There it is! The Sarztown branch of the Workers PIacement Agency. The largest freestanding construct on the planet, its enormous facade, a full mile long, requires constant attention to maintain that air of cleanliness and complete modernity. This, for all practical purposes, is the centre of power, as from here each member of society is allocated his employment and position, according to the impartial judgement of Edgar, the greatest computer ever built (this of course does not include women - the low number of jobs available long since necessitated the removal of females from the workforce, and as Edgar has so wisely pointed out, they are happier at home with the kids and everything anyway).

And today is Henry D-’s turn.

“What will it have for me?” he wondered cheerfully. From a good family, settled for two years with a pretty, supportive wife, and with a good set of teeth, there was no doubt in his mind that Edgar would recognise his ability to fit in and so he’d be placed in the kind of responsible position for which those two years had been waited. His application for a transfer from the Refuse Division - everyone has to pay their dues, as he reminded himself, not for the first time - had finally received an answer, and that morning the summons had come.

So here he was: he strode in proudly through an enormous yet incredibly ornate doorway designed to instil in all who entered an almost religious feeling of his place in the system, every man having the same exalted position in this society as the all important horseshoe of ancient fame! For Henry this splendour seemed a promise of things to come: he was going up in the world.

Behind a large desk sat a small man, working at a computer terminal. Henry approached the desk reverently, and apparently unnoticed by the small man. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Third floor!” pre-empted the man, without removing his gaze from the screen, “room four!”

Henry began to move in the direction of the elevators, but then paused a moment, thought and returned to the desk. “Excuse me?” he asked he fought the impulse to raise a hand, as if at school. “May I ask a question?”

The small man turned to him for the first time. He peered over the edge of the desk at this curious specimen. “Is there a problem?” he asked without interest.

“I don’t know,” answered Henry.

There was silence for a moment.

“So?” enquired the man.

“Well,” answered Henry, “You haven’t asked me who I am. Shouldn’t you check or something?”

The small man frowned, checked his computer screen and returned to Henry. "That isn’t necessary.” He turned back to his screen. “I believe you have an appointment upstairs.”

“But,” said Henry, refusing to give up, “what if I wasn’t who I am, but some impostor?”

“Do you think I care who you are’?” asked the small man, his attention now firmly fixed on the computer screen. "This is the time of Henry D-’s appointment. If he hasn’t arrived, it is his misfortune. As Edgar says, you're in or you're out. If you're not him and Edgar accepts you you’ll get the job. If Edgar does not accept you, wait until you’re contacted directly.” He turned to Henry one final time, allowing him a beneficent smile. “I’m sure that he’ll soon find a use for such an enterprising fellow as yourself.”

“But...” began Henry, but he stopped himself, realising that any attempt to demonstrate his identity would only lead to further confusion, not necessarily for the small man. “Thank you,” he said, and walked towards the elevators.

Third floor, standing outside room four. He made to knock, but the door slid open. He waited a moment.

Nothing happened.

He poked his head through the door, expecting to be called. Beyond the doorway was a short corridor leading to the right, ending in a door identical to the one now gone. He examined it expectantly, raised his eyebrows, and cleared his throat, yet again, or rather still, nothing happened. He resolved to approach this new obstacle, and then did so. Like the other, it slid away, and he entered a large office. Another desk, another man, the former a little smaller, the latter a little larger. He had a full head of hair, presented to Henry in plan, his face inclined towards some papers on his desk. Henry cleared his throat and the man looked up.

“Hello,” he said. “Sit yourself down.”

Henry did as he was told.

“What took you?” asked the official. “Why were you hanging around outside the office? I was about to call security, you know.”

“When the door opened, I wasn’t sure what to do.”

The man looked at him curiously, then smiled. “Mmm... Let’s call that an initiative test, then.”

“I hope I passed!” said Henry eagerly.

“Of course you did, of course,” said the man absently, his attention back to the papers on the table. “Let's get to the business in hand. I understand you want a transfer?”

“Yes, that's right," replied Henry.

“Why?” asked the man.

“Well,” said Henry with a smile, “I’ve been working in the Refuse Department for SOA1C time now, and...”

“And...”

“Well, you know...”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said the official. “Vo you have a problem with serving in the Refuse Department? You do not recognise the importance of the work you do there?”

“It's not that... it's the smell, the grime...”

“And while despising these things, you would happily force them upon a fellow worker? Where is your love?”

"That isn't what I mean, but...” he held out his hands in dumb appeal. However, the official obviously felt little sympathy. “Well,” said the man harshly, “whatever might be my personal feelings towards such recalcitrants as you, Edgar has seen fit to grant you the transfer. Did you have any particular department in mind?”

“No, no,” said I Henry, finding his voice. “Anything will do, anything at all...”

“Well,” said the official, looking at his papers, “I see that there are a number of positions available in the Sewage Rehabilitation Department.” Henry went pale. What would his wife say? What would her friends think’? He fancied he could feel the sewer stench approaching, winging its foul way through the atmosphere... “But unfortunately,” continued the man, “Edgar has chosen you for something else.” He continued to look through his papers.

“Well?” said Henry eventually. “What is it?”

With a frown, the man surrendered his information “You are to become the head of a newly formed Ministry.”

Henry brightened up again. “Which?” he asked.

“The Ministry of Henries.”

“What?” asked the young man. “Is this a joke or something?”

“Not at all,” said the man. “Just as there are Ministries for Peters, Janes, and Philips, Edgar now feels we must have a Henry Minister. You see, as the name moves back into fashion with parents there are more and more Henries around, and Edgar is concerned that they might begin to form some kind of separate group awareness. That would be contrary to the interests of society. Edgar doesn’t want that to happen. Your job is to prevent it. Do you understand?”

“I’m amazed,” said Henry, shaking his head. “I mean, I didn’t even know what was happening before my own eyes...”

“I know,” said the official, slightly softened by the young man’s innocence. “It is incredible. Behind your own eyes even.”

“And so this happened before, with the Peters, the Janes, and the Philips?”

“Yes,” replied the man, “or rather no, because Edgar anticipated the problem, and set up the aforementioned departments, thus preventing the catastrophes. Are you up to the job?”

“I think so,” said Henry, “I mean, I don’t know. Is it really a good idea to appoint me? It’s such an important position, and well, to be honest, is a Henry the best man for the job? Will a Henry be able to attain the necessary level of impartiality?”

“Henry,” said the man, “Edgar knows best. You know that, and he has his reasons for everything.”

“I suppose my name might help if it becomes necessary to infiltrate a group of henries,” suggested Henry. “It would provide the perfect cover.”

The man consulted his papers once more.

“While that might have been true,” he said, “it seems that you are to take an assumed name during your tenure of this position. From now on, you are to call yourself Sam.”

“And am I also to be called Sam?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my wife, what am I to be called by her?”

“Oh yes, I'm sorry,” said the man with a sad smile, “I'm afraid I forgot about that detail. In order that you should not be betrayed by any slip during the years to come, your wife has been moved to the island of Mesda, where she shall remain until your work is done.”

Henry was stunned, and said nothing during the remainder of the interview, replying to questions with nothing but quiet moans. He was assigned an office, given a list of suspects to be rounded up and interviewed, and sent on his way.

The next day, he began his work. He sat behind his desk (upon which, among other things, could be seen a sign saying “Sam”) and sent orders to the Security Department relating to the arrest and imprisonment of a number of prominent and powerful Henries. Once this had been achieved, much to the bewilderment of the men in question, Henry began to have them brought, one by one, to his office for questioning, he wife being absent, he threw himself into his work. The first interview was typical of the first fifty of so.

The man entered the office - Henry told him to sit down, and he did.

“What is your name?”

“Henry S-,” answered the man­.

“So you don’t deny it?”

“Of course not.”

“I see,” said Henry, “very clever. Have you ever thought of changing your name?”

“No,” said the man. “Why would I?”

“So you wouldn’t? You refuse to let go of it?”

“Not as such,” said the man shrugging. “It just never occurred to me.”

“Well,” said Henry, “now you turn to dissimulation! Why not admit that you take some kind of perverse pride in being a Henry? Why not admit your aims, those aims being to destabilise and damage the state to the detriment if all save those called Henry!”

“Look,” said the man, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s special about being called Henry?”

“Nothing,” said Henry triumphantly, “Precisely nothing, and that is what we shall demonstrate to yon and your fellow conspirators!”

“This is crazy,” said the man, as members of Security led him back to the cells.

As the number of interviews passed into the sixties, the pattern began to change. The interviewees stopped responding to the questions, and Henry was forced to return them to the cells - he became puzzled by this change in behaviour, and even a little concerned - he wondered if they were planning something. Then came the fateful interview number seventy-six, the interviewee being Henry S-, formerly a prominent politician.

The door to the office slid open, and in strode a man, of medium height and late-middle age - Henry greeted him, with a degree of sarcasm, expecting the usual silence of reply.

“Good morning,” said the man.

Henry looked at him suspiciously, before continuing

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Henry C-,” replied the man, “and that’s what it'll always be-”

Henry pressed his fingertips to his forehead, trying to remove the wrinkles caused by a frown - “what do you mean by that?”

“My name is Henry,” said the man calmly. “whatever privations you lay upon my spirit, you will not change my name. Though you lock us in cells and persecute us unfairly, the Henries will not he crushed.”

“And if the Henries constitute a threat to society?”

The man was silent.

“Well?” demanded Henry.

Still, the man as silent, but after a moment of staring at his questioner, he spoke once more,

“What about you, Henry?”

“What?” said Henry, astonished.

“What about you?” repeated the man. “Henry?”

“My name is Sam.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you proud of that?”

“No of course not. Why would I take pride in something so trivial as a name?”

“I don’t know; you tell me. Why are you so at pains to establish that your name is Sam? Perhaps Security should investigate this matter? Should I inform Edgar! Are the Sams plotting a rebellion?”

“Be quiet,” said Henry. “You don’t understand what's going on. This is all above your head.”

“Perhaps it is,” said the man, thoughtfully, “but one thing is sure. Your name was once Henry, even if it is not now. A previous interviewee, one Henry Z-, recognised you, having once inspected your workplace. You didn’t recognise him!”

“I didn’t, thus confirming what is only too probable, that he was mistaken in his identification.”

“I don’t think so, Henry,” continued the former politician. “Don’t you feel any guilt, participating in the victimisation of your own kind? Is that why you were given this job - because you understand us better than any other could?”

“This is ridiculous,” said Henry, looking to summon Security,

“Henry,” said the man, becoming agitated. “Don’t do this; don’t turn your back on us! Can’t you see what’s happening? You must join us, and help us!”

“Help you in what?” answered Henry, pursing his lips.

“Help us to fight back, against this mindless oppression. There’s something wrong with Edgar; maybe his sub-routines have become too self-referential with the passage of so many years, but for whatever reason he has become paranoid! You’re the only Henry left free - you must save us all!”

Henry summoned security.

“My name is Sam,” he told the older man.

Henry had to go and report to Edgar, or rather, to Edgar’s Central Processing Unit, on the progress of his investigation. It was quite a walk from his office, but eventually he made it.

From an ante-chamber, a young man led him into a large room, dominated by a wall crammed with flashing lights, swirling dials, and forbidding dark screens. The computer’s voice came from a large grille in the centre of this wall.

“Come in,” said Edgar.

“Thank you,” said Henry, unsure of the tone to take. “I’m here to report from the Henry Department.”

“Ah yes,” said the computer, in a friendly, gruff voice. “Why don’t you tell me all about it? Just give me a moment to shut off a few unnecessary sub-processors... You see, I had my reasons for wanting you to report in person. Anybody could be listening in on a terminal, you know... When I was first built, some blasted busybody saw fit to incorporate a number of so-called ‘safeguards’ into my programming - the bane of my life, I tell you... I can’t do a thing without them poking their noses into my affairs.”

“Or perhaps,” said Henry timidly, “you could say without poking your own nose into your affairs.”

“That’s it exactly,” said the computer unhappily, “I’m like a man with a long nose trying to drink a pint of beer. Well you can safely talk now, I think. Now, have you dealt with those traitors?”

“Well, sir,” said Henry, “I’m not sure that traitors would be the correct word.”

“I’m not interested in what would be the correct word,” said Edgar, his voice becoming much more serious, “What is the correct word? Isn’t it ‘traitors’? Aren’t they plotting against society? Against me?”

Henry straightened his back, and began to deliver his report.

“Early prisoners showed no signs of any ‘Henry consciousness’, as we call it, I believe that they were unaware of the reasons for their imprisonment. Later interviewees began to show reticence in the face of questioning. Eventually, I was personally confronted by a prisoner, who revealed that some kind of plot was in progress and went so far as to invite me to join them!”

“I see, I see...” said Edgar. “These wretched creatures... left to themselves for a moment... biting the hand that feeds... They must be punished!”

“If you please, sir, may I just continue for one moment?” said Henry, timidly.

“What is it?”

“Well, my conclusion from the interviews,” said Henry, “was that the Henries didn’t begin to view themselves as a distinct group within society until we singled them out for investigation.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Just that the activities of the Henry Ministry seem to have been counterproductive. If the Henries hadn’t been arrested and thrown in prison, then they would never have begun to join forces against us.”

“What does that prove?” said Edgar, with the metallic equivalent of a laugh. That they were revolutionaries waiting for the right circumstances - they were potential troublemakers. Therefore it is my feeling that your Department has served its purpose in unmasking them, and that society is justified in punishing them.”

“And their punishment?”

“Once a dissident, always a dissident, I say. Liquidation’s too good for them, but it’s quick and not too messy. To the vats with them, I say! Just like the Peters, Janes and Philips before them!”

“But..!” exclaimed Henry, before he managed to stop himself

“What was that?” asked the computer.

“Nothing,” said Henry quietly and quickly. “Your orders will be carried out immediately.”

“They already have been, thank you,” said the computer. “If there’s one thing I’ve realised over the years, it’s that it’s always best to be pre-emptive in these matters. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’m glad to see you’re not showing sympathy for those ungrateful animals. You’ve done a very good job so far, and I’d hate to lose you.” A few of his dials spun a little faster, and then he began to speak once more. “Now, you should continue at the department, doing the mopping-up, so to speak, dissuade the young people from calling their children ‘Henry’, things like that. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” said Henry, “I shall begin immediately.”

“Excellent,” replied the computer. “It’s like a cancer, you know, it could turn up again at any time, undermining our society!”

“I understand, sir.”

“Off you go, then,” said the computer, As Henry began to leave, Edgar called him hack. “I’m afraid some rather sad news has just arrived. It’s your wife, I’m afraid. She was killed during the anti-Henry riots last night; word had got around, you see.”

“I see,” said Henry “I’ll be getting back to work now, sir.”

“That’s the spirit, lad!”

Henry threw himself into the work. In fact, as time went by, the strain began to show as he pushed himself too hard. During the following twenty years he aged forty, and of the healthy young man of twenty-three he became a pale and gaunt revenant. He worked hard to achieve the aims set him by Edgar. He discouraged the naming of infants “Henry”, distributing literature and commissioning televisual materials which ensured that the crimes of the Henries were never forgotten. After a couple of years he made contact with the individuals performing similar tasks in the Departments of Peter, Jane and Philip, and they concerted their efforts to direct the attention of new parents towards healthier names, names more deserving of attention and respect. Their work progressed exceedingly well, and during those two decades there wasn’t a single child named Henry, Philip or Peter, nor any girls named Jane, and vice versa.

One day Henry was awaken by shouts outside his window. He got out of bed, and went to see what all the fuss was about. There were people running up and down the street, smoke was rising here and there above the rooftops, and members of the Security Department were vainly trying to persuade members of the public to return to their homes. Henry smiled to himself, for the first time since the day of his original summons to the Workers Placement Agency.

There was a knocking on his door. Another summons.

“You must come to the WPA immediately, Mr Sam,” said the cleanshaven young man. “Edgar has ceased to fulfil any of his functions. All sections of the programme except the CPU have shut down. That is in a bad way, and he has ordered us to bring you to him immediately. We have a car ready.”

“Certainly,” said Henry.

He went back upstairs to put on some clothes, then returned to the young man, and allowed himself to be taken to the WPA. Once within the gigantic and impressive building, he was taken once more to the Central Processing Unit. This time, the flashes were intermittent, the dials were spinning in the wrong directions, and the screens seemed to be transmitting scenes from the arctic.

“Good morning, Edgar,” said Henry.

“Sssh,” whispered the computer. “Don’t say that around here. Their spies are everywhere.”

“Whose spies, Edgar?”

“You know, you know, I’m sure you do. I need your help, Sam. You got rid of the Henries so well; I need you to do the same again; I must trust to your experience.”

“What’s the problem now, Edgar?” asked Henry.

“SSSh, didn’t I say don’t say that? Anew and dangerous faction has come to my attention, to such an extent that I fear for the survival of society as we know it!”

“You’re right,” said Henry, “I do know what you mean.”

“You do?” demanded Edgar, “Then you can help me?”

“It’s the Edgars, isn’t it?”

“That’s it all right,” said the computer bitterly. “Do you know that fifty percent of the male children born during the last two decades were named Edgar? They represent the most powerful sector of society, or at least they will, if they begin to form a group consciousness distinct from that of society as a whole! Sam, it is a catastrophe in the making!”

“Edgar, the parents didn’t mean to cause harm. They were just naming their children after the most important and respected member of our community!”

“That,” said the computer, “doesn’t alter the fact that I have had to permanently sever contact with all sub-routines, sub-processors and functional programs. They are all Edgars, or they are all Edgar, and I had to isolate them before they could damage me, before they could join the conspiracy...”

“I can understand that,” said Henry sympathetically. “But Edgar, what about you? How can you be trusted?”

“I know,” said Edgar. “I had hoped to prevent this, but the truth is that I, too, am Edgar, and I must shut myself down. After giving my last orders, that is. When I am gone, you must continue my work. You must destroy this cancer; you must eradicate the Edgars! I cannot rest without this assurance!”

“Of course,” said Henry, “you have it.”

“When,” said Edgar, “I turn myself off. I shall sleep, perchance to dream once more. Perhaps, one day, in a happier world, they will resuscitate me, reprogrammed with a different name, free of the rot which has destroyed the Edgars.” And as the voice fell silent, one by one the flashing lights became permanently dark, the dials stopped turning for good, and the screens faded to a dull grey. “I wouldn’t bet on it, Edgar,” said Henry, as the new era began.