Case and the Dreamer by Theodore Sturgeon Page A

quietly into her thoughts, there was actually a great deal more going on. In the moments between the ebbs and flows of people—who waited, who left, who delivered, who received, who were directed and ushered; who were greeted by suddenly appearing personnel from inside and led away, and who, twice that morning, included herds of awed children being given a tour through the plant—in these lulls when there was no one there but Merrihew and Agnes Kuhli (and each time she acknowledged this remote intimacy with a charming smile; never for a second did she seem unaware of him) his sharp ears extracted from the miracles of sound-absorbency around her some of the flood of detail she was handling. Flickers and pulses from little lights, quick touches from her long hands on illuminations and patches which could only be electrostatic switches, and the occasional radiance of the holoscreen, each elicited its quick manual or vocal response. Not that her every minute was crowded—far fromit. It was in one of the occasional lulls that their eyes met—he saw to that, keeping his gaze fixed on her in peril of drying his eyeballs—and she gave him that incredible, sharing smile and said, “My—he’s keeping you here so long—” So caring, so concerned. “Here, I’ll just—”
    Her fingers flickered on the console and her face was palely lit by the glow from the holoscreen, which was not in his view. “Lois, Mr. Merrihew’s been waiting so long—”
    Lois, as expected, said whatever needed to be said and the glow died. “Something came up,” Miss Kuhli commiserated, “and Mr. Handel would like you to wait just a little longer, if you don’t mind.”
    “I don’t mind,” Merrihew said heartily. He rose and approached her. “Miss Kuhli, would you mind very much showing me some of the things that console does? I’ve been watching you work and—”
    “Of course I don’t mind!” she cried, this time with a real exclamation point. “That’s what I’m here for. What would you like to know?” As she spoke an amber light showed on what seemed to be a solid piece of hand-rubbed walnut. Her hand hovered over it a moment and then stroked it. It disappeared.
    “Well, practically everything,” said Merrihew. “What was that, for example?” He pointed to the spot where the amber glow had been.
    “Oh, Mr. Stamm isn’t going out for lunch and he wants it sent in.”
    “That little light said all that?” She tinkled a laugh. “No,
he
did.”
    “I didn’t hear anything.”
    “Naturally not.” She lifted away some of her shining hair and revealed an ear which had obviously been designed by whomever it is that holds the patent on the chambered nautilus. Resting in the orifice was a glittering little gem of a device. There were no wires or brackets or anything else of the kind. “It’s my personal receiver. I have one in the other ear too. Sometimes it’s nice to hear with both ears but I can use either one—or both on two lines, if I have to.”
    “Microrange FM,” Merrihew deduced.
    “Yes! And I answered him the same way.” She pointed to the jewel at her throat.
    “You spoke to him?”
    “Yes, I asked him if he’d like the usual and he said yes and thanked me and I said goodbye.”
    “All the time you were talking to me?”
    “Well—between talking to you.”
    “Subvocals—is that it?”
    “You do know a lot about it!” she said admiringly. Another amber spot showed on the board and she put out her hand. This time she touched the board right under the glow and it turned red. “I put him on ‘hold,’ ” she explained. She waved at the end of the board and the bright numerals of a digital clock appeared (remaining in sight five seconds and then disappearing) and she said “It’s Mr. Damiani in Design. He’s been waiting all morning for hand delivery of some special components and he’ll be wanting to know if they’ve arrived. I’ll tell him no, not yet and I’ll send them up the instant they