"Where do I see about a job, please?"
"Through that door!" The Mind Touch that reached him was full of annoyance and suspicion.
Through the door, and then a thin, point-chin fellow fired questions at him and fingered the classifying machine onto which he punched the answers.
Schwartz stammered his lies and truths with equal uncertainty.
But the personnel man began, at least, with a definite unconcern. The questions were fired rapidly: "Age?... Fifty-two? Hmm. State of health?...Married?...Experience?...Worked with textiles?...Well, what kind?...Thermoplastic? Elastomeric?...What do you mean, you think all kinds?...Whom did you work with last?... Spell his name...You're not from Chica, are you?... Where are your papers?...You'll have to bring them here if you want action taken...What's your registration number?..."
Schwartz was backing away. He hadn't foreseen this end when he had begun. And the Mind Touch of the man before him was changing. It had become suspicious to the point of single-trackedness, and cautious too. There was a surface layer of sweetness and good-fellowship that was so shallow. and which overlay animosity so thinly, as to De the most dangerous feature of all.
"I think," said Schwartz nervously, "that I'm not suited for this job."
"No, no, come back." And the man beckoned at him. "We have something for you. Just let me look through the files a bit." He was smiling, but his Mind Touch was clearer now and even more unfriendly.
He had punched a buzzer on his desk- Schwartz, in a sudden panic, rushed for the door.
"Hold him!" cried the other instantly. dashing from behind his desk.
Schwartz struck at the Mind Touch, lashing out violently with his own mind, and he heard a groan behind him. He looked quickly over his shoulder. The personnel man was seated on the floor, face contorted and temples buried in his palms. Another man bent over him; then, at an urgent gesture, headed for Schwartz. Schwartz waited no more.
He was out on the street, fully aware now that there must be an alarm out for him with a complete description made public, and that the personnel man, at least, had recognized him.
He ran and doubled along the streets blindly. He attracted attention; more of it now, for the streets were filling up-suspicion, suspicion everywhere-suspicion because he ran-suspicion because his clothes were wrinkled and ill-fitting
In the multiplicity of Mind Touches and in the confusion of his own fear and despair. he could not identify the true enemies, the ones in which there was not only suspicion but certainty, and so he hadn't the slightest warning of the neuronic whip.
There was only that awful pain, which descended like the whistle of a lash and remained like the crush of a rock. For seconds he coasted down the slope of that descent into agony before drifting into the black.
13. Spider Web At Washenn
The grounds of the College of Ancients in Washenn are nothing if not sedate. Austerity is the key word, and there is something authentically grave about the clustered knots of novices taking their evening stroll among the trees of the Quadrangle-where none but Ancients might trespass. Occasionally the green-robed figure of a Senior Ancient might make its way across the lawn, receiving reverences graciously.
And, once in a long while, the High Minister himself might appear.
But not as now, at a half run, almost in a perspiration, disregarding the respectful raising of hands, oblivious to the cautious stares that followed him, the blank looks at one another, the slightly raised eyebrows.
He burst into the Legislative Hall by the private entrance and broke into an open run down the empty, step-ringing ramp. The door that he thundered at opened at the foot pressure of the one within, and the High Minister entered.
His Secretary scarcely looked up from behind his small, plain desk, where he hunched over a midget Field-shielded Televisor, listening intently and allowing his eyes to rove over a quire or so of official-looking communications that piled high before him.
The High Minister rapped sharply on the desk. "What is this? What is going on?"
The Secretary's eyes flicked coldly at him, and the Televisor was put to one side. "Greetings, Your Excellency."
"Greet me no greetings!" retorted the High Minister impatiently. "I want to know what is going on."
"In a sentence, our man has escaped."
"You mean the man who was treated by Shekt with the Synapsifier-the Outsider-the spy-the one on the farm outside Chica-"
It is uncertain how many qualifications the High Minister, in his anxiety, might have rattled out had not the Secretary interrupted with an indifferent "Exactly."
"Why was I not informed? Why am I never informed?"
"Immediate action was necessary and you were engaged. I substituted, therefore, to the best of my ability."
"Yes, you are careful about my engagements when you wish to do without me. Now, I'll not have it. I will not permit myself to be by-passed and sidetracked. I will not-"
"We delay," was the reply at ordinary speaking volume, and the High Minister's half shout faded. He coughed, hovered uncertainly at further speech, then said mildly:
"What are the details, Balkis?"
"Scarcely any. After two months of patient waiting, with nothing to show for it, this man Schwartz left-was followed-and was lost."
"How lost?"
"We are not sure, but there is a further fact. Our agent, Natter, missed three reporting periods last night. His alternates set out after him along the highway toward Chica and found him at dawn. He was in a ditch at the side of the highway-quite dead."
The High Minister paled. "The Outsider had killed him?"