"What you in for, buddy?"
Shamar studied the prisoner for a moment without answering. His companions looked up.
"No visible means of support," Shamar said.
"I'm Long John Freed."
Shamar nodded.
"They're trying to hook you for evading the productivity tax, huh?"
Shamar declined comment.
Freed settled back on his bunk. "I say take them for all you can. Now, look, you're a little guy. So they bleed us white. Take a factory manager or an important Black Market operator—you think they pay taxes? You can bet they don't. It's a racket. The poor pay and pay because they can't hire fancy lawyers to lie for them; and the rich take and take. I don't see why the Party puts up with it."
Freed shifted his position. "Say what you will about the Party—and I know it's got it's faults—still, there are dedicated men in it. I may be a small-time crook, but I'm as patriotic as the next man. The Party's done a lot of good.
"First time for you? How old are you, twenty-seven or so? First time, they usually try to recruit you for the Factory Force.