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worries me more than radiation.” He looked at the thermometer, cracked the valve still wider. “I’ve been running the water-vapor getter on battery; I don’t think we should crank the blower in this heat. I’m not going to worry about Cee-Oh-Two until we start to pant.”
    “Seems reasonable.”
    “Let’s forget the hazards. Anything you’d like to talk about? Yourself?”
    “Little to tell, Hugh. Female, white, twenty-five years old. Back in school, or was, after a bad marriage. A brother in the Air Force—so possibly he’s all right. My parents were in Acapulco, so perhaps they are, too. No pets, thank God—and I was so pleased that Joe saved his cat. No regrets, Hugh, and not afraid…not really. Just…sad.” She sniffed. “It was a pretty nice world, even if I did crumb up my marriage.”
    “Don’t cry.”
    “I’m not crying! Those drops are sweat.”
    “Yes. Surely.”
    “They are. It’s terribly hot.” Suddenly she reached both hands behind her ribs. “Do you mind? If I take this off? Like Karen? It’s smothering me.”
    “Go ahead. Child, if you can get comfortable—or less uncomfortable—do so. I’ve seen Karen all her life, Grace even longer. Skin doesn’t shock me.” He stood up, went behind the oxygen bottles, and looked at the record of radiation. Having done so, he checked the thermometer and increased the flow of oxygen.
    As he sat down he remarked, “I might as well have stored air instead of oxygen, then we could smoke. But I did not expect to use it for cooling.” He ignored the fact that she had accepted his invitation to be comfortable. He added, “I was worried about heating the place. I tried to design a stove to use contaminated air safely. Possible. But difficult.”
    “I think you did amazingly well. This is the only shelter I’ve ever heard of with stored air. You’re a scientist. Aren’t you?”
    “Me? Heavens, no. High school only. What little I know I picked up here and there. Some in the Navy, metal work and correspondence courses. Then I worked for a public utility and learned something about construction and pipelines. Then I became a contractor.” He smiled. “No, Barbara, I’m a ‘general specialist.’ ‘The Elephant Child’s ’satiable curiosity.’ Like Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume.”
    “How did a cat get a name like that?”
    “Karen. Because he’s a great explorer. That cat can get into anything. Do you like cats?”
    “I don’t know much about them. But Dr. Livingstone is a beauty.”
    “So he is but I like all cats. You don’t own a cat, he is a free citizen. Take dogs; dogs are friendly and fun and loyal. But slaves. Not their fault, they’ve been bred for it. But slavery makes me queasy, even in animals.”
    He frowned. “Barbara, I’m not as sad over what has happened as you are. It might be good for us. I don’t mean us six; I mean our country.”
    She looked startled. “How?”
    “Well—It’s hard to take the long view when you are crouching in a shelter and wondering how long you can hold out. But—Barbara, I’ve worried for years about our country. It seems to me that we have been breeding slaves—and I believe in freedom. This war may have turned the tide. This may be the first war in history which kills the stupid rather than the bright and able—where it makes any distinction.”
    “How do you figure that, Hugh?”
    “Well, wars have always been hardest on the best young men. This time the boys in service are as safe or safer than civilians. And of civilians those who used their heads and made preparations stand a far better chance. Not every case, but on the average, and that will improve the breed. When it’s over, things will be tough, and that will improve the breed still more. For years the surest way of surviving has been to be utterly worthless and breed a lot of worthless kids. All that will change.”
    She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s standard genetics. But it seems cruel.”
    “It is cruel. But