We were put into one of the oversized mail cylinders and routed
through the tubes like sacks of recorded letters; in ten minutes, with
a thump that knocked the breath out of all of us, we were in the
switch-rack of Halsey's outer office.
We clambered from the cylinder. Our guide led us down one of the
gloomy metal corridors. It echoed with our tread.
A door lifted.
"Daniel Dean and party."