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de Johns are difficult patients; they fall into that category of unhappy people who regard therapy as a replacement for real accomplishment. Therapy to date can only make the best of what is already available. "I have an hour free at eleven?" "Of course." "Then all is in order. It's eight-thirty now. I have a half-hour until Mr. Breedlove. No touches until nine." "Right," Arnold says. Martin takes his pouch and walks down the narrow hallway to the back office. Sa,ctz/m Sa,ctorm. Sometimes he sleeps here, since there is little to go back to at home. He missed the chance for the island sharehold on Vashon--damnable Northwest offishness, thirty-year residents and born-here's discriminating shamelessly against the fresh arrivals--and so Martin's home is a condo in a small ribbon comb overlooking the northbound three-deck Artery 5 Freeway. It is not expensive, nor is it particularly attractive. In two years, his residency advocate tells him, he may be allowed into some higher lottery, perhaps even a Bainbridge sharehold. Private touches flicker around him as he sits at his desk, like pet birds begging. Some he flagged a week ago for immediate attention. He shoos them off' with a wave, then pokes at the fresh touches and they line up, the first expanding like an origami puzzle. This is from Dana Carrilund, the head of Workers Inc Northwest. He wonders who gave her his sig. Despite this being his free period, he opens this immediately. Carrilund's voice is warm and profbssional. "Mr. Burke, pardon my using your personal sig. I'm in a real bind. I'm told we have about seven of our clients taking special therapy with you. They're doing well, I hear. I may have additional clients for you--all of them fallbacks. Please let me know if we can fit this into your schedule. Also, I'd like to speak to you in person and in private." It's outside his usual domain; Martin specializes in core therapy ftilures, people for whom initial and even secondary therapy does not work. Fallbacks have been successfully therapied but experience recurrence of thymic or even pathic imbalances. Why would the head of Workers Inc Northwest place such a touch? Martin frowns; he presumed Workers Inc Northwest sent their cases to Sound Therapy, the largest analysis-therapy corporation in the Corridor. He's flattered to receive such high-level attention, but can't think of a reason why.
    26 GREG BEAR
    cases are of interest. Let me know what you need and I'll work up a schedule and proposal. I hope we can meet soon." This is a shameless hedge against any downstream lags in business, something Martin is always sensitive about. He does not need any more patients. Still, he has never quite lost his fear of unemployment; a contract with Workers Inc could smooth over any future rough times. The next message is from his daughter, their daily morning exchange. Stephanie still lives in La Jolla with her mother. They link once a week and he manages trips south every other month, but as he watches the image of this lovely three-year-old, a somewhat plumper version of Carol, who seems in their genetic dance to have grabbed only Martin's eyebrows and ears, this image in its sharp perfection kissing air where his nose might be and holding up a succession of red and blue paper crafkworks, eager for his approval, only makes him lonelier. Another inexplicable faultline. He tacks to his reply a bedtime story he recorded last night, adds loving comments on the skill of her craftworks, shoots the reply to reach her pad by midmorning break in the live public schoolroom. Carol will never allow home instruction. Nothing New Federalist about Carol. The essential touches processed, he pulls his chair up to his desk and says, "INDA, are you there?" The INDA responds immediately. A lovely liquid voice neither male nor female seems to fill the room. "Yes, sir." "Any results from yesterday?" "I've analyzed the journal entries you suggested. Your fee for arbeiter access to the journals is now at