Chapter 1
It was a day, just like any other day, just like every other day, 371 in sequence since it's last equal. The atomic time measures read thirteen hours. Atho Radkin, or 'Comrade 1773.628', his chin nuzzled to his breast in order to escape the frigid lack of heating installments of weather, slipped quickly through the plutonium doors of Victory Proclamations Department, though not quickly enough to prevent a huge swirl of gritty ashes and nuclear debris from entering along with him. The hallway stank of sulfur and carbonic acids. At one end of it a holographic vid screen had been installed to the major circuitry of the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than two trichtons wide, wonderfully animated, so that the movements were completely lifelike. The face of a man of about 22.5 wolts old, with a heavy black mustache and genetically handsome features. It was one of those holos designed to track movement and follow it with the image's eyes. Atho made for the lift. It was no use trying for the transporter. Even at the best of times it usually had fatal malfunctions, and currently, with the lack of aofres to power it, there was no hope. It was part of the economy stimulation for Stereotype week. The dwelling was 385 trichtons up, and Atho, who was 19.5 wolts and has a small tumor on his right ankle, rose slowly, sitting exhausted in the lift. At each floor, opposite the doors, the holo with the enormous face gazed from the wall. Uncle Sam Is Watching You, the caption beneath it said.