His eyebrows rose, as if suddenly buoyant. "_Change your name?_ That's
impossible."
I quoted, verse and chapter, the regulation covering it. "H'm," he
said. His eyebrows came down, cuddling into a scowl. "Well, that's
highly unusual procedure. Better let me see your identity tag."
I gave that to him and he saw my N/P status, and then my unspeakable
name, and his eyebrows went up again.
"Perhaps you'd better get this straightened out with General
Administration first," he said. He scribbled a slip of paper, showing
me how to get there.
The rat race was on.
I found General Administration. They sent me to Activity Control.
Activity Control said they couldn't do a thing until I was registered.
I went to Registration. Registration said oh, no, I shouldn't have
been sent there--although they'd try to direct me to the proper office
if I got an okay from Investigation and Security. I. & S. said the
regulation I quoted had been amended and I would have to have the
amendment first and I could find that in Records. Records sent me back
to the first place to get a Search Permit.
And so on.
I kept at it doggedly. Toward the end of the day my legs ached and head
felt like a ball of granite. I had discovered that Opsych had nearly as
many levels and tunnels and bays as Center Four in its entirety, and
I had taken the intercom cars when possible, but most of it had been
walking. I tightened my jaw and pulled my stomach in. I'd get to see
the Chief if it took me a year.
That was hyperbole, of course. No man could last a year walking those
dim, monotonous, aseptic corridors. How can I describe the feeling? The
corridors are the same wherever you go. The glowlight comes steadily,
unblinkingly, from the walls. The color is a dead oyster white.
There is always the feeling of being lost--even when you know, or think
you know, exactly where you are.
* * * * *
It was near the end of the day and I was back at the information desk.
"You again," said the gray man with the gray eye.
"Records says I need a Search Permit. I have to find an amendment on
the regulation covering my case."
"Why don't you just give up? You're causing us a great deal of trouble,
you know. We have other work to do. Important work."
"So have I. I'm a magnetic mechanics expert. I could be working for
the State right now if I could get a post. I can't get a post till my
name's changed."
"That's ridiculous."
"I agree. But it's true just the same."
"Well, here's your Search Permit. But I still think you'd be wiser to
forget it. And you'd save us a lot of fuss."
I leaned across the desk. "You could save the whole organization a lot
of fuss if you'd direct me to the Chief's office. Then I could take my
case up with him directly. I've been keeping my eye open for it, but I
can't find it anywhere, and of course nobody'll direct me there, even
if they know where it is."
He stared at me with mild horror. "_Go direct to the Chief's office?
Without going through channels?_"
"Well, that's what I had in mind."
"Then you'd better get it out of your mind. That's pretty dangerous
thinking. That's close to infraction."
"All right." I sighed. "I'll do it the hard way." I took the Search
Permit and went back to Records. I was still searching for the
amendment when closing time came.
I went back into the dim white corridors and found a foodmat, got some
nutro-pills and reviewed the day. These workers here in Center One
were experts at putting you off. They were much more skilful than the
officials in Center Four. Maybe that was why they were in Center One.
Maybe I never would wear them down.
That thought came along and formed a ball of ice right in the bottom of
my stomach.
I had to think. I had to think and rest. Real air and a night breeze
would help.