"Stein. Maybe I'm a Jew, come to think of it."
"Does it make any difference?"
"Not to me. See, you're right, this is one way things are better now-not so much trouble between the races, more mixing. I'm for it, but then all this other stuff, the atom bombs, the pollution-it looks to me like we're heading for another world war, like we didn't learn anything from the last two, or else some kind of catastrophe, and we just have to sit here and watch it happen."
"In a hundred years it won't matter."
"We haven't got a hundred years. Sometimes I think people are too dumb to live."
In the silence, the computer cleared its throat and said, "Call from the desk. "
Stone said, "Okay, put it through."
The face of a deskperson appeared in the tube. "A Dr. Wellafield is here to see Mr. Stone, and there are some reporters in the lobby."
"Oh, hell. No reporters, but send Dr. Wellafield up."
"Yes, sir." The image in the tube dwindled to a multicolored marble and vanished.
"Who's this now?" she asked.
"He's the head doc at the place they put me in Trenton that time. I sent him a fax from Washington, but I didn't think he'd come."
"You want me to disappear?"
"No, I want you to meet him, he's a great guy."
The doorbell chimed; the tube lit up with the plump face of a man with a gray mustache. "Open," Stone said.
The man who entered was portly and not very tall, dressed in a red coat and a plaid sports jacket that bulged at his chest. "Doc!" said Stone, advancing to meet him. "Hey, it's great to see you-come on in. This is Linda Lavalle. I told her all about you."
"Nothing too bad, I hope," said Wellafield roguishly. They shook hands. "Well, Ed, how have you been?"
''Just great, Doc. Sit down, take off your coat, make yourself at home. You want some coffee?"
"That would be fine."
They sat at the table under the window; Wellafield removed his coat and jacket and draped them over a chair. Clipped to his shirt pocket was an impressive-looking device in a matte black case; a flesh-colored wire ran from it and disappeared somewhere at the back of his head.
"Hey, what've you got there?" Stone asked.
"The latest thing, Ed. We've had great success with patients, and I'm trying it out myself, as you see."
"What does it do?"
"It detects aberrant thought patterns and delivers a mild shock to the brain. I use it because I keep thinking about killing my wife- Woops. Unh!'' His face contorted briefly, then cleared.
Stone got a cup, poured coffee from the carafe. "Cream, sugar?"
"Yes, please."
"And it really helps?" Lavalle asked.
"Oh, yes, definitely. It wakes me up at night, though. Now, Ed-" He cleared his throat. "I've been following your career in the newspapers and TV, of course, and I was wondering if there's a place for me on your staff. I have some administrative skills, you know."
"What about the hospital?"
"I'm thinking about taking an early retirement, and perhaps a trial separation. My wife doesn't- Unh! Of course, if you don't think it would work out-"
"No, hey, Doc, I was just thinking, they probably don't want me to tell them what to do in Washington, but suppose you could travel with me and be my doctor?"
"Your personal physician, Ed? Why, that would be fine."
"Hey, excuse me for asking, but you're a real doctor, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, yes."
"He means an M.D.," said Lavalle.
"Yes, I know." Wellafield beamed at them both. "I am a real doctor, Ed. I went into mental disorders years ago, of course, but I've still got my little black bag put away somewhere, and, ah, I can brush up, of course."
"Well, swell. Do you think you could move to New York sometime soon? Have you got a passport?"
"I certainly can. And I'll get a passport." He took Stone's hand in both of his. His eyes were moist. "I knew you wouldn't let me down. Well, I'd better go now and leave you two to get on with-uh, whatever. Are you going to be in town Monday?"
"No, I have to go back to Washington, and then Wednesday I'm flying to Europe."
"Well, you'll know where to reach me." He stood up and put on his jacket and coat. "It was nice to meet you, Ms. Lavalle."
"You too."
After he was gone, Stone said, "You like him?"
"Yes, I think he's sweet. But I'm glad you got rid of him."
CHAPTER 26
In the well-lighted conference room in Washington, Robert Morganstar was saying, "Here's our concept for the body carriers. Now in working with the Cube design group, they say all the carriers have to be a standard size and shape, and the Social Planning group wants flat sides and square comers, in order to maximize interior space, but they also asked us if we could come up with something that looks streamlined. Okay, we start with the basic shape, just a box." An image came up in the holo.
"Looks like a coffin."
"Yes, that's the problem. But now we put some spin on it." The image slowly shifted, acquired colors and contours rather like racing stripes on a car. The comers appeared to recede, the top looked curved. There were gasps of admiration.
"And, of course, we can do anything we want with colors, according to local tastes. Here's our silver-white, we think that'll be very popular in the U.S. and most of Europe. But white is the color of mourning in China, so here we have our Chinese red, for good luck and prosperity. Here's your basic Shiite black, and here's the New Age psychedelic model."
"I think that's superb, Robert."
"And, you know, if these designs tum out to be too expensive or take too long to manufacture, we can put people in the expensive ones and then transfer them to the basic model, and recycle the other ones."
"You're calling these body carriers?"
"Just an engineering term. We've got a team working on other phrases for PR."
"How about 'space capsules'?"
"That's on their list, I think, for advanced countries. But the Psychology group says a lot of people are scared of anything to do with space, and they're pushing 'life capsules,' which sounds too much like medicine to me, but it's not my field."
''Call from Mr. Rong,'' said the computer on Mrs. Rooney's desk. "He says he's a friend of Ed Stone. "
"Oh! put him on."
The blurry image of a young black man appeared in the tube. "You ain't Mr. Moore," he said.
"I'm his secretary, Mrs. Rooney. How may I help you?"
"Well, see, I'm a friend of Ed Stone, and he forgot to give me his address, like, when he moved. So I thought, see, you guys must know where he's at. I know he's been looking for me, and I got something for him."
"We can't give out addresses, Mr. Wrong, but I could forward a letter to him."
"No, see, that would take too long, because this stuff I got for him, it won't keep, do you understand?"
"Yes, I do, Mr. Wrong. Let me suggest something. Tell me where you can be reached, and I'll try to get Mr. Stone to call you."
"Okay, tell him to leave a message at Tony's, okay? He knows where it's at."
"Tony's. All right, Mr. Wrong."
"Thanks a bundle." The image dwindled and disappeared.
She said, "Flossie, who was that senator who appeared on the holo news last week with Ed Stone?"
Images flickered in the holo, settled down to the image of a silver-haired politician with the legend "SENATOR GIVENS" at the bottom.
"Yes, that's the one. Call his office in Washington. I'll talk to anyone."
The computer simage disappeared and was replaced by a flashing sign, "CALLING." Then a new simage, a pale young brunette with a noble brow. "Senator Givens's office, may I help you?"
Mrs. Rooney said, "This is the office of Yallow and Moore in New York. We have an urgent message for Ed Stone. Will you have him call me, please? Ask for Mrs. Rooney."