The laughter was gone. She gently touched my hand. "I'm sorry. I don't
mean to be a shrew and that remark wasn't kind. Must we discuss it?"
"Yes!"
"Very well." She faced me, chin out and fierce. "My father does not
have radiation poisoning, Tom."
"He does."
"He does not! He is a prisoner, not a patient. He loved Naples.
That's why he was put to sleep--for fifty years, or a hundred, until
everything he knew and loved grows away from him and nobody cares what
he has to say any more. They won't kill him--they don't have to! They
just want him out of the way, because he sees the Company for what it
is."
"And what is that?"
"Tyranny, Tom," she said quietly.
* * * * *
I burst out, "Rena, that's silly! The Company is the hope of the world.
If you talk like that, you'll be in trouble. That's dangerous thinking,
young lady. It attacks the foundations of our whole society!"
"Good! I was hoping it would!"
We were shouting at each other like children. I took time to remember
one of the priceless rules out of the Adjusters' Handbook: _Never
lose your temper; think before you speak_. We glared at each other in
furious silence for a moment before I forced myself to simmer down.
Only then did I remember that I needed to know something she might be
able to tell me. Organization, Defoe had said--an organization that
opposed the Company, that was behind Hammond's death and the riot at
the clinic and more, much more.
"Rena, why did your friends kill Hammond?"
Her poise was shaken. "Who?" she asked.
"Hammond. In Caserta. By a gang of anti-Company hoodlums."