Sweat stood out on his forehead as he thought, So now my career, like that of every other psychoanalyst in the USEA, ends. What’ll I do now? Some of his colleagues had fled to Communist countries, but surely they were no better off there. Several had emigrated to Luna and Mars. And a few—a surprisingly large “few”—had applied for work with A.G. Chemie, the organization responsible in the first place for the stricture against them. He was too young to retire and too old to learn another profession. Bitterly, he thought, So actually I can do nothing. I can’t go on and I can’t quit; it’s a true
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