"Oh no!"
"Good!" The Superfather held out another packet of cards. "Use these tomorrow night. It's a concentration pattern which should be dense enough to make you dream of being, well—perhaps even President, eh?"
"Yes." Twenty-three hesitated.
"Well?" said the Superfather.
"I'd—like to ask a question."
The Superfather nodded.
"What—what use," went on Twenty-three, "is all this—work being put to—that we do—along the machine lines—every day? We don't, seem to really be making anything. Just working."
The Superfather's eyes narrowed. "You're kept busy. You get paid. You live. The city is here. That's all. That's enough."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Twenty-three turned abruptly, marched to the door and stepped into the empty, silent corridor.