breathing human being. True, something might still be walking around, but it wouldn’t really be alive.
And yet, he realized, I can’t even go back now, to my own region. Whether I like it or not I have met Father Fields face-to-face; I’ve associated with him, and any enemies I might have, inside or outside the Unity structure, will have exactly what they want—for the rest of my life. It’s too late to give up, to drop the idea of confronting Jason Dill. With irony, he thought, Father Fields has forced me to go through with it, the thing he was trying to prevent.
He paid for his lunch and left the lunch counter. Going outside onto the sidewalk, he called another robot cab and instructed it to take him to Unity Control.
Barris pushed past the battery of secretaries and clerks, into Jason Dill’s private syndrome of interconnected offices. At the sight of his Director’s stripe, the dark red slash on his gray coat-sleeve, officials of the Unity Control stepped obediently out of his path, leaving a way open from room to room. The last door opened—and abruptly he was facing Dill.
Jason Dill looked up slowly, putting down a handful of reports. “What do you think you’re doing?” He did not appear at first to recognize Barris; his gaze strayed to the Director’s stripe and then back to his face. “This is out of the question,” Dill said, “your barging in here like this.”
“I came here to talk to you,” Barris said. He shut the office door after him; it closed with a bang, startling the older man. Jason Dill half stood up, then subsided.
“Director Barris,” he murmured. His eyes narrowed. “File a regular appointment slip; you know procedure well enough by now to—”
Barris cut him off. “Why did you turn back my DQ form? Are you withholding information from Vulcan 3?”
Silence.
The color left Jason Dill’s face. “Your form wasn’t properly filled out. According to Section Six, Article Ten of the Unity—”
“You’re rerouting material away from Vulcan 3; that’s why it hasn’t stated a policy on the Healers.” He came closer to the seated man, bending over him as Dill stared down at his papers on the desk, not meeting his gaze. “Why? It doesn’t make sense. You know what this constitutes. Treason! Keeping back data, deliberately falsifying the troughs. I could bring charges against you, even have you arrested.” Resting his hands on the surface of the desk, Barris said loudly, “Is the purpose of this to isolate and weaken the eleven Directors so that—”
He broke off. He was looking down into the barrel of a pencil beam. Jason Dill had been holding it since he had burst into the man’s office. Dill’s middle-aged features twitched bleakly; his eyes gleamed as he gripped the small tube. “Now be quiet, Director,” Dill said icily. “I admire your tactics. This going on the offensive. Accusations without opportunity for me even to get in one word. Standard operating procedure.” He breathed slowly, in a series of great gasps. “Damn you,” he snapped,
“sit
down.”
Barris sat down watchfully. I made my pitch, he realized. The man is right. And shrewd. He’s seen a lot in his time, more than I have. Maybe I’m not the first to barge in here, yelling with indignation, trying to pin him down, force admissions.
Thinking that, Barris felt his confidence ebb away. But he continued to face the older man; he did not draw back.
Jason Dill’s face was gray now. Drops of perspiration stood out on his wrinkled forehead; bringing out his handkerchief he patted at them. With the other hand, however, he still held the pencil beam. “We’re both a little calmer,” he said. “Which in my opinion is better. You were overly dramatic. Why?” A faint, distorted smile appeared on his lips. “Have you been practicing how you would make your entrance?”
The man’s hand traveled to his breast pocket. He rubbed a bulge there; Barris saw that he had something in his inner
And yet, he realized, I can’t even go back now, to my own region. Whether I like it or not I have met Father Fields face-to-face; I’ve associated with him, and any enemies I might have, inside or outside the Unity structure, will have exactly what they want—for the rest of my life. It’s too late to give up, to drop the idea of confronting Jason Dill. With irony, he thought, Father Fields has forced me to go through with it, the thing he was trying to prevent.
He paid for his lunch and left the lunch counter. Going outside onto the sidewalk, he called another robot cab and instructed it to take him to Unity Control.
Barris pushed past the battery of secretaries and clerks, into Jason Dill’s private syndrome of interconnected offices. At the sight of his Director’s stripe, the dark red slash on his gray coat-sleeve, officials of the Unity Control stepped obediently out of his path, leaving a way open from room to room. The last door opened—and abruptly he was facing Dill.
Jason Dill looked up slowly, putting down a handful of reports. “What do you think you’re doing?” He did not appear at first to recognize Barris; his gaze strayed to the Director’s stripe and then back to his face. “This is out of the question,” Dill said, “your barging in here like this.”
“I came here to talk to you,” Barris said. He shut the office door after him; it closed with a bang, startling the older man. Jason Dill half stood up, then subsided.
“Director Barris,” he murmured. His eyes narrowed. “File a regular appointment slip; you know procedure well enough by now to—”
Barris cut him off. “Why did you turn back my DQ form? Are you withholding information from Vulcan 3?”
Silence.
The color left Jason Dill’s face. “Your form wasn’t properly filled out. According to Section Six, Article Ten of the Unity—”
“You’re rerouting material away from Vulcan 3; that’s why it hasn’t stated a policy on the Healers.” He came closer to the seated man, bending over him as Dill stared down at his papers on the desk, not meeting his gaze. “Why? It doesn’t make sense. You know what this constitutes. Treason! Keeping back data, deliberately falsifying the troughs. I could bring charges against you, even have you arrested.” Resting his hands on the surface of the desk, Barris said loudly, “Is the purpose of this to isolate and weaken the eleven Directors so that—”
He broke off. He was looking down into the barrel of a pencil beam. Jason Dill had been holding it since he had burst into the man’s office. Dill’s middle-aged features twitched bleakly; his eyes gleamed as he gripped the small tube. “Now be quiet, Director,” Dill said icily. “I admire your tactics. This going on the offensive. Accusations without opportunity for me even to get in one word. Standard operating procedure.” He breathed slowly, in a series of great gasps. “Damn you,” he snapped,
“sit
down.”
Barris sat down watchfully. I made my pitch, he realized. The man is right. And shrewd. He’s seen a lot in his time, more than I have. Maybe I’m not the first to barge in here, yelling with indignation, trying to pin him down, force admissions.
Thinking that, Barris felt his confidence ebb away. But he continued to face the older man; he did not draw back.
Jason Dill’s face was gray now. Drops of perspiration stood out on his wrinkled forehead; bringing out his handkerchief he patted at them. With the other hand, however, he still held the pencil beam. “We’re both a little calmer,” he said. “Which in my opinion is better. You were overly dramatic. Why?” A faint, distorted smile appeared on his lips. “Have you been practicing how you would make your entrance?”
The man’s hand traveled to his breast pocket. He rubbed a bulge there; Barris saw that he had something in his inner
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