"It all busted this afternoon, darling. While you sat around in your splendid isolation, everything turned upside down."
She looked at him indignantly for an instant, then turned toward the kitchen.
"Paul, if you don't stop raving, I'm going to get my mentacom and pry it out of you," she threatened. "Now, you just settle down. Stop talking in circles and tell me what this is all about."
"Oh, all right. If you insist." Graham sank into a chair, looking like a small boy caught in a prank. "First, there are no more first-class citizens—no second-class citizens—not even third-class citizens. Everyone's a citizen again. Period." He threw his hands up.
"You mean—?"
"That's exactly what I mean. No more restrictions. No more compulsory community work. No more quarters inspections. And no more privileges. We've got rights again!
"If you want a dress, you buy it. You don't worry about whether it suits your station. If I can hold a job, I get it. And I did!" He got out of the chair and strode across the room, to sit on the arm of the divan. "And I can do this, if I want to. If I break this thing down, so help me, George, I'll go out and buy a new one." He bounced up and down a little.
"The administrators are going back to their original jobs. They're responsible for defense, in case of enemy attack, and that's all." He paused. "Of course, until sector and district elections can be held, they'll still take care of some of the community functions—some of them, that is. But the elections'll be set up in a few weeks, and we'll be able to choose our own officials for community government."
He bounced to his feet again, strode around the bookcases, and looked down at his desk. Then, he looked around again.
"Corporations are being set up to take over home construction." He held up a hand. "Home construction, I said, not quarters. They're commercializing helicopter manufacture, all kinds of repair work, and a lot of other services. And they're going to restore patent rights. That means plenty to us, darling, believe me."