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Dirrul touched a button and the bed rolled up into the wall–another and the gleaming metal shower-room slid open. He stripped and bathed, setting the aquadial so that his body was pounded by a sharp rain of icy water. When he snapped it off the massage arms shot out, rubbing him dry with soft, plastic puffs. He sprayed the newly patented No-Beard Mist on his face and, after waiting the required three seconds, wiped it off with a disposable fiber towel. The skin was pink and clean, refreshingly invigorated. When he took a fresh uniform out of the wall-press and put it on he felt very much himself again, scarcely annoyed by his lack of sleep.

He pushed the button and the bathroom rolled out of sight. The whole process had taken less than five minutes.

At his panel-control Dirrul dialed a sizable breakfast for himself and coffee for the professor. Before he could draw up chairs the grey-topped table had rolled from its wall slot, the steaming food containers fixed to it.

“The marvels of invention!” Dr. Kramer said. “When I was young we had nothing like this. Many times, Edward, I had to prepare my own meals–and mighty skimpy ones they were too, some of them. A young teacher in those days wasn’t paid very much.”

“You survived, Dr. Kramer,” Dirrul reminded him dryly. “A little work now and then wouldn’t hurt us, either.”

“That’s the old argument, Edward. How we frothed and stewed over it when this new system was in its infancy! That was before your time, of course.” Kramer poured a cup of coffee and after a thoughtful hesitation quietly took a slice of toast from Dirrul’s platter. “They said we’d create a race of helpless children–defenseless lazy softies. They said if the individual wasn’t forced to fight for his own survival, for the small comforts of life, he would die of boredom, drown initiative in luxury.”

Dr. Kramer smiled–and took another slice of toast. “Like so many of the terrifying predictions of the Cassandras none of it came to pass. Today we’re stronger and more vigorous than ever. Today we have more new inventions, more new discoveries, more fine philosophical insight than ever before in our entire history.

“Actually what we did was save time on the trivial routines so we could spend our work-potential where it mattered. After all, what was gained by a social system that forced me to spend so much of my energy feeding and housing and clothing myself? Weigh the loss against the greater contribution I might have made if I had spent the same time in research.”

“Why, yes, Dr. Kramer–you could have given us the Cloud-foam lounge a generation earlier,” Dirrul said bitterly, “or perhaps the Safe-sweet candy.”

Again his sarcasm lost its savor, for the professor simply beamed and said, “Possibly, if that had been my field of interest. As it happens I’m a psychologist specializing in emotive linguistics–the symbologies for conveying meanings.” The professor smiled.

“Our present vigor and strength, no doubt, is reflected in the sort of thing we do with all this extra time our gadgets give us–the scholarly research in the Arena or the Phonoview.”

“You’re being very uncritical, Edward. Under any social form a great majority of the people would spend everything on personal pleasures. Why not? Each generation produces only a few leaders–we simply recognize that fact and adjust to it.”

“But without the incentive of personal gain, Dr. Kramer….”

The professor laughed uproariously. “Incentive! You amaze me, Edward. I haven’t heard the word used in just that context since I was a boy. You’re a throwback–an anachronism. You sound like one of the elderly prophets of doom. I thought the breed had died out generations ago.” The professor laughed again. “So our system creates no incentives. Tell me, Edward, why are you spending your Work-Equivs to take my night course?”

“Because, when I’ve passed enough university hours I can take the promotional test and become a full-fledged space-pilot.”