KELLER
Comptroller
MRK/pem
The Fiscal chief shook his head. This one spelled trouble--in capitals.
The royalty payments from Consolidated had become one of the major
sources of income for the district. And Morely had ordered project after
project, using those funds to pay for them. Some of the projects were
still outstanding. The Old Man would blow his top.
He looked again at the small scrap of paper which was clipped to the
letter. On it was scrawled: "DeVore--See me--HRM."
For a moment, DeVore considered using his own mentacom, then he
discarded the idea. To be sure, the leader had insisted that his
subordinates use the devices for their own communications, and he'd cut
Fixed Communications to the bone. But he still insisted on either
communicator calls or personal contact when he wished to talk to any of
his people. And he discouraged any but essential use of the communicator
system, generally demanding that people come in to see him.
DeVore wrinkled his face disgustedly. It _was_ hard to communicate with
the district leader by means of a headband. There was a repellent
characteristic about the man's mental emanations, and he seemed to fail
to comprehend nuances of meaning. Similes, he ignored completely.
Thoughts had to be completely and clearly detailed, then phrased into
normal, basic wordage before he would acknowledge them. None of the
short-cuts used by other members of the administrative staff seemed to
work out in his case. He apparently didn't notice visualizations, and he
never made one. His transmission was as stiff and labored as the type of
communication he required from others--more so, if anything. DeVore
scratched his neck.
"How," he asked himself, "does one define a telepathic monotone?"
There were a few others with whom DeVore had experienced similar
difficulties, but most people, he had found, picked up meanings and
concepts without difficulty--even seemed to anticipate at times. And
since the new induction mentacoms had come on the market, with the
annoying contacts and headstraps removed, virtually everyone seemed to
be either in possession of one of the devices, or about to get one. And,
they were worn everywhere.
He smiled as he thought of the young father-to-be, who had bored
through the evening traffic rush yesterday. The youngster had been so
intent on getting his wife to the hospital that he'd probably failed to
see half the ships that clawed out of his way. And his visualization had
been almost painfully clear. He'd probably be apologizing for weeks to
everyone he contacted.
DeVore straightened in his chair. What would happen, he wondered, if the
leader ever ran into one of those situations?
"Yipe!" he muttered. "What a row that would be."
He shrugged, got out of his chair, and walked out into the corridor.
"Better get it over with," he told himself.
* * * * *
As he approached the leader's door, it opened, and Ward Kirk came out.
He closed the door with a careful gentleness, then faced it for an
instant. DeVore was conscious of a wave of hopeless fury, and a fleeting
glimpse of Morely's face, framed by brilliant flame. Then, Kirk faced
around and saw him.
"_Careful_," DeVore thought. "_You're broadcasting. He'll pick you up._"
Kirk grimaced and DeVore saw a faint image of a tyrannosaur, which
reared up, jaws agape. Blood dripped from the human figure gripped in
the creature's talons.
"_The old ... wouldn't understand if he did._"