"Intolerance!" he pronounced sonorously, making it sound like a revelation of the final secret that the universe had guarded to the end. "That's what's at the bottom of every problem left in the world. Nobody's hungry these days. Everyone has somewhere to live. There's plenty of affordable everything. Science has solved all that it can solve. The problems left now are all social. And I just wanted you to know, Gary, that I'm proud to have somebody on the staff of this newspaper who not only has the guts to tell the biggest of them like it is, but names the names of the worst offenders too. This could do a lot for your promotion prospects."

Gary Summers was due to die sometime that day, and hence found it difficult to work up a lot of enthusiasm. Merv had a tendency to get carried away at times and, without meaning to seem insensitive, could overlook things like that.

Taub raised a copy of the morning issue of the Clamor, folded back at an inside page to reveal an article with the head: A**HOLES I DON'T NEED IN MY LIFE: Some People that it Would Be Nice to Start a Day Without, over Gary Summers's byline.

"Intolerant people," he went on. "The ones who find it impossible to leave everyone else alone to just be what they want. They're the ones who are screwing everything up for the rest of us." Taub raised a finger for a moment, posing as if addressing a shareholders' meeting or a political campaign rally. "And I agree that we've put up with them for long enough! It's time we made it plain that we're not going to let them get away with it any longer. This article of yours could be the beginning of a general tightening up of permissiveness to this kind of thing that's long overdue. I had a thought this morning that the Clamor could launch a public-awareness campaign based on the theme. What do you think, Gary? How about "HELP STAMP OUT INTOLERANCE" as a bumper sticker?"

For a moment Summers thought he could feel himself pitching forward out of the chair right then, but it was illusory, probably caused by autosuggestion. The official descriptions said that deactivation happened too instantaneously for any impression to register at all--and was perfectly painless. His still-dazed non-sequitur of an answer was because he had not been really listening.

"It was never supposed to be serious.... Casey and I were out hitting the bars, and we had a couple too many. We only sent it in as a gag.... But Casey appended the wrong destination code. It got slotted into "Night Priority, Immediate," instead of being held under "File Editorial." When I got here this morning, it was already out."

The intercom on Taub's desk buzzed before Summers could ramble further. Taub moved from the window and flipped a switch. "Yes, what is it?"

The voice of Emily, his secretary, answered from the outer office. "Just a reminder that you've got lunch fixed with Morton Leland. Reception has just been through. He's here now and on his way up."

"Oh, right, I'd forgotten about that. Thanks, Emily. Gary and I are just about through." Taub looked across at Summers, showed his palms, and shrugged.