"Now, in this scene, sir, you're instructing the Temples through the
Speaksters, in your capacity as Prime Speakster," Robert Lennick was
explaining, as Fredric Stanton nodded over the pages of script.
Frank, the director, stood by impatiently while his boss explained the
setup of the scene they were to shoot.
"I think I understand," Stanton said finally. "Where do I go, now?"
An aide led the President toward the waiting set. When he was out of
earshot, Frank inclined his head toward Lennick, and whispered, "Never
mind buzzing me tonight, Bob. Meet me here, at your office, just before
Ultrablack."
"Before Ultrablack?!" Lennick said, aghast. "How will we--?"
"Leave it to me, okay?" said Frank, impatiently. "I'll get you to
Andra, wherever she is. I want to see her myself."
Lennick could only stand stupefied as the tall, angular form of the
director moved off toward the waiting cameras and crew. Then he grunted
in frustration and turned back toward his office. The presence of
Stanton made his mind return to the day before, when Andra was captured
by the Goons, and it bothered him to dwell on it. An accident. A stupid
accident on the set. She'd entered to do her scene, had caught her
foot on a hidden guy-wire, and had fallen, still holding the tray of
drinks she'd been supposed to serve to her co-stars. And the ragged
edge of a shattered goblet had raked across her forearm. Not deep, not
at all. Just a long, blood-oozing scratch. The Goons had been there
almost on the instant, commandeering her Voteplate, taking her off for
"treatment." And she'd looked to him for help, help he could not give,
dared not give. And when she saw she was suddenly friendless--She'd
broken and run. The Goons hadn't expected such a reaction. Before they
could relay the situation to the Brain and get their instructions,
Andra had dodged out by a corridor too narrow for them to follow, in
all their ponderous girth and height, and had vanished completely.
Later that day, a Goon Squad had come to the studio and widened
the corridor, and one other like it, to preclude such a thing ever
occurring again.
Lennick was worried at Andra's not contacting him. She might think he
couldn't be trusted, the way he'd let the Goons take her. But what did
she expect a man to do against armed Goons? She'd only have had the
dubious pleasure of seeing him dance to death with a hideous smile on
his face, while a Snapper Beam broke his spine in two.
It made Lennick's head hurt to think about it, so when he got to his
office, he started reading some new scripts. In a society where the
possession of medicine is a crime, it didn't pay to have a headache. Or
to let on you had one. But he couldn't erase the look he'd seen in her
eyes when they were taking her away.