The Space Merchants by Frederik Pohl, C. M. Kornbluth Page A

strumming inferno, complete with red fire and brutish-looking attendant devils. It was exactly what I would have consigned a Taunton copysmith to. I was confused to find myself there.
    The confusion did not last long. One of the attendant devils shook my shoulder roughly and said: "Gimme a hand, sleepy. I gotta stow my hammock." My head cleared and it was very plain that he was simply a lower-class consumer—perhaps a hospital attendant?
    "Where's this?" I asked him. "Are we back in Little America?"
    "Jeez, you talk funny," he commented. "Gimme a hand, will ya?"
    "Certainly not!" I told him. "I'm a star-class copysmith."
    He looked at me pityingly, said "Punchy," and went away into the strumming, red-lit darkness.
    I stood up, swaying on my feet, and grabbed an elbow hurrying past from darkness to darkness. "Excuse me," I said. "Where is this place? Is it a hospital?"
    The man was another consumer, worse-tempered than the first. "Leggo my yarm!" he snarled. I did. "Ya want on sick call, ya wait until we land," he said.
    "Land?"
    "Yah, land. Listen, Punchy, don't ya know what ya signed up for?"
    "Signed up? No; I don't. But you're being too familiar. I'm a star-class copysmith—"
    His face changed. "Ahah," he said wisely. "I can fix ya up. Justa minnit, Punchy. I'll be right back wit' the stuff."
    He was, too. 'The stuff' was a little green capsule. "Only five hunnerd," he wheedled. "Maybe the last one on board. Ya wanta touch down wit' the shakes? Nah! This'll straighten ya out fer landing—"
    "Landing where?" I yelled. "What's all this about? I don't know, and I don't want your dope. Just tell me where I am and what I'm supposed to have signed up for and I'll take it from there!"
    He looked at me closely and said: "Ya got it bad. A hit in the head, maybe? Well, Punchy, yer in the Number Six Hold of the Labor Freighter Thomas R. Malthus. Wind and weather, immaterial. Course, 273 degrees. Speed 300, destination Costa Rica, cargo slobs like you and me for the Chlorella plantations." It was the rigmarole of a relieved watch officer, or a savage parody of it.
    "You're—" I hesitated.
    "Downgraded," he finished bitterly, and stared at the green capsule in the palm of his hand. Abruptly he gulped it and went on: "I'm gonna hit the comeback trail, though." A sparkle crept into his eyes. "I'm gonna introduce new and efficient methods in the plantations. I'll be a foreman in a week. I'll be works manager in a month. I'll be a director in a year. And then I'm gonna buy the Cunard Line and plate all their rockets with solid gold. Nothing but first-class accommodations. Nothing but the best for my passengers. I always kept her smooth on the Atlantic run. I'll build you a gold-plated imperial suite aboard my flag ship, Punchy. The best is none too good for my friend Punchy. If you don't like gold I'll get platinum. If you don't like—"
    I inched away and he didn't notice. He kept babbling his hop-head litany. It made me glad I'd never taken to the stuff. I came to a bulkhead and sat down hopelessly, leaning against it. Somebody sat down beside me and said "Hello there" in a cozy voice.
    "Hello," I said. "Say, are we really headed for Costa? How can I get to see a ship's officer? This is all a mistake."
    "Oh," said the man, "why worry about it? Live and let live. Eat, drink, and be merry is my motto."
    "Take your God-damned hands off me!" I told him.
    He became shrill and abusive, and I got up and walked on, stumbling over legs and torsos.
    It occurred to me that I'd never really known any consumers except during the brief periods when they were serving me. I wanted very badly to get out of Number Six Hold. I wanted to get back to New York, find out what kind of stunt Runstead had pulled and why, get back to Kathy, and my friendship with Jack O'Shea, and my big job at Fowler Schocken. I had things to do.
    One of the red lights said Crash Emergency Exit. I thought of the hundreds of people jammed in the hold trying to crowd out through