Dworcas said tentatively, "You must be proud to be working for Mr. Mundin. Of course you know his record with our Party in the 27th—right down the line for Arab rights."
"That's nice," the guide said. "Right in here, mister." He guided Dworcas into a bay; it lit up with a shimmering violet light; the guide scanned a fluoroscope screen. "You're clean," he said. "In that door."
"You searched me!" Dworcas gasped. "Me! Mr. Mundin's oldest friend!"
"That's nice," the Ay-rab said. "In that door."
Dworcas went through the door.
"Hello, Del," Mundin said abstractedly. "What do you want?" He was checking off items on a list; he said, "Excuse me," and picked up an interoffice phone. Five minutes later he put it down, glanced at Dworcas, and turned to another list.
Dworcas, in cello tones, said, "Charlee. . . ."
And waited.
Mundin looked at him, with annoyance on his face. "Well?"
Dworcas waved a finger at him, smiling. "Charlie, you're not treating me right," he said. "You really aren't"
"Oh, the hell I'm not," said Mundin tiredly. "Look, Del. Business has picked up. I'm busy. What do you want?"
Dworcas said, "Nice office you've got G.M.L. fix it for you?"
"What do you think?"
Dworcas retained his smile. "Remember who got you in with G.M.L.?"
"Oh, hell, you've got a point," Mundin conceded unwillingly. "It isn't going to do you much good, though. I haven't got time for favors. Some other time I'll listen closer."
"I want you to listen now, Charlie. I want to retain you for the County Committee."
Mundin stared. "Work for the County Committee?"
"I know it sounds like small potatoes. But it can lead to big ones, Charlie. You can make something out of it. And what about us, Charlie? You owe me—the Party—all of us something for putting you on to the Lavins. Is this the time to let us down? I'm not too proud to beg if I have to. Stick with the Party, boy!"
It wasn't going over. "Sorry, Del," Mundin said.
"Charlie!"
Mundin looked exasperated. "Del, you old crook," he said, "just what are you up to now? I've got nothing to sell you —even if you could outbid my other clients. Which you can't."
Dworcas leaned forward, his face completely changed. "I underestimated you, Charlie," he admitted. "I'll tell you the God's truth. No, haven't anything to sell, right now. But— something's on the fire. I smell it, Charlie. I never miss on something like this. I feel it through the soles of my feet."
He had Mundin's full attention now. "What do you feel?"
Dworcas shrugged. "Little things. Jimmy Lyons, for instance. Remember him, the captain's man at the precinct?"
"Sure."
"He isn't, any more. Captain Kowalik transferred him out to Belly Rave. He's been knifed twice. Why? I don't know why, Charlie. Jimmy was a bastard, sure; he had it coming to him. But why did it happen? And what's happening to Kowalik? He's losing weight. He can't sleep nights. I asked him why, and he wouldn't tell me. So I asked somebody else, and I found out. Kowalik's trouble is that Commissioner Sabbatino doesn't talk to him any more."
"And what's the matter with Sabbatino?" Mundin was playing with a pencil.
"Don't kid me, Charlie. Sabbatino's trouble is a man named Wheeler, who had a long, long talk with him one day. I don't know what about. But I know something, Charlie. I know Wheeler works for Hubble, and Hubble is one of your clients."
Mundin put the pencil down. "So what else is new?" he asked.
"Don't joke, Charlie. I never used to kid you—well, I mean, not much, you know. Don't you kid me. The folks in the 27th are all upset. There's a crazy rumor they're all going to be moved into G.M.L. Homes. They don't like the idea, the old folks don't. Some of the young folks do, so there's family fights. Every day, all day, all night, yelling and screaming, sometimes knives. A dozen riot calls a day in the 27th. So I asked my brother Arnie, the mechanic with G.M.L. You met him, you know what a fathead he is. But even he feels something in the organization. What?"
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 unimportant 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 his 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 his 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 in 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 Drawbacks 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?"