Of course, there were uses to which a woman in captivity might be put. A beautiful wOman from a hedonistic Reality.
Resolutely Harlan put the thought away as often as it returned. It was at once more likely and more unthinkable than death, and he would have none of it.
He thought of Twis sell.
The old man was out of the 575th. Where was he during hours when he should have been asleep? An old man needs his sleep. Harlan was sure of the answer. There were Council consultations going on. About Harlan. About Noys. About what to do with an indispensable Technician one dared not touch.
Harlan's lips drew back. If Finge reported Harlan's assault of that evening, it would not affect their considerations in the least. His crimes could scarcely be worsened by it. His indispensability would certainly not be lessened.
And Harlan was by no means certain that Finge would report him. To admit having been forced to cringe before a Technician would put an Assistant Computer in a ridiculous light, and Finge might not choose to do so.
Harlan thought of Technicians as a group, which, of late, he had done rarely. His own somewhat anomalous position as Twissell's man and as half an Educator had kept him too far apart from other Technicians. But Technicians lacked solidarity anyway. Why should that be?
Did he have to go through the 575th and the 482nd rarely seeing or speaking to another Technician? Did they have to avoid even one another? Did they have to act as though they accepted the status into which the superstition of others forced them?
In his mind he had already forced the capitulation of the Council as far as Noys was concerned, and now he was making further demands. The Technicians were to be allowed an organization of their own, regular meetings-more friendship-better treatment from the others.
His final thought of himself was as a heroic social revolutionary, with Noys at his side, when he sank finally into a dreamless sleep..
The door signal awoke him. It whispered at him with hoarse impatience. He collected his thoughts to the point of being able to look at the small clock beside his bed and groaned inwardly.
Father Time! After all that he had overslept.
He managed to reach the proper button from bed and the viewsquare high on the door grew transparent. He did not recognize the face, but it carried authority whoever it was.
He opened the door and the man, wearing the orange patch of Administration, stepped in.
"Technician Andrew Harlan?"
"Yes, Administrator? You have business with me?"
The Administrator seemed in no wise discommoded at the sharp belligerence of the question. He said, "You have an appointment with Senior Computer Twissell?"
"Well?"
"I am here to inform you that you are late."
Harlan stared at him. "What's this all about? You're not from the 575th, are you?"
"The 222nd is my station," said the other frigidly. "Assistant Administrator Arbut Lemm. I'm in charge of the arrangements and I'm trying to avoid undue excitement by by-passing official notification over the Communiplate."
"What arrangements? What excitement? What's it all about? Listen, I've had conferences with Twissell before. He's my superior. There's no excitement involved."
A look of surprise passed momentarily over the studious lack of expression the Administrator had so far kept on his face. "You haven't been informed?"
"About what?"
"Why, that a subcommittee of the Allwhen Council is holding session here at the 575th. This place, I am told, has been alive with the news for hours."
"And they want to see me?" As soon as he asked that, Harlan thought: Of course they want to see me. What else could the session be about but me?
And he understood the amusement of the Junior Computer last night outside Twissell's room. The Computer knew of the projected committee meeting and it amused him to think that a Technician could possibly expect to see Twissell at a time like that. Very amusing, thought Harlan bitterly.
The Administrator said, "I have my orders. I know nothing more." Then, still surprised, "You've heard nothing of this?"
"Technicians," said Harlan sarcastically, "lead sheltered lives."
Five besides Twissell! Senior Computers all, none less than thirtyfive years an Eternal.
Six weeks earlier Harlan would have been overwhelmed by the honor of sitting at lunch with such a group, tongue-tied by the combination of responsibility and power they represented. They would have seemed twice life-size to him.
But now they were antagonists of his, worse still, judges. He had no time to be impressed. He had to plan his strategy.
They might not know that he was aware they had Noys. They could not know unless Finge told them of his last meeting with Harlan. In the clear light of day, however, he was more than ever convinced that Finge was not the man to broadcast publicly the fact that he had been browbeaten and insulted by a Technician.
It seemed advisable, then, for Harlan to nurse this possible advantage for the time being, to let them make the first move, say the first sentence that would join actual combat.
They seemed in no hurry. They stared at him placidly over an abstemious lunch as though he were an interesting specimen spreadeagled against a plane of force by mild repulsors. In desperation Harlan stared back.
He knew all of them by reputation and by trimensional reproduction in the physiomonthly orientation films. The films co-ordinated developments throughout the various Sections of Eternity and were required viewing for all Eternals with rating from Observer up.
August Sennor, the bald one (not even eyebrows or eyelashes), of course attracted Harlan most. First, because the odd appearance of those dark, staring eyes against bare eyelids and forehead was remarkably greater in person than it had ever seemed in trimension. Second, because of his knowledge of past collisions of view between Sennor and Twissell. Finally, because Sennor did not confine himself to watching Harlan. He shot questions at him in a sharp voice.
For the most part his questions were unanswerable, such as: "How did you first come to be interested in Primitive times, young man?" "Do you find the study rewarding, young man?"
Finally, he seemed to settle himself in his seat. He pushed his plate casually onto the disposal chute and clasped his thick fingers lightly before him. (There was no hair on the back of the hands, Harlan noticed.)
Sennor said, "There is something I have always wanted to know. Perhaps you can help me."
Harlan thought: All right, now, this is it.
Aloud he said, "If I can, sir."
"Some of us here in Eternity-I won't say all, or even enough" (and he cast a quick glance at Twissell's tired face, while the others drew closer to listen) "but some, at any rate-are interested in the philosophy of Time. Perhaps you know what I mean."
"The paradoxes of Time-travel, sir?"
"Well, if you want to put it melodramatically, yes. But that's not all, of course. There is the question of the true nature of Reality, the question of the conservation of mass-energy during Reality Change and so on. Now we in Eternity are influenced in our consideration of such things by knowing the facts of Time-travel. Your creatures of the Primitive era, however, knew nothing of Time-travel. What were their views on the matter?"
Twissell's whisper carried the length of the table. "Cobwebs!"
But Sennor ignored that. He said, "Would you answer my question, Technician?"