After thumbing the doorbell the second time, Bodger shifted his hand
toward the inner pocket where he kept his Voteplate. The doors of all
Units in the Hive were keyed by the Voteplate of the dweller, through
a slot above the knob. As Secondary Speakster, Bodger's plate could
key any door in the Hive save Stanton's; _all_ doors opened to the
President's Voteplate. Just as his fingers touched the edge of the
plate in his pocket, he saw the knob start to turn, and withdrew his
hand. The door opened, and his son was standing there.
"Come in, Dad," Lloyd said, standing aside. "Grace will join us in a
moment."
The elder Bodger's eyes did not miss the fact that the door to the
bedroom was closed, as he entered the parlor. This delayed appearance
of Grace, coupled with the delay in their response to his ring,
confirmed his worst suspicions. He took the seat Lloyd offered him,
leaned back without quite relaxing, and came to the point at once.
"Lloyd, you're making trouble. Lots of it. For yourself, and quite
possibly for me, too. I don't like it. But before I take any steps, I
want to hear your side of it."
Lloyd sat down facing his father, very uncomfortable inside. He didn't
want to inadvertently volunteer more information than his father
already had. He could think of plenty of things he'd done since the
night before, any one of which was damnable; the safest policy was in
determining just what, and how much of what, his father knew.
"I'm not sure I follow you, Dad," he said, pleasantly. "What kind of
trouble--"
"Don't fence with _me_, young man!" said his father. "Unless you're
completely brainless, you know what I--" He was about to expostulate on
the disgraceful conduct of the evening before, the matter of Grace's
having gone up to top level with his son, then decided to let that
ride until Grace herself was present. Keeping steely control over his
emotions, he said, instead, "The Vote last night, Lloyd. Your plate was
credited with a _con_ Vote. Are you _insane_, Lloyd?! Haven't I told
you--!"
* * * * *
Lloyd racked his brain to recall the content of the proposition, but
could not. "Maybe I hit the wrong button," he said lamely. "My hand
might have slipped."
"The penalty's the same, whatever the basis of your stupid action, and
you know it!" his father rasped. "I don't think you are even able to
tell me what the proposition _was_, are you!" A look at Lloyd's burning
face told him the answer. "I thought not," he said, wearily. "I don't
know what I'm going to do with you, son. I've tried to keep you in
line--"
The entrance of Grace Horton stopped Bodger's tired lament, and both
men rose to their feet.
"It's nice to see you Mr. Bodger. Would--Would you like a drink?" Grace
offered, nervously.
"I would not--" he said, then softened his curt reply with, "But thank
you, anyway, Grace. Maybe later, after I've had my say." Lloyd and
Grace looked at one another in numb apprehension of the unknown, then
back at Bodger.
"The son of a prominent man," Bodger began, at last finding his
approach-path, "has a great responsibility to his father's good name.
The Hive, as you both know, has rigid rules regarding--well--amorous
conduct, to employ a euphemism, between unmarried persons. Yet, last
night, Lloyd--Grace--the two of you were seen going to top level on the
public lift, just before Ultrablack."
* * * * *
A short sound from Grace's chair was the gasp that had sucked itself
between her lips as the significance of Bodger's words reached her.
Lloyd, for his part, fought but could not control the hot crimson flood
that rushed into his features when he met Grace's hurt gaze.
Bodger, misinterpreting both their reactions according to his own
notion of the night before, immediately said, "No need to be afraid.
A thing like this is better out in the open. I can understand how two
young people in love might--"
"_Dad!_" Lloyd said abruptly. Bodger halted and waited for his son's
words. Lloyd, speaking to his father the words that were actually
intended for Grace's ears, said, with deep earnest, "It wasn't like
that, Dad. She slept on my bed, with her clothes on. I slept on the
rug. We--We just had to be together, that's all. I've done nothing you
should feel ashamed of."
The sudden smile on Grace's face caught at Lloyd's heart.
"That's a help, son," Bodger said, likewise convinced. "To me, at any
rate. The point, unfortunately, is that any persons who observed you
going up to our Unit with Grace could not be expected to presume the
_best_, if you see what I mean?"
"I do, Dad," Lloyd mumbled contritely. "And I wish it had never
happened."
"It wouldn't have," Bodger pontificated, "if Grace hadn't gone to the
wrong Temple Service. I can see how she might dislike the change in her
attendance-period, meaning she'd be unable to attend with you, anymore,
but it was the wrong thing to do. If she'd stayed home, none of this
would've happened."
The irony of this last statement, while it missed Bodger completely,
brought a small, one-syllable burst of laughter from Grace's lips,
which she quickly stoppered. Lloyd jumped into the breach swiftly, to
distract his father from a dangerous line of conjecture.
"Dad, there was something bothered me last night--In the Temple, I
mean, about that fugitive girl?"
"What about her?" said his father, unprepared for the statement to the
extent that he made an automatic response without having time to notice
he was being diverted.
"The check-up for the girl, Dad. It seemed kind of--I hate to use the
word, but it's the only one--_inefficient_, at least to me."
"The girl had no Voteplate," Bodger said, puzzled. "I should think a
check of all Voteplates was efficient enough."
"But why not have the Goons check her description, or her fingerprints,
or even check for the scar on her arm?" said Lloyd. "It'd be much
simpler, and surer."
Bodger shook his head. "Not at all, Lloyd. A Goon, you must remember,
doesn't 'see' as we do. Its television lenses are only geared to
recognize streets, Units, sectors, and so on, and to tell Goons from
Kinsmen. Anything as delicate as actual recognition of a face would
involve the building of a Brain greater in mass than the current one.
No, Voteplates were the only answer to identification problems; that's
half the reason they exist. As to fingerprints--They will serve in
identifying an individual, it's true, _if_ a person's identity is in
doubt. But it takes time, and the fingerprint files are enormous;
to do so in trying to locate one person in a full Temple gathering
would have taken many hours, and there was a time element involved.
The ensuing Service could not begin until the Temple was emptied.
Finally, as to the scar--" Bodger looked decidedly uncomfortable, then
sighed and said, "--As son of the Secondary Speakster--and future
daughter-in-law, Grace--perhaps it's time you were told a fact that
is rather embarrassing to the regime, but all too true: In the Hive,
people do not always report injuries. While we do not enjoy this mild
form of treason to the planned medical facilities of the Hive, we
nevertheless tolerate it, for the simple reason that it's bothersome
treating _every_ scratch and bruise that occurs, most of which will
heal themselves. And so, if we had the Goons check for the girl's
scar, we might have found a large number of medical violations among
the Kinsmen at the Service. Under that circumstance, we would have to
hospitalize everyone; Goons are trained to spot any deviation from
a healthy norm beyond a certain degree. It would have been terribly
awkward, all around. So the only sure method was--"
* * * * *
Bodger stopped, as though violently stunned. "Lloyd--" Bodger said, his
heart hammering with a nameless dread. "_I_ was activating the Temple
Speaksters last night. I gave the warning about the girl to your
Temple. I remember distinctly what I said. And I know I made no mention
of the type or location of her injury. No mention at all. _How did you
know it?!_"
Lloyd's lips worked, but he couldn't bring up a syllable from his
constricting lungs. Grace, her hands knotted into fists, looked at the
carpet, and sat like a marble statue.
Bodger got to his feet, towering over the two of them.
"I'm talking to you, Lloyd. Answer me! How did you know?"
Lloyd's ribs abruptly began to function again, and he drew in what
felt like the deepest breath of his life. Then he stood and faced his
father, defiantly.
"Because she's here, Dad. Right behind that door! And Andra Corby was
the girl in our Unit last night, furthermore. _I_ helped her escape
from the Temple, with Grace's Voteplate. Now, what are you going to do
about it!?"
Bodger fell back into his chair like a crumpling jointed doll, his
face shocked and incredulous. "I don't believe it," he said stiffly,
pressing his hands upon the chair arms to halt their trembling. "Lloyd,
it's not true!"
The bedroom door opened, then, and Andra came out. When Bodger saw her,
something inside him cracked, and he suddenly dropped his face into
his hands and just groaned. Lloyd was at his side in an instant.
"Dad," he said, gripping the other man's shoulders, "Dad, I _had_
to tell you. I've been entangling myself in so many lies since last
night--It was the only thing left to do!"
Bodger looked up, wide-eyed with dismay, and shrugged Lloyd's hands
away. "Let me think!" he said, hoarsely. "I have to think! Stanton
mustn't find this out. I've already covered up for your idiotic Vote,
and for your taking Grace--all right, Andra--up to our Unit last night.
There has to be a way to prevent your horrible errors being found out.
I'll cover, somehow, Lloyd. If I can find a way, I'll cover up, and--"
"_Dad--!_"
Something in the young man's tone made Bodger stop his frantic raving.
He looked into his son's eyes, and saw the question even before Lloyd
asked it.
"Why _should_ you cover up?"
Bodger grabbed at his shattered self-control, and sat up, stiffly.
"I--I don't follow you, son."
"I said," Lloyd repeated sadly, "why _should_ you cover up for me? I'll
only be hospitalized for Readjustment, won't I?... _Won't I!?_"
"Lloyd," Bodger said sickly, getting up and clutching his son's hands,
"you're over-wrought, right now, you've been under a strain...."
"All the more reason for my hospitalization, then," Lloyd said, with
all the relentless cruelty he could muster in the face of his father's
ghastly fright.
"_No!_" Bodger yelled. "You can't go! You don't understand, Lloyd! I
can't explain here."
"There's no need to," Lloyd said, suddenly softening and taking his
father by the hands to halt their frenetic quavering. "Your attitude
has told me all I want to know. Andra was speaking the truth. There
_are_ no hospitals, no treatment, no Readjustment. Only death."
"Lloyd--!" Bodger said. "If you only knew _why_--"
"We'd _all_ like to know why," said Andra, solicitously. "Mr. Bodger,
it's no use struggling any more. You have to tell the truth, now, or
have your son--and Grace and myself--be destroyed."
"All right," Bodger said. "I will. I'll tell you the whys and
wherefores of the Hive. Then maybe you'll--"
"I'm afraid such an extemporaneous educational program is quite
impossible," came a voice from the doorway.
* * * * *
Fredric Stanton, just removing his Voteplate from the slot in Grace's
door, had his other hand extended toward them. And clutched firmly in
his steady grasp was the stubby metal muzzle of a Snapper.
The two men and women stepped backward, slowly, as he advanced into
the parlor and shut the door behind him. "I only heard the last few
phrases of your conversation, unfortunately," he said. "I think, for
the interests of the Hive, that I should hear it all. We'll have to go
up to my office, all of us, to get at the truth. I'll have a Goon Squad
pick us up, here." He reached for the phone, dialed swiftly, and soon
had Madge on the line. He kept the Snapper trained on the group while
he spoke, and never took his eyes off them.
"Sir," Madge replied, before he could ring off, "do you think it's
wise, bringing Bodger through the streets under guard, I mean?" She
sounded greatly concerned. "The Kinsmen--"
Stanton narrowed his eyes appreciatively, and cut her off with, "You're
right, of course; it wouldn't do to let public opinion of the regime
get any shakier than it is! I can't wait till Ultrablack, however.
Start the emergency sirens at once. Allow fifteen minutes for all
Kinsmen to clear the streets. Then put on the Emergency Ultrablack."
"Right, sir," Madge said, and hung up.
Stanton smiled, still keeping them covered as he replaced the phone in
the cradle. "You'd better be seated," he said congenially.