A secretary-ish person—with a start, Dworcas saw it was his brother’s friend, Bligh—put his head in the door. “Excuse me, but they phoned from the landing stage, they’re holding the D.C. copter for you.”
“Hell,” said Mundin. “Look, Norvie, thank them and ask them if they can give me five more minutes. I’ll be free shortly.” He glanced at Del Dworcas.
Dworcas stood up. “You’re pretty busy. Just one more thing. What did you want with my brother Arnie?”
Mundin stood, thoughtful and relaxed, the very model of a man who is trying to remember the answer to an unim-. portant question for courtesy’s sake.
“Never mind,” said Dworcas. “I’ll ask you some other time. I just want you to remember, I’m leveling with you.”
“Good-by, Del,” Mundin said cordially.
“Thanks, Norvie,” he said a moment later. “You were very smooth. I wonder what the hell he meant by that business about Arnie.”
“I guess Arnie mentioned I’d been to see him.”
Mundin nodded thoughtfully. “Well, the hell. Let’s walk over to Ryan’s office. We’d better hurry; the copter really does leave in twenty minutes.”
Ryan, as usual, was snoozing with great dignity at his desk. He looked good, considering. His opium was diluted and rationed to him these days; and he took it with good grace. “As long as you know you can get it, you can say ‘no’ to it
most of the tune,” he said. As a consequence bis very able brain had cleared and he was able to work as much as an hour at a time. He personally had evolved most of the seventy-eight steps in wobbling G.M.L.
Mundin reported Del’s conversation carefully. Ryan rubbed bis hands. “In effect, steps one through twenty-four are clicking nicely, hey?” he beamed. “The absolutely trustworthy G.M.L. begins to look a little shoddy at the seams for the first time; we begin to feel the unrest that will bring the whole structure down.”
Mundin flicked a teletype message. “It ties hi with the story from Princeton Junction, I suppose,” he said without enthusiasm. “The little piece about the doctorate thesis on Homeostasis in Housing: An Investigation into Potential Draw* backs of Controlled-Climate Dwellings.”
Ryan nodded. “The first effects,” he said. “People are questioning what has never been questioned before. But Dworcas is more significant. There is no public-opinion poll as sensitive as the judgment of a practical politician.” He chuckled. “A very pleasant miasma of doubt and confusion. The spreading rumors about the possibility of sterility in G.M.L. homes—a wonderful touch. Yours, my boy, I am gratified.”
Mundin said glumly, “Wonderful. Doubt and confusion. Knifings every night in the twenty-seventh ward.” He felt regret as he saw the old man’s face droop. “Excuse me, Mr. Ryan——”
“No, no.” Ryan hesitated. “You remember the state I was in when we first met?” Mundin did. “It was partly Green, Charlesworth that brought me to it—partly them, and partly conscience. Don’t strain yours too far, Charles. . . .”
They flew in the whirring copter to Washington, Mundin and Bligh. Mundin said fretfully, “We ought to have a couple of executive ships of our own. There’s going to be more and more ground to cover. Put some one on it, will you, Norvie?”
Bligh made a note.
Mundin asked, “What about Del’s brother? We can’t stall on it. We’ve got to have those serial numbers, or today’s work —and this whole buildup—is down the drain.”
“Tomorrow all right?”
“Fine, fine,” said Mundin dispiritedly. He took a briefcase
out, shuffled through reports he ought to read, memoranda he ought to sign, notes he ought to expand. Irritably he stuffed them back into the case.
Bligh said, incredibly, “Conscience, Charles.” And winked.
Mundin said glumly, “Don’t try to kid me out of it, Norvie. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t have the responsibility.” He tossed the briefcase down. “Let’s just talk; I don’t have to be a louse again until we get to the museum. How’ve things been with you?”
Bligh considered. “Well,” he said, “Virginia’s pregnant.”
Mundin was genuinely shocked. “Norvie, I am sorry!” he exclaimed. “I hope you’re not going to do anything fool-
Bligh grinned. “Oh, no, nothing like that,” he said cheerfully. “The kid’s mine. First thing I did was drag her to an immunochemist and get that settled. Good thing; I would’ve broken her back. And how’s your girl?”