and I've never bounced a check here, or anything like that. I have always gotten along well with the faculty, the administration, the other students. Except for my climbing, I've never been in any really serious trouble, done anything to give the place a black eye ... Pardon me. What I am trying to say is that I've been a pretty decent customer for what you are selling. Then what happens? I turn my back, I go out of town for a little while and you slip me a Ph. D. Do I deserve that kind of treatment after giving you my patronage all this time? I think it was a rotten thing to do and I want an explanation. Now, I want one. Now! Do you really hate me that much?'
'Feelings had nothing to do with it,' he said, raising his hand slowly to prod the upper reaches of his cheek. 'I told you I wanted to get you out of here because I did not approve of your attitude, your style. That still holds. But this was none of my doing. In fact, I opposed it There were-well-pressures brought to bear on us.'
'What kind of pressures?' I asked.
He turned away. 'I do not believe I am the one to be talking about it, really.'
'You are,' I said. 'Really. Tell me about it.'
'Well, the university gets a lot of money from the government, you know. Grants, research contracts ... '
'I know. What of it?'
'Ordinarily, they keep their nose out of our business.'
'Which is as it should be.'
'Occasionally, though, they have something to say. When they do, we generally listen.'
'Are you trying to tell me I've been awarded my degree by government request?'
'In a word, yes.'
'I don't believe you. They just don't do things like that.'
He shrugged. Then he turned and looked at me again.
'There was a time when I would have said the same thing,' he told me, 'but I know better now.'
'Why did they want it done?'
'I still have no idea.'
'I find that difficult to believe.'
'I was told that the reason for the request was of a confidential nature. I was also told that it was a matter of some urgency, and he waved the word ‘security' at us. That was all that I was told.'
I stopped pacing. I jammed my hands into my pockets. I took them out again. I found a cigarette and lit it. It tasted funny. But then, they all did these days. Everything did.
'A man named Nadler' he said, 'Theodore Nadler. He is with the State Department. He is the one who contacted us and suggested ... the arrangements.'
'I see,' I said. 'Is that who you were trying to call when I removed the means of doing it?'
'Yes.'
He glanced at his desk, crossed to it, picked up his pipe and his pouch.
'Yes,' he repeated, loading the bowl. 'He asked me to get in touch with him if I caught sight of you. Since you have seen to it that I can't do it right now, I would suggest that you call him yourself if you want further particulars.'
He put the pipe between his teeth, leaned forward and scrawled a number on a pad. He tore the sheet off and handed it to me.
I took it, glanced at the screwed-up digits, stuck it into my pocket. Wexroth lit his pipe.
'And you really don't know what he wants of me?' I said.
He pushed his chair back into its proper position, then seated himself.
'I have no idea.'
'Well,' I said, 'I feel better for having hit you, anyway. I'll see you in court.'
I turned to go.
'I do not believe anyone has ever sought an order directing a university to rescind his degree,' he said. 'It should be interesting. In the meantime, I cannot say that I am unhappy to see an end to your dronehood.'
'Save the celebration,' I said. 'I haven't finished yet.'
'You and the Flying Dutchman,' he muttered just before I slammed the door.
I had descended into an alleyway, up the block and around the corner from Merimee's place. Minutes later I was in a taxi and headed uptown. I got out at a clothing store, went in and bought a coat. It was chilly and I had left my jacket behind. From there, I walked to the hall. I had plenty of time and I wanted to determine, if possible, whether I was being followed.
I spent almost an hour in that big room where they kept the Rhennius machine. I wondered whether my other visit there had made the morning news. No matter. I paid attention to the movements of the viewers, to the positions of the four guards-there had only been two before-to the distances to the several entrances, to everything. I could not tell whether a new grille was yet in place on the other side of one of the overhead windows. Not that it really mattered. I had no intention of trying the same trick a second time. I was after something fast and different.
Musing, I went out to locate a sandwich and a beer, the latter for the benefit of any telepaths in the neighborhood. While I was about it, I kept checking and decided that I was not, at the moment, the subject of conspicuous scrutiny. I found a place, entered, ordered, settled down to eating and thought.
The idea hit me at the same time as a blast of cold air let in by a prospective diner. I rejected it immediately and continued with my beef and brew. But I could not come up with anything better.
So I resurrected it, cleaned it up and looked at it from every angle I could think of. Not much of an inspiration, but I was afraid it would have to do.
I figured the whole thing out, then realized that it might not work because of a side effect of the process itself. I beat back a moment's frustration, then started in again at the beginning. It wobbled on the brink of the ridiculous, the little things I had to cover because of something so minor.
I journeyed to the bus station and purchased a ticket home. I put it in my coat pocket. I bought a magazine and some chewing gum, had them put in a bag, disposed of the magazine, chewed the gum, kept the bag. Then I went looking for a bank, found one, went in and changed all my money into one-dollar bills, which I stuffed into the bag-one hundred fifteen in all.
Making my way back to the neighborhood of the hall, I searched out a restaurant with a coat-checking operation, left my coat and slipped back outside again. I used the wad of chewing gum to affix the coat receipt to the underside of a bench on which I sat for a while. Then I smoked a final cigarette and headed back for the hall, the bag of money in one hand, a single dollar bill palmed in the other.
Inside, I moved slowly, waiting for the crowd to achieve the proper density and distribution, rechecking my remembrance of air drafts on the opening and closing of the outer doors. I decided on the best position for the enterprise and worked my way toward it. By that time I had torn the bag down one side and was holding it together.
Around five minutes later the situation struck me as being about as close to ideal as it was likely to get. The crowd was effectively dense and the guards sufficiently distant. I listened to the by then standard 'But what does it do?' and 'They're not really certain,' with an occasional 'It's some kind of reversing thing. They're studying it' thrown in, until there was both a sharp draft and an appropriately large individual nearby.
I gave the guy an elbow in the ribs and a bit of a push. He, in turn, gave me a sample of Middle English-most people seem to think it is an Anglo-Saxonism, but I once looked it up in connection with a linguistics course-and he returned my shove.
I exaggerated my reaction, staggering back and bumping into another man while seeing to it that the bag came apart with a grand flourish high above my head.
'My money!' I screamed, springing forward then and leaping the guardrail. 'My money!'
I ignored the murmurs, the shouts and the sudden scrambling that occurred behind me. I had triggered the alarm also, but the fact was not especially material at the moment. I was onto the platform and racing about it toward the place where the belt entered the central unit. I hoped that it was able to bear my weight.
I countered a bellowed 'Get down from there!' with a couple of repetitions of 'My money!' as I threw myself flat on the belt with what I hoped appeared a good dollar-chasing gesture, and I was borne surely and smoothly into the tunnel of the mobilaton
A tiny tingling sensation swept me from head to foot as I passed through the thing, and I experienced a
