Tower of Glass by Robert Silverberg

the betas. As Watchman made his way around the construction site he encountered Responders, Sacrificers, Yielders, Guardians, Projectors, Protectors, Transcenders, Engulfers: virtually every level of the hierarchy was represented. There were even half a dozen Preservers, all betas. Watchman had applauded the recent move to admit betas to the Preservership. Androids, of all people, did not need categories of exclusivity.
    Watchman was crossing the northern sector of the site when Leon Spaulding emerged from the maze of small service domes just beyond. The android attempted to avoid seeming to notice him.
    “Watchman?” the ectogene called.
    With an air of deep concentration Watchman walked on.
    “Alpha Watchman!” Spaulding cried, more formally, more sharply.
    The alpha saw no way to ignore Spaulding now. Turning, he acknowledged Spaulding’s presence by pausing and letting the ectogene catch up with him.
    “Yes?” Watchman said.
    “Grace me with some of your time, Alpha Watchman. I need information.”
    “Ask, then.”
    “You know these buildings here?” Spaulding said, jerking a thumb backward toward the service domes.
    Watchman shrugged. “Storage dumps, washrooms, kitchens, a first aid station, and similar things. Why?”
    “I was inspecting the area. I came to one dome where I was refused admission. Two insolent betas gave me a whole series of explanations of why I couldn’t go in.”
    The chapel! Watchman went rigid.
    “What is the purpose of that building?” Spaulding asked.
    “I have no idea which one you mean.”
    “I’ll show it to you.”
    “Another time,” said Watchman tautly. “My presence is required at the master control center now.”
    “Get there five minutes later. Will you come with me?”
    Watchman saw no easy way to disengage himself. With a cold gesture of agreement he yielded, and followed Spaulding into the service area, hoping that Spaulding would rapidly get lost among the domes. Spaulding did not get lost. By the most direct possible route he made for the chapel, indicating the innocent-looking gray structure with a flourish of his hand.
    “This,” he said. “What is it?”
    Two betas of the Guardian caste were on duty outside. They looked calm, but one made a hidden distress signal when Watchman looked at him. Watchman made a signal of comfort.
    He said, “I am not familiar with this building. Friends, what is its use?”
    The left-hand beta replied easily, “It contains focusing equipment for the refrigeration system, Alpha Thor.”
    “Is this what you were told?” Watchman asked the ectogene.
    “Yes,” Spaulding said. “I expressed a desire to inspect its interior. I was told that it would be dangerous for me to enter. I answered that I am familiar with basic safety techniques. I was then told that it would be physically uncomfortable for me to go within. I responded that it is possible for me to tolerate a reasonable level of discomfort, and that I would be the judge of such levels. Whereupon I was informed that delicate maintenance procedures are taking place inside, and that to admit me to the building might jeopardize the success of the work in progress. I was invited instead to tour a different refrigeration dome several hundred meters from here. At no time during these exchanges did the two betas you see allow me free access to the building entrance. I believe, Alpha Watchman, that they would have barred me by force if I tried to enter. Watchman, what’s going on in here?”
    “Have you considered the possibility that everything these betas were telling you is true?”
    “Their stubbornness arouses suspicion in me.”
    “What do you think is in there? An android brothel? The headquarters of conspirators? A cache of psych-bombs?”
    Spaulding said crisply, “At this point I’m more concerned by the efforts made to keep me out of this building than I am by what may actually be inside it. As the private secretary of Simeon Krug—”
    The two betas, tense,