"What do you mean, husband?" asked Vivy.

"I have been promoted from first design team to junior planner," announced Aris.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" beamed Vivy. "That is a position you have been aiming for since before we were wed. I still remember the day I arrived from Moonglow up above and moved into our first living unit to get it ready for our marriage."

"I remember too. I was a maintenance worker then, like Stoney here. But I worked hard, impressed my supervisors, and suggested improvements in the designs the men were working on as often as I could. My efforts paid off when my supervisors were promoted on the basis of my suggestions and managed to have me named to their design team. The increased salary enabled us to move from the north side to the unit we currently occupy. With this promotion, I will have to do less design work and more actual planning. I will be out of the design wing more often, moving among the different towns of Skyview Tower and interfacing with our representatives in manufacturing and sales. Of course, it means that I will also have less time for my chores here in the living unit."

"It all sounds so exciting, doesn't it, son?" asked Vivy, not at all concerned that her husband would likely not be home to welcome her after a hard day on Office Level III.

"Very," agreed Stoney, trying to sound encouraging.

The thought of spending endless years giving his ideas away to designers and supervisors unqualified for their positions, and hoping their resulting success would carry him along, did not appeal to him in the slightest.

"You sound underwhelmed, son," noted Aris.

"No, I'm happy for you, Father," said Stoney.

"But there is something else."

"Well . . . well, it seems to me this success should have happened far sooner."

"How so?"

"Since many of the ideas that helped your supervisors advance were actually yours, wouldn't it make more sense for you to be the one who benefited?" blurted Stoney, to gasps from Vivy and Immomia. "Why should less-qualified employees be promoted ahead of you simply because of the color of their skin?"

There was silence for quite a few moments. Such things were not said in polite company.

"Son, I don't have to remind you of the past evils visited upon our citizens of color by those of European descent . . ." Aris began.

"But no one alive today, or for the last 250 years for that matter, has suffered or even witnessed such evils," Stoney replied. "Why should they continue to benefit from the misfortunes of their long-dead ancestors?"

Aris was taken aback by this bald statement. Unconsciously, he looked about as if to make sure no one outside the family was listening. Then he leaned forward and whispered, "Son, the sentiments you've expressed can be very dangerous and could cost our family its position in the community, not to mention my promotion. Now, you have always been a bit out of step with your friends, but you should be mature enough to understand the ways of the city."

"All I understand is the injustice of it all," Stoney insisted.

"It is injustice that the laws of the Municiplex have been created to redress," said Immomia dutifully. "Certainly, our family is not of the upper echelons, and I regret not having been assigned to wed a citizen of color. But some day our fortunes will change and we can begin the process of full social integration."

"Of course, son," soothed Vivy, resting her hand on Stoney's. "Soon it will be your turn to wed, and there is every possibility that she will be a citizen of color."

"That is not my point," insisted Stoney, pulling his hand away. "I simply think that promotion on the employment levels should be based on merit and not pigmentation!"

"I think that is quite enough, son," said Aris, his voice assuming an unaccustomed air of command. "The city provides for all our wants and offers us a means of moving up and bettering ourselves."

"At the expense of our identities?" asked Stoney. "At the expense of pandering to less qualified superiors? If that's the case, I'm not interested in what the city can provide!"

"What more do you want?"

The question brought Stoney up short. What did he want?

"I ... don't know," he said, shaking his head. "But something is missing. I'm tired of living on the sunless side of Skyview Tower. I'm tired of cleaning window banks and human waste depositories. I know my contributions can be more substantial if only I have the opportunity."

"But you will have the opportunity, son. You must simply be more patient, work with your supervisors, and in ten or twenty years, you too may be promoted to junior designer."

"Ten or 20 years!" spat Stoney. "Pfah! Why should anyone with genuine ability wait so long while others far less qualified are given top positions?"

"But it is their right as citizens of color . . ." Immomia began.

"I don't want to hear that!" shouted Stoney, getting up abruptly. "In fact, I don't want to continue this conversation at all."