 What seems to be true about the world Rikud lives in?
Every day for a week now, Rikud had come to the viewport to watch the great changeless sweep of space. Rikud, for his part, wanted to get back to the viewport and watch the one new bright star. Rikud often thought of his own death, still seventy-five years in the future, not without a sense of alarm. Rikud couldn't remember, and he suddenly wished he could read Crifer's book on astronomy, which meant the same as stars. If he, Rikud, walked from one part of the world to another, it was with a purpose—to eat, or to sleep, or perhaps to bathe in the health-rays.
 It's run by machines, and no longer run by people. There is no room for decisions.
 It's run by machines, and no longer run by people. There is no room for decisions.  Change never happens. It's a concept that's been erased.  Women and men are segregated, because they can't live with one another.  It's run by machines, and no longer run by people. They remember a time when they could make decisions, but no longer can.