bored monotone. “We are getting a three-six-six at the power substation on Overhill and Pepper Streets. Investigate and advise.”

“Ten-four. We’ll check it out and advise.” Clayne hung the mike back onto its hook, started the car again, and accelerated smoothly.

“What’s a three-sixty-six?” Eric said, raising his voice over the noise of the wind rushing through the windows. “I don’t remember that one in the code list.”

Clayne leaned the car into a curve, and then, as it straightened out, glanced quickly at Eric. “It’s what we call an interference signal. Something’s on the fence at the power substation.”