Even after that--for which he felt no guilt, only relief--Walton felt
oppressive foreboding hanging over him. Martinez phoned, late that day,
to inform him that the hundred landowners had been duly corralled and
were being held in the lower reaches of Security Keep.
"They're yelling and squalling," Martinez said, "and they'll have
plenty of high-power legal authority down here soon enough. You'd
better have a case against them."
"I'm obtaining an authorization to mind blast the one named di Cassio.
He's the ringleader, I think." Walton paused for a moment, then asked,
"Did a Popeek copter arrive to pick up Frederic Walton?"
"Yes," Martinez said. "At 1406. A lawyer showed up here waving a writ,
a little while later, but naturally we had no further jurisdiction."
The security man's eyes were cold and accusing, but Walton did not
flinch.
"1406?" he repeated. "All right, Martinez. Thanks for your cooperation."
He blanked the screen. He was moving coolly, crisply now. In order to
get a mind-pick authorization, he would have to see President Lanson
personally. Very well; he would see President Lanson.
The shrunken old man in the White House was openly deferential to
the Popeek head. Walton stated his case quickly, bluntly. Lanson's
watery, mild eyes blinked a few times at the many complexities of the
situation. He rocked uneasily up and down.