for the board to punch the code for Lares & Penates Inc., he checked. There was a flag up over the message slot. He jabbed his hand in to retrieve the fax paper, and read it with dismay.
Eugene Voigt of the PCC needing to get in touch as soon as possible. That old fool! But right now his situation was too precarious to risk offending anyone who might later be of use. Sighing, he put through that call first.
Waiting for an answer, he looked around at the handsome expensive home he had worked for years to achieve: splendidly furnished, with real hand-painted pictures on the walls, hand-woven rugs on the floor protected by an invisible film of plastic against the scuffing of children's feet, antique ornaments thirty, forty, even fifty years old ...
"Doesn't Matthew realize what I stand to lose if he throws his contract away?" he said to the unheeding air.
THIRTY-FIVEA FIASCO IS A BOTTLE IN WHICH ITALIAN WINE IS SOLD
"Well, that was a fiasco and no mistake!" Dan muttered to Lyla the moment he had the chance to abandon his professional good manners and could speak to her without anyone else overhearing.
Bewildered, she stared at him. The patients were being shepherded from the room under Ariadne's supervision; Matthew Flamen, having covered several of them in closeup from near the door to wind up his reel of tape, had doffed his recording equipment and was now engaged in conversation with one of the last of the audience to leave, a singularly lovely girl with her mouth in a sulky pout. The conversation seemed to be completely one-sided.
"But—but why?" Lyla whispered.
"The biggest break you're ever likely to get in your life, Flamen turning up to cover the performance, and how long do you run? Eleven minutes, that's how long! Think they're going to be pleased at getting such a short show? You let me down, darl, and that's all there is to it."
She went on staring at him in disbelief for another few seconds. Suddenly, as though the nerve-signals had this moment reached her brain, she put up her fingers to touch her cheeks.
"Dan, did you slap me out of it?"
"Had to!"
"But you know that's terribly dangerous! You might have—"
"Did I?"
"I ..." She swallowed enormously and shook her head. "I guess not. I feel pretty much as usual after a session. But why? "The last word peaked into a cry.
"You'll find out when you hear the tape." His eyes flicked past her, "Shut up and look pleasant—Flamen's coming this way."
The girl he had been talking to was leaving with the rest of the patients now, like one more among a herd of two-legged sheep, and Flamen himself was approaching with his face set in a frown.
"Mr. Flamen!" Dan exclaimed. "I do hope you haven't been disappointed! I assure you, this is the first time I've ever had to cut Lyla short in public."
"Had to?" Lyla blazed. "You didn't 'have' to do anything of the kind! Stop talking as though it's my fault, or you'll be out one pythoness. I mean that!"
"I knew what I was doing," Dan muttered. "You're not the first pythoness I've macked for."
"No, just the first who didn't have to supplement her earnings by sacking out with strangers!" Lyla blasted back.
"Mr. Flamen, Lyla's a bit overwrought, I'm afraid," Dan said apologetically. "Perhaps we could—"
"And shouldn't I be? I might have woken up crazy, don't you realize that?"
"Ah, Miss Clay—Mr. Kazer!" Another voice cut in, and there was Ariadne coming to join them. "That was very interesting. I really am impressed! I wonder if you could spare the time to discuss the oracles and see if you can attach them to any of the . . ." The words died away. Glancing uncertainly from face to face, she asked, "Is something the matter?"
"I never talk about my oracles," Lyla said firmly. "Take them or leave them, it's up to you. I want to go home.
I don't like this place and I can't stand what it does to people. Give me my rapitrans ticket, Dan." She held out her hand, but he made no move to comply.
"That's very
Eugene Voigt of the PCC needing to get in touch as soon as possible. That old fool! But right now his situation was too precarious to risk offending anyone who might later be of use. Sighing, he put through that call first.
Waiting for an answer, he looked around at the handsome expensive home he had worked for years to achieve: splendidly furnished, with real hand-painted pictures on the walls, hand-woven rugs on the floor protected by an invisible film of plastic against the scuffing of children's feet, antique ornaments thirty, forty, even fifty years old ...
"Doesn't Matthew realize what I stand to lose if he throws his contract away?" he said to the unheeding air.
THIRTY-FIVEA FIASCO IS A BOTTLE IN WHICH ITALIAN WINE IS SOLD
"Well, that was a fiasco and no mistake!" Dan muttered to Lyla the moment he had the chance to abandon his professional good manners and could speak to her without anyone else overhearing.
Bewildered, she stared at him. The patients were being shepherded from the room under Ariadne's supervision; Matthew Flamen, having covered several of them in closeup from near the door to wind up his reel of tape, had doffed his recording equipment and was now engaged in conversation with one of the last of the audience to leave, a singularly lovely girl with her mouth in a sulky pout. The conversation seemed to be completely one-sided.
"But—but why?" Lyla whispered.
"The biggest break you're ever likely to get in your life, Flamen turning up to cover the performance, and how long do you run? Eleven minutes, that's how long! Think they're going to be pleased at getting such a short show? You let me down, darl, and that's all there is to it."
She went on staring at him in disbelief for another few seconds. Suddenly, as though the nerve-signals had this moment reached her brain, she put up her fingers to touch her cheeks.
"Dan, did you slap me out of it?"
"Had to!"
"But you know that's terribly dangerous! You might have—"
"Did I?"
"I ..." She swallowed enormously and shook her head. "I guess not. I feel pretty much as usual after a session. But why? "The last word peaked into a cry.
"You'll find out when you hear the tape." His eyes flicked past her, "Shut up and look pleasant—Flamen's coming this way."
The girl he had been talking to was leaving with the rest of the patients now, like one more among a herd of two-legged sheep, and Flamen himself was approaching with his face set in a frown.
"Mr. Flamen!" Dan exclaimed. "I do hope you haven't been disappointed! I assure you, this is the first time I've ever had to cut Lyla short in public."
"Had to?" Lyla blazed. "You didn't 'have' to do anything of the kind! Stop talking as though it's my fault, or you'll be out one pythoness. I mean that!"
"I knew what I was doing," Dan muttered. "You're not the first pythoness I've macked for."
"No, just the first who didn't have to supplement her earnings by sacking out with strangers!" Lyla blasted back.
"Mr. Flamen, Lyla's a bit overwrought, I'm afraid," Dan said apologetically. "Perhaps we could—"
"And shouldn't I be? I might have woken up crazy, don't you realize that?"
"Ah, Miss Clay—Mr. Kazer!" Another voice cut in, and there was Ariadne coming to join them. "That was very interesting. I really am impressed! I wonder if you could spare the time to discuss the oracles and see if you can attach them to any of the . . ." The words died away. Glancing uncertainly from face to face, she asked, "Is something the matter?"
"I never talk about my oracles," Lyla said firmly. "Take them or leave them, it's up to you. I want to go home.
I don't like this place and I can't stand what it does to people. Give me my rapitrans ticket, Dan." She held out her hand, but he made no move to comply.
"That's very
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