Magnessen would be home now, gulping his dinner, grinning
over his plans.
This was the perfect time to take him.
Caswell strode to the door, opened it, started through, and stopped.
A thought had crossed his mind, a thought so tremendously involved, so
meaningful, so far-reaching in its implications that he was stirred to
his depths. Caswell tried desperately to shake off the knowledge it
brought. But the thought, permanently etched upon his memory, would not
depart.
Under the circumstances, he could do only one thing.
He returned to the living room, sat down on the couch and slipped on
the headband.
The Regenerator said, "Yes?"
"It's the damnedest thing," Caswell said, "but do you know, I think I
do remember my goricae!"
-- -- -- -- --
John Rath contacted the New York Rapid Transit Corporation by televideo
and was put into immediate contact with Mr. Bemis, a plump, tanned man
with watchful eyes.
"Alcoholism?" Mr. Bemis repeated, after the problem was explained.
Unobtrusively, he turned on his tape recorder. "Among our employees?"
Pressing a button beneath his foot, Bemis alerted Transit Security,
Publicity, Intercompany Relations, and the Psychoanalysis Division.
This done, he looked earnestly at Rath.
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