interesting," Flamen murmured. "I don't much like what this place does to people, either." He rounded on Ariadne. "You told me that the only patients being invited to this show were those making a good recovery. But when I tried to talk to Celia just now she'd hardly even exchange a civil hello with me. Is that what your famous boss regards as a decent cure?"
"We undertake nothing more than to try and help our patients reconstruct their personalities," Ariadne said stiffly. "If it turns out that some of their previous emotional involvements were manifestations of some deep-lying immaturity or other malfunction, that simply can't be helped."
Flamen's face went milk-white and every muscle visible on his body tightened like an overwound clock-spring. Ariadne took half a pace back, as though driven by the sheer vehemence of his glare.
"I said I don't like what you've done to Celia, doctor! As far as I can see, if she stays here any longer she won't have a mind left to be mended—she's just being drained!"
"If you disapprove of Dr. Mogshack's methods, you're at liberty to transfer her into someone else's care," Ariadne snapped, scarcely seeming to realize whom she was talking to. Her eyes were darting to Lyla every few seconds, then away again as though she were afraid of being rebuked for staring.
"I'll take that as an invitation!" Flamen said icily. "Good afternoon! By the way, Miss Clay, I'm heading back to the city by skimmer—perhaps I can give you a ride somewhere?"
"The fastest route out of here is the one I take," Lyla said. "Yes, please."
"But, Lyla—!" Dan reached out to take hold of her arm. In the same instant Ariadne said anxiously, "Miss Clay, is it wise to—?"
"But nothing," Lyla cut in. "You blamed me for giving a short performance, then you admitted that you slapped me awake ahead of time. You come home at all, you come crawling. Do you understand?"
THIRTY-SIXAN OBLIGATION IS LIKE A MUSCLE: WHEN YOU CONTRACT IT IT GETS BIGGER AND HARDER
Three faces, not just one, appeared in Prior's comweb screen, split by a half and two quarters. Voigt occupied the half, naturally; Prior noticed he'd invested in some new ears. He, and the blank occupying the upper quarter on the other side, had sound and vision links working, but the remaining caller—a scowling kneeblank— seemed as yet not to be spliced into the circuit
"Mr. Priori" Voigt said with professional cordiality. "We haven't spoken in far too long. Nonetheless, I should apologize for disturbing you at your home."
Prior mouthed a conventional rejoinder.
"Let me introduce Mr. Frederick Campbell, of the Bureau of State and Federal Relations," Voigt went on. "He's appealed to me for some assistance, and I think the best thing I can do is refer him to you. Mr. Campbell, suppose you brief Mr. Prior yourself."
"With pleasure," Campbell said, his tone contradicting the words. "Well, perhaps I should start by explaining that my work is concerned with the negotiation of city tax contracts, and this morning I had to visit Black-bury and discuss their purchases of water and power for the coming year. And just as I was leaving I—uh . . . Well, I had a rather awkward problem dumped in my lap."
"Don't tell me," Prior said sourly. "The dinge there." He pointed at the remaining corner of the screen. "Well, right now I have problems of my own, and the last thing—"
"I know you have, Mr. Prior," Voigt cut in. "Do I have to remind you that the PCC monitors the transmissions of all licensed vu-stations? It hasn't entirely escaped our notice that the incidence of transmission faults affecting the Matthew Flamen show has hit a statistically improbable high. That's why I thought of bringing our—ah—involuntary visitor to your attention. The name of that dinge, as you termed him, happens to be Pedro Diablo."
"What?" Prior jerked like a newly hooked fish. "Are they out of their skulls, parting with a man like that? Why, he's worth a couple of army corps all by
"We undertake nothing more than to try and help our patients reconstruct their personalities," Ariadne said stiffly. "If it turns out that some of their previous emotional involvements were manifestations of some deep-lying immaturity or other malfunction, that simply can't be helped."
Flamen's face went milk-white and every muscle visible on his body tightened like an overwound clock-spring. Ariadne took half a pace back, as though driven by the sheer vehemence of his glare.
"I said I don't like what you've done to Celia, doctor! As far as I can see, if she stays here any longer she won't have a mind left to be mended—she's just being drained!"
"If you disapprove of Dr. Mogshack's methods, you're at liberty to transfer her into someone else's care," Ariadne snapped, scarcely seeming to realize whom she was talking to. Her eyes were darting to Lyla every few seconds, then away again as though she were afraid of being rebuked for staring.
"I'll take that as an invitation!" Flamen said icily. "Good afternoon! By the way, Miss Clay, I'm heading back to the city by skimmer—perhaps I can give you a ride somewhere?"
"The fastest route out of here is the one I take," Lyla said. "Yes, please."
"But, Lyla—!" Dan reached out to take hold of her arm. In the same instant Ariadne said anxiously, "Miss Clay, is it wise to—?"
"But nothing," Lyla cut in. "You blamed me for giving a short performance, then you admitted that you slapped me awake ahead of time. You come home at all, you come crawling. Do you understand?"
THIRTY-SIXAN OBLIGATION IS LIKE A MUSCLE: WHEN YOU CONTRACT IT IT GETS BIGGER AND HARDER
Three faces, not just one, appeared in Prior's comweb screen, split by a half and two quarters. Voigt occupied the half, naturally; Prior noticed he'd invested in some new ears. He, and the blank occupying the upper quarter on the other side, had sound and vision links working, but the remaining caller—a scowling kneeblank— seemed as yet not to be spliced into the circuit
"Mr. Priori" Voigt said with professional cordiality. "We haven't spoken in far too long. Nonetheless, I should apologize for disturbing you at your home."
Prior mouthed a conventional rejoinder.
"Let me introduce Mr. Frederick Campbell, of the Bureau of State and Federal Relations," Voigt went on. "He's appealed to me for some assistance, and I think the best thing I can do is refer him to you. Mr. Campbell, suppose you brief Mr. Prior yourself."
"With pleasure," Campbell said, his tone contradicting the words. "Well, perhaps I should start by explaining that my work is concerned with the negotiation of city tax contracts, and this morning I had to visit Black-bury and discuss their purchases of water and power for the coming year. And just as I was leaving I—uh . . . Well, I had a rather awkward problem dumped in my lap."
"Don't tell me," Prior said sourly. "The dinge there." He pointed at the remaining corner of the screen. "Well, right now I have problems of my own, and the last thing—"
"I know you have, Mr. Prior," Voigt cut in. "Do I have to remind you that the PCC monitors the transmissions of all licensed vu-stations? It hasn't entirely escaped our notice that the incidence of transmission faults affecting the Matthew Flamen show has hit a statistically improbable high. That's why I thought of bringing our—ah—involuntary visitor to your attention. The name of that dinge, as you termed him, happens to be Pedro Diablo."
"What?" Prior jerked like a newly hooked fish. "Are they out of their skulls, parting with a man like that? Why, he's worth a couple of army corps all by
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