At the end of the line an official told him, "You will report here an hour before your departure time, which is at twelve noon tomorrow."
Hendley smiled at an unexpected thought. "How will I know what time it is?"
The official's eyebrows rose. "The sun is directly overhead at noon."
"I see," said Hendley, feeling properly squelched.
"You are free to go anywhere in the camp you wish," the beige-clad official said crisply. "And you may use any of the facilities of the camp for recreation, food, drink or, ah, whatever you choose." His manner unbent as he lowered his voice confidentially. "The PIB's are painted red. And if I may make a suggestion, sir, you shouldn't miss the entertainment at the main Rec Hall. An excellent casino, and I've heard that the show tonight on the stage is, ah, shall we say, unusual?" He smiled with a lewd relish, so unexpected that it was shocking. "You can't miss the Rec Hall. It's the big yellow building on the hill."
Hendley started to mumble his thanks, but, after his brief lapse, the official was once again impersonally efficient. "Official personnel are not allowed out of the administration and service buildings—which are, of course, windowless. Service facilities are underground. The camp belongs to the free. You are one of them—until noon tomorrow." He smiled mechanically, then added, making the phrase more a pointed suggestion than a casual dismissal, "Have fun!"
A door opened at the end of another angled corridor, and Hendley walked out into the bright, green land of the free.
It was perhaps two hours later—he was already conscious of missing his watch, unable to shake a lifetime dependence upon measured time—when Hendley paused to rest under the shade of an umbrella at a vending cafe set in the central park. He ate a light meal and relaxed with a tall whiskey and soda, enjoying the luxury of eating and drinking expensively without having paid. He could not remember when he had last had a whiskey in the middle of the day—and this tasted like grain whiskey, not the chemical variety. Possibly it was the rarity of the event—or the fresh air and the stimulation of the camp's bewildering activity—which made the drink so satisfying.
Camp was an inexact word, he thought. The Freeman Camp was, in fact, a huge, complex city, served by what must be an equally complex underground service network, and gaining its atmosphere from being oriented entirely toward pleasure—in a dazzling variety of sports centers, swimming pools, gambling casinos, social clubs, theaters, PIB's, museums, lavish restaurants, and bars as well as the more casual outdoor cafes. Rapid conveyor sidewalks whisked the pleasure-seeker from one part of the camp to another, although most of the time Hendley had walked, anxious to see everything. His feet and legs ached from the unaccustomed exercise.