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something interesting to think about?” he asked, lying on his back with his arm about her.
    “Mm,” she said, and squirmed closer against his side. Her head was on his shoulder, her arm across his chest.
    He kissed her forehead. “Think of all the different classifications there are—” he said.
    “Mm?”
    “And try to decide which one you would pick if you had to pick one.”
    “To pick one?” she said.
    “That’s right.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “To pick one. To have. To be in. Which classification would you like best? Doctor, engineer, adviser . . .”
    She propped her head up on her hand and squinted at him. “What do you mean?” she said.
    He gave a little sigh and said, “We’re going to be classified, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Suppose we weren’t going to be. Suppose we had to classify ourselves.”
    “That’s silly,” she said, finger-drawing on his chest.
    “It’s interesting to think about.”
    “Let’s fuck again,” she said.
    “Wait a minute,” he said. “Just think about all the different classifications. Suppose it were up to us to—”
    “I don’t want to,” she said, stopping drawing. “That’s silly. And sick. We get classified; there’s nothing to think about. Uni knows what we’re—”
    “Oh, fight Uni,” Chip said. “Just pretend for a minute that we’re living in—”
    Anna flipped away from him and lay on her stomach, stiff and unmoving, the back of her head to him.
    “I’m sorry,” he said.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “For you. You’re sick.”
    “No I’m not,” he said.
    She was silent.
    He sat up and looked despairingly at her rigid back. “It just slipped out,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
    She stayed silent.
    “It’s just a word, Anna,” he said.
    “You’re sick,” she said.
    “Oh, hate,” he said.
    “You see what I mean?”
    “Anna,” he said, “look. Forget it. Forget the whole thing, all right? Just forget it.” He tickled between her thighs, but she locked them, barring his hand.
    “Ah, Anna,” he said. “Ah, come on. I said I was sorry, didn’t I? Come on, let’s fuck again. I’ll suck you first if you want.”
    After a while she relaxed her thighs and let him tickle her.
    Then she turned over and sat up and looked at him. “Are you sick, Li?” she asked.
    “No,” he said, and managed to laugh. “Of course I’m not,” he said.
    “I never heard of such a thing,” she said. “ ‘Classify ourselves.’ How could we do it? How could we possibly know enough?”
    “It’s just something I think about once in a while,” he said. “Not very often. In fact, hardly ever.”
    “It’s such a—a funny idea,” she said. “It sounds— I don’t know—pre-U.”
    “I won’t think about it any more,” he said, and raised his right hand, the bracelet slipping back. “Love of Family,” he said. “Come on, lie down and I’ll suck you.”
    She lay back on the blanket, looking worried.
    The next morning at five of ten Mary CZ called Chip and asked him to come see her.
    “When?” he asked.
    “Now,” she said.
    “All right,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
    His mother said, “What does she want to see you on a Sunday for?”
    “I don’t know,” Chip said.
    But he knew. Anna VF had called her adviser.
    He rode the escalators down, down, down, wondering how much Anna had told, and what he should say; and wanting suddenly to cry and tell Mary that he was sick and selfish and a liar. The members on the upgoing escalators were relaxed, smiling, content, in harmony with the cheerful music of the speakers; no one but he was guilty and unhappy.
    The advisory offices were strangely still. Members and advisers conferred in a few of the cubicles, but most of them were empty, the desks in order, the chairs waiting. In one cubicle a green-coveralled member leaned over the phone working a screwdriver at it.
    Mary was standing on her chair, laying a strip of Christmas bunting along the top of Wei Addressing the