His appetite deserted him. He walked across the street, between the trucks, startled as one of the Outsiders swung a gun in his direction.
"Get out of here," they told him in a strange accent. He gave them a foul look and walked on to the Residency steps, stared in outrage as one of those guarding the door barred his way with an extended arm.
"I live here," he said. "Get out of my way." The soldier looked uncertain at that, and he pushed past in that moment, found more Outsiders in the halls inside. "You," said a soldier near the desk, but the regular secretary intervened. "He's Master Herrin Law."
"Master of what?" the offworlder asked.
Herrin turned a second foul look on him and the man declined further questions. "I want this lot clear of my room," he told the secretary.
"Sir," the secretary said meekly, caught between.
"I'll have supper in my room. Send the order."
"The First Citizen asked, if you should come in before midnight, sir, he's in his office, sir."
Herrin said nothing, paused for a third look at the offworlder, young and unrecommended by his manner, which would have had him eaten alive at University: from bluster he had gone to a perceptible flinching. "Not quality material," Herrin judged acidly, and walked off.
He was trembling in every muscle. Outraged.
Outsiders. Invisibles no less than Leona Pace. They were here, in the Residency, and Waden Jenks invited them in. He headed for the stairs, walked up the five flights of stairs and into a whole array of guards.
"Out of my way," he said, and walked through with the assumption they would not dare. One seized his arm and he glared at that man until the hand dropped.
"Excuse me, sir. Presence up here has to be cleared."
"You're incompetent and ignorant. Clear it."
"If you'll tell me who you are, sir."
"Get the First Citizen out here. Now."
The hand left his arm. The man backed off, blinked and backed a few paces to Waden's door, knocked on it. "Sir. Sir."
The door opened; Herrin walked toward it and soldiers shifted in panic. A rifle barrel slammed into his arm. He kept going nonetheless, through the door before they stopped him. Waden was there, risen from his chair among others.
"Let him go," Waden said at once, and Herrin stalked in, shedding the soldiers like so many parasites. "What is this?" Herrin asked.
"Herrin Law," Waden said, gesturing to the others. "Colonel Martin Olsen, Military Mission."
Herrin failed to follow the hand, stared at Waden instead. "The halls are cluttered. Something struck me—I call your attention to the matter."
"Citizen Law," one of the Outsiders said, offering a hand. Herrin looked past the lot of them, smiled coldly, seeing Keye standing, in Student's Black, by the wall of the ell the room made.
"Keye, how pleasant to see you. I meant to come and call. Waden explained things. I owe you profound apologies for my desertion. You distressed me; I admit it freely. I've mended my ways, you see, moved into the Residency. Are you living here or just sleeping over?"
Keye's mouth quirked into a familiar smile. "Does it concern you?"
"Herrin."
He looked at Waden, read behind the slow smile which was less amused than Keye's.
"First Citizen," said the intrusive voice. "Would you explain?"
Waden ignored it too. "Point taken, Artist. But there is a certain reality operative here that I choose. I'll remind you of that."
"Construe it for me. I'll decide if I want to participate."
"Bear with me. Master Herrin Law, let me present Colonel Martin Olsen, with that understanding."
The hand was offered a second time. Herrin looked the stout gray-haired man up and down, finally reached and scarcely touched the offered fingers. The hand withdrew.
"Not an auspicious color," he commented of the midnight clothing.
"I agree," said Waden. "Herrin, don't be argumentative in this. A personal favor."
"There seems to have been a misunderstanding," said the colonel. "If there was some difficulty, we extend an apology."
"Second mistake," Herrin said, passing a glance past him on the way to Keye. "Are you going to wait for this or will you join me for dinner?"
"I have a commitment," she said. "Another time."
"I trust so," he said. "Waden, I reserve judgment on your Reality. What do you purpose for them?"
"Easier if you sit and join this."
"Another time." He glanced down and brushed marble dust and abrasive from his black-clad thigh. "I'm hungry; I find no prospect here."
"First Citizen," said the invisible voice, carefully modulated.
"He's a University Master," Waden said. "Colonel, I suggest you withdraw that escort of yours to the suggested perimeter immediately, and trust us for your security; the scope of this incident is wider than may appear to you."
"Go," the colonel said. Waved his hand. There was a hesitation. "Out" His forces began to melt away.
"I'm going to supper," Herrin said.
"Citizen Law," said the colonel. "We're anxious to have an understanding."
Herrin turned and walked to the door. "Keye, Waden," he paused to say, "good evening."
"Herrin," Waden warned him. "They will be confined to the port area."
"That is the appropriate place."
"There will be no intrusion."
"Good evening."
"Good evening, Herrin." Waden walked forward, set a hand on his shoulder, and pulled him into a gentle embrace with a pat on the arm, then let him go again. It was odd, without particular emotion, neither passionate nor personal; it was for the invisible, and Herrin suffered it with some humor, patted Waden's arm as well, exchanged a wryly amused look at Keye, and left, into a hall now deserted.
But he was disturbed at the prospect of Outsiders, and his heart was still beating quite rapidly. It was begun, Waden's work, Waden's art. He felt a residue of anger, and at the same time tried to reason it away . . . for whatever was begun in there, whatever—and at the moment he had no wish to divert himself with speculations—it meant a new policy and program which would widen more than Waden's reality: it was his own which was being expanded. Things which he had set in motion were simply coming into play and, he reasoned, perhaps it was as well, with his own Work almost finished, that another phase should begin unfolding. He was melancholy with a sense of anticlimax, that somehow he had expected more elation in his own accomplishment than he felt at the moment.
Keye occurred to him, a recollection of her quiet regard in that room, her understated presence . . . her silences, which warned him that whatever was underway, Keye never announced her programs, that she perhaps deluded herself of power, and might do things without warning.
What have I said to her? he wondered, but he had always been reticent. In his heart he had always known that Keye was apt to undertake such a maneuver. He had never spilled information to her which he did not ultimately destine for Waden's ears.
But he might have given her silent communications.
And she had deserted him at the moment when his own accomplishment was highest. She had never come to admire his work, not that he ever knew. She had watched it until the closing of the dome sealed it, but she had never seen the heart of it.
Had not, he supposed, wanted that influence upon her. Not yet. Perhaps she would never come; would always evade it. That evidenced a certain fear of his strength and talent. He decided so, more satisfied when he put it in that perspective. And Waden avoided it; in another kind of fear, he thought, fear of disappointment, perhaps—or the enjoyment of anticipation. He knew Waden, knew well enough Waden's unwillingness to be led; of course Waden was going to feign nonchalance at the last moment, was going to occupy himself with whatever he could and ignore him as long as he could.