Here was the little refectory where he had eaten once or twice before; it was only a few yards from the door of Van Etten's office, but there was no use going there, since his new appointment wasn't till day after tomorrow. Eating alone in public was a hard thing for him to get used to, but eating by himself in his rooms was worse. Glumly, Dick settled himself at one of the tables and ordered a light snack -- squabs, pizza with anchovies, tartar steak; he wasn't really hungry.
Halfway through, on impulse, he beckoned the waiter.
"Yes, misser? Something else?"
"No, not right away. I was just thinking -- do you know Colonel Van Etten when you see him?"
"Oh, yes, misser."
"What does he look like?"
The waiter blinked nervously. "Colonel Van Etten? Oh, very tall man, misser, looks like this -- you know, stern -- and a scar right across here over the eye."
"I see. All right, that's all."
The waiter bowed and went away. Dick moodily ate the rest of the pizza garnished with raw hamburger, thinking, Well, why not? What did he have to lose? He might waste a day, he supposed, but then he was sure to do that anyway. He left the refectory and took up his station in an arcade just opposite Van Etten's door. People went in and out, some in Army uniform, some not; none fitted the description. Probably Van Etten had at least one private entrance, but then if he found that and watched it, out of pure perversity the man would be bound to use the front door. When he grew bored, Dick went down the arcade to a telebooth, turned off the movie that was playing, and punched "Private."
"Yes, misser?" said the likely-looking blonde girl who appeared on the screen.
"A scramble call to Buckhill in the Poconos. Ill talk to anybody."
"One moment, misser." the screen dimmed, glowed again. "I'm sorry, misser, all the channels are busy. Will you place your call again, please?"
Still busy. Dick turned the machine off and went back to his vantage point. He had tried to call home every day, and the channels were always busy. At first it had been merely a matter of duty, but now he was beginning to get worried about it. If he could only ask the Man what to do ... He could write a letter, but he had no one reliable to send it by. There was no telling who might read it if he entrusted it to somebody else's courier, or even if it would be sent at all.
An hour passed, then another. Bored and weary, Dick Stuck grimly to it. He wondered what Ad and Felix were doing at this hour -- riding, or swimming in Skytop Lake? An astonishing wave of homesickness came over him; the smells, the air, the very tiles underfoot were hateful. He stiffened his spine, and stayed.
Toward mid-afternoon three officers came out of the doorway, deep in conversation. The one in the middle was a head taller than the others, lath-thin, white-haired at the temples under his scarlet helmet. Dick moved closer, uncertainly: yes, no, yes, there was the scar.
"Colonel Van Etten?"
The three looked up. "Yes?" asked the tall man.
"Colonel, I'm Dick Jones from Buckhill. I'd like to talk to you for a moment; it's about my commission."
Van Etten blinked at him slowly. "Your commission?" he asked in an absent-minded tone. ''Is there something wrong with your commission?"
"I haven't got one yet, Colonel -- that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
The two officers flanking Van Etten exchanged glances. Van Etten said, "Your name again, was -- "
"Dick Jones, Colonel."
"Jones, I conduct Army business in my office, by appointment. Talk to my secretary."
He started to turn away. Dick said loudly, "Colonel, you don't understand. I've been trying to see you the usual way. I've been here ten days, your secretary keeps putting me off -- "
Van Etten stopped, looking amazed. "By heaven!" he blurted. One of the other officers rose to tiptoe to mutter something in his ear. "Yes, certainly," said Van Etten. "Crump, make a note to remind me later -- Jones is not to be received in my office, not even to apply for an interview, until one month from date."
"Yes, mister," said the youngest officer, getting out a notebook.
One month! Dick felt himself shaking with anger.
"And if you don't like it," the Colonel went on inexorably, "you can go back to Dunghill, or whatever you call it."
"Colonel, the name is Buckhill," said Dick, raising his voice; he saw people in the corridor turn to stare.
"Two months!" snapped Van Etten. He faced Dick challengingly for another moment, then looked at his watch and turned away. "Late -- come on."
The youngest officer snapped his notebook shut. "You young idiot," he muttered to Dick, "you'd better get a friend -- and fast." Then he followed the other; the crowd closed around them.
Dick carefully unclenched his fist; the nails had bitten into his palms. Some of the faces in the corridor were curious, some amused, some indifferent. His vision blurred; he turned blindly away and went where his feet took him.
After a while he found himself on the Upper Promenade, the highest level of Eagles proper except for one or two cupolas. The day had turned dirty outside, and the gray light from the transparent wall made the fluorescents look sickly and dim. Dick walked over slowly and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Out across the valley, the -farther mountains were purplish-gray masses; the clouds behind them were moving fast -- sooty thunderheads shot with pale light, but so dense that they made it look like twilight in mid-afternoon. Veils of vapor shot up past the window, ghost-like; the big pane buckled inward, hurting Dick's forehead, and he drew back. The lower levels of Eagles were threads of light; he couldn't see the floor of the valley, it was too dark.
It had been spring outside when he first entered this place ... ten days ago. Looking to the left, he caught a glimpse of the unfinished Tower glinting brass-color against the gray. The sky grew still darker; a flurry of hail beat against the windows, then another; then a rushing, rustling torrent that closed in the Promenade as if with a cold silvery curtain.
This couldn't be the way every applicant for a commission got treated. Why was he having so much trouble? It was like a barrier across his path, whichever way he turned. The Colonel hadn't seemed to know who he was at first, but then one of the other officers had said something in his ear ... One month, and then two when he protested. If he spoke again, he supposed, it would be three, or four ... they could keep him like this as long as they liked. And would the channels stay busy between here and Buckhill, too? Until he gave in, did as he was told? But that would be never.
Head down, he went slowly toward the elevators. People passed him in murmuring groups; when they got in his way, he detoured around them without looking up. Crossing the floor, he met a pair of legs in green tights that sidled to the left when he did, to the right when he did.
He stopped and looked up: red-trimmed black tunic, belted with a chain of bronze medallions; froth of lace at the throat, paper-gray-face. It was Ruell, smiling easily. "Well, young Dick? Why so pensive?"
Behind him, Dick was aware of others watching, but he dismissed them as unimportant. "Ruell, I want to talk to you."
"Excellent! My young friend, let's go downstairs where we can be more private."
"No, here," said Dick, not moving. "Did you tell Van Etten not to give me my commission?"
"My dear boy -- have you been having trouble with Van Etten?" Ruell scratched his long jaw, lazily, with a faint smile. "These things can be so easily smoothed out; you should have come to me." Behind his head, the pale rainlight wavered on the metal ceiling.