"The floor's getting gooey with idealism," Judy said. "How about a little realism here?"
"We're still students," Tim said. "We're not supposed to be realists. That comes later. For the moment let's believe in the healing power of compassion."
Quinn saw the fire in his eyes, the ferocity in his tight smile, and knew she'd found a kindred spirit. She raised a fist to chin level and responded with a smile of her own.
"Compassion," she said. "Let 'em find a procedure code for that."
MONITORING
"I believe it's time to start the night music," Alston said. "What do you think?"
Louis Verran concealed his annoyance as Alston stood with his hands behind his back and leaned forward over his shoulder, studying the main console.
Right, Verran thought. Like he almost knows what he's looking at.
"You're the boss," he said, not meaning a word of it. In this room Louis Verran was the boss.
Alston pointed to one of the read-outs. "My goodness, what's going on in room 107."
Verran glanced up. The mattress weight sensor for bed B had risen into the red.
"Looks like some extra bodies on the bed. I'd guesstimate about four."
Alston's eye widened. "Really? What on earth could they be doing?"
"Probably an orgy," Verran said, keeping his face deadpan. "Don't you wish we had video?"
"Certainly not. Turn up the audio and let's hear what's going on."
Verran activated the audio. All of the rooms had been wired with tiny electret microphones. The sound of male voices quizzing each other on hepatic histology swelled through the speakers.
"Orgy indeed!" Alston said. He pointed to another read-out panel. "Look at room 224. What's—?"
Verran took a deep puff on his cigar and floated a trio of blue-white smoke rings. He watched with concealed amusement as Alston backed away, waving his hand through the air.
"Must you, Louis?"
"If you can't stand the smoke," Verran muttered, "stay away from the console."
He glanced at Alston and was startled by the fury that flashed across his features. It showed only for an instant, then was gone as if it had never been, and the prissy, supercilious expression was back in control. But Verran realized his remark had caused the mask to slip and allowed a darker side of Dr. Arthur Alston to peek through.
Verran glanced at Kurt and Elliot. Both of his assistants were busy at their own consoles, checking the mattress sensors to see who was in bed and who wasn't. They gave no indication that they had heard or seen anything. Good. They'd learned quickly to act oblivious to the squabbles between their boss and Dr. Alston. Verran had known them both when he'd been with the CIA. He'd hired them away from the Company when he'd landed this job.
Elliot and Kurt—the tortoise and the hare.
Elliot was careful, meticulous, one of the best electronic surveillance jockeys in the business. He could bug a room six ways from Sunday with no one the wiser. But he'd been stopped on the street in Costa Rica one night and couldn't explain all the electronic junk in his trunk. Spent one very rough week in an Alajuela jail before the Company could extricate him. Elliot never spoke of that week, but even now he got quiet and twitchy whenever anyone mentioned jail. After the Costa Rica incident, he refused any and all foreign assignments. Which meant his career was dead in the water.
Kurt was fast on his feet but a little flaky. He had gained a reputation around the Company as something of a loose cannon and had been passed over a number of times when promotions came around. It was obvious he wasn't going to move any farther up the ladder.
Neither had hesitated when Verran offered them jobs at the Ingraham. He'd never regretted it, and neither had they.
But he did regret having to deal with Alston. Even so, Verran wouldn't have made that kind of crack if Alston were his direct superior. But after seeing Alston's ferocious reaction, Verran was suddenly very glad that he didn't have to answer to the man. He had a feeling life could be pretty shitty for an underling who got on the good doctor's bad side. Fortunately, security had its own responsibilities, separate from Alston's education bailiwick. They both answered to the Foundation, however. And the Foundation, of course, answered to Mr. Kleederman.
Verran had never met Mr. Kleederman and had not the slightest desire to do so.
"I assure you, Louis," Alston said levelly, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be. I don't enjoy your smoky presence any more than you enjoy mine."
Verran put his cigar in the ashtray—he would let it sit there and go out as a peace-making gesture. Besides, he needed peace to function in this job.
Maybe he'd been letting Alston get too far under his skin. The creep was a long-term irritation, like his ulcer, and he'd have to learn to live with him, just like he'd learned to live with the gnawing hunger-like pain in his gut. But if the undercurrent of hostility between them broke out into the open, it could impinge on Verran's concentration. And he couldn't allow that. Security at The Ingraham was a seven-days-a-week, around-the-clock process that ruled his life ten months a year. And he was good at his job. Damn good. There'd been a few glitches over the years, and a couple of close calls, but he and Alston had been able to keep them nice and quiet, with no one—except the Foundation—the wiser.
So, like it or not, he and Alston had to work together, or their heads could wind up on the chopping block.
"I've got nothing against you, Doc. It's just that we're dealing with delicate equipment here. State-of-the-art sensors and pick-ups. Very temperamental. I get nervous when anybody but me or Kurt of Elliot gets near it. This stuff is my baby and I'm a protective daddy. So don't take it personal."
Alston accepted the truce with a slight nod of his head. "I understand. No offense taken. It's forgotten."
Right, Verran thought. Tightasses never forget.
"So," Alston said, clearing his throat with a sound like a record needle skipping to another track, "it seems to me that we've given them enough time to acclimate to their new surroundings. A few weeks should suffice for anyone. All the equipment is in a state of readiness, I assume?"
"The SLI units are ready and waiting. Every room in the dorm is on line and working like a dream."
"Excellent. And our new charges, are they all behaving themselves? No bad apples in the bunch?"
"All but one: the Brown kid."
"Timothy Brown? The high-IQ boy from New Hampshire? What's he been up to?"
Alston's ability to recognize each student's face and reel off their vital statistics never failed to amaze Verran. It was the one thing about Alston he envied.
"All-nighters," Verran said.
"We certainly don't discourage studying, Louis."
"No. I mean out all night. Off campus."
"Really?" Alston frowned with concern. "That's not good. Where?"
"Baltimore, I think."
"How often?"
"Twice, so far."
"Weekday nights?"
"Let me check." Verran swiveled to his computer keyboard and punched in Brown's room number. His data file scrolled down the screen. "One Tuesday into Wednesday, and one Saturday into Sunday."
"Hmmm. I don't like that mid-week absence. Let's hope he doesn't make a habit of it. We'll have to come down on him if he does, but we'll let it go for now. I don't particularly care about the weekends. Any night music they hear on weekends is a lagniappe anyway. But do keep a close watch on young Mister Brown. I do not want another fiasco like two years ago."