"The Guild atomized Solar's plant on Proycon," Carmody's voice said
quietly. "It's just a question of time, Dave."
"No," Starza said thoughtfully. "Proycon was a sweatshop. I think maybe
they're hinting that our production standards are a trifle rough. Look,
his eyelids fluttered. Bet you he takes refuge in amnesia."
"You lose." My voice was an iron groan.
We were in Starza's office. Carmody peered at me with a clinical eye. "I
took the liberty of narcosynthesis while you were out, Jake. You told us
all about it. How do you feel?"