Wainewright waited almost helplessly for a moment, and then went hurriedly down the metal staircase.
Krampf's eyes rested on Driscoll and his lips curved in a smile; he gave the Captain of the Watch a jaunty thumbs-up signal. Driscoll felt vaguely irritated.
There was something about Krampf he did not quite understand. He had none of the anxiety to please that Wainewright displayed; indeed he exuded a disconcerting air of suppressed energy and egotistical drive.
Still, it was none of his business; he only saw Krampf for a very few minutes when they were changing over Watches. Three or four minutes in a week, perhaps, for sometimes their duties failed to overlap. His own relief was at his elbow now and Driscoll got up, almost reluctant to vacate the seat. He handed over with a few smooth phrases and went down the staircase in the wake of Wainewright.
There was no one in the canteen but Karlson. A plump, balding man, he nodded shyly as Driscoll came up. He rose and made room for him on the smooth plastic bench. Soft music was drifting from louvres in the ceiling. Karlson had already set up the board and had made his opening move. It was his turn to start.
Driscoll glanced briefly at the problem and then crossed over to study the menu on the screen.
He put his token in the tray and drew out the hot coffee and the thin wheaten biscuits with honey that he liked so well. He did not eat very much when he came off Watch at this time as it impaired his digestion and interfered with his sleep. He went back to the table in the corner where he and Karlson always sat and sipped the hot, strong coffee slowly, his eyes seemingly inattentive but all the time studying the board and Karlson's concentrated face.
But it was obvious that his attention was waning. He fidgeted for a moment and then turned away from the board, his eyes fixed on the table before him. Karlson looked at him quickly, a sympathetic smile aready flowering at the corners of his mouth.'Tired?'
Driscoll shook his head.
'No more than usual. It is not that, no.'
He folded firm, capable hands round the rim of his beaker and stared into the steaming black surface of his coffee as though ,the answer to his unspoken question lay there.
When it is something which happened on Watch?' Karlson's eyes were alert, questioning now.
Driscoll knew he had to be very careful in his choice of words. Karlson was a particular friend, but the system had to come first, whatever else happened. He sipped the coffee slowly, playing for time.
Karlson watched him without impatience, a sort of majestic contentment on his outwardly banal placid face. Yet there was a wary and unusual brain beneath the banal exterior. Driscoll had ample evidence of that.
Then Karlson's face relaxed. He smiled slowly. 'Not Wainewright again. And his shaft noises?'
Driscoll's surprise showed on his face. 'So you know about it?' Karlson nodded.
'It's no secret. We have our eye on things. He was on Watch with Collins three weeks ago, when you were indisposed.'
Driscoll cast his mind back, failed to remember anything of significance. He avoided Karlson's eye, looked instead at the gleaming metal dome of the roof that stretched above them. Wherever one went in the miles of corridors, there was nothing but the smooth unbroken monotony.
'Your loyalty does you credit,' Karlson said drily. 'But it is not really necessary in this case.
Wainewright's nerve was never strong. And he has certainly not been the same since Deems went...'
He broke off suddenly and leaned forward at the table. His sharp, attentive attitude made him look almost as if he were listening for something. Something beyond the roof. Which was absurd, under the circumstances. Driscoll allowed himself a thin smile at the thought. He took up Karlson as though his friend had not hesitated.
'Out There,' he finished bluntly.
Karlson looked momentarily startled; his bland facade abruptly cracked. He drummed with thick spatulate fingers on the table. He looked almost angry, Driscoll thought.
But his voice was calm and measured when he spoke.
'We do not mention that,' he said gently. 'But since you have seen fit to raise it - yes.'
Driscoll picked up one of his special biscuits and took a fastidious bite.
'I have kept a close watch on Wainewright,' he said, more stiffly than he had intended. 'If there had been the slightest doubt in my mind...'
His companion interrupted him by laying a hand on his arm.
There was no criticism intended,' he said gently. 'As I said, we are all aware of Wainewright's problems. They are being monitored at higher level. Long before any danger point we shall take him out.'
Karlson focused his gaze back on the game before them.
'It does not seem as though we shall get any further tonight. With your permission...'
Driscoll nodded. Karlson animated the lever. Board and men sank back into the surface of the table with a barely audible whine. Karlson folded his hands on the spot where the board had stood.
Wainewright reported five occurrences in the one Watch,' he said bluntly. 'In various shafts.'
Driscoll licked his lips. He said nothing, merely bending his head politely as he waited for Karlson to go on.
'It was unprecedented,' Karlson continued. 'It could not be overlooked. So Collins reported it to me direct. Wainewright has been under close surveillance ever since.'
He looked at Driscoll reproachfully.
'You have not reported anything yourself.'
Driscoll flushed. He bit his lips.
'Is that why Hort wants to see me?'
Karlson spread his hands wide in a gesture of apology.
'I do not know,' he said simply. 'Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it would be wise to go carefully.'
He smiled then. A full-mouthed, sincere smile. Thank you,' Driscoll said. There is nothing, really.
Wainewright is fidgety, it is true. And he was dubious about Shaft Number 639 tonight. That is all.'
Karlson let his breath out in a sigh of relief.
'That is good. Nevertheless, I should let Hort know.' He got up suddenly, as though summoned by an inaudible alarm bell. He looked down at Driscoll thoughtfully.
'Don't worry about it,' he said. 'But let Hort know.' He went out quietly and unhurriedly, leaving Driscoll to his coffee and biscuits and the insect humming of the hidden machinery.
Hort was a tall, thin, ascetic man with a bald head and hooded grey eyes. He wore a blue tunic zipped up to the neck and the scarlet badge denoting his rank of Gallery Master. He was in his early sixties, but despite his years there was a dynamic athleticism in his wiry frame that many people found unnerving. Driscoll did not find it so, but there was a faint core of wariness within him as he came up the spiral glass staircase leading to Hort's office.
He could see Hort through the armoured glass wall that separated his quarters from the other administration units. Driscoll slid the door back and went in. Hort sat down at his semicircular desk with its battery of winking lights and motioned Driscoll to take a seat on the divan in front of him.
Driscoll sank down' cautiously, as though afraid the cushions would not bear his weight. Hort's eyes looked slightly amused as he stared for a moment without speaking. Then he made a pretence of examining his fingernails and came to the point.
'I expect you've guessed why I've asked you to come here?'
Driscoll nodded curtly.
'Wainewright?'
Despite himself he thought his voice had a defensive quality in it which he had not intended.'Exactly.'
Hort sat back in his padded chair and went through the nail-examining charade again.
'I won't conceal from you, Driscoll, that we're worried. Especially after the other business.'