“I beg your pardon?” Was this some kind of elaborate, cruel joke the authorities were playing on him? For a second he thought of calling in help, then decided against it. He would continue with the game in hopes of learning something useful.
“Your birthplace.”
“If this is really Colligatarch Central, you should have easy access to that kind of information.”
“Verification is always useful.”
“All right. Phoenix. Chandler, actually. That’s a suburb. I’ve lived in the Greater Phoenix area all my life.”
“What were your parents’ names?”
He drummed idle fingers on the unused keyboard. “Listen, this isn’t making any sense. I’m trying to find the woman I love. A number of people don’t want me to find her.”
How much of this did the Colligatarch know? He’d always believed, like most citizens, that the Colligatarch knew everything it wanted to know, but it hadn’t mentioned the events of the past week. Instead it was questioning him about perfectly ordinary details of his life that surely existed already in half a hundred data banks scattered across the North American Federation.
He answered the question, was rewarded with another.
“Where do you work?”
He shook his head, settled himself into the seat, and continued to answer the most mundane queries. Height and weight, color of hair and eyes, the names of his friends, his hobbies, what kinds of optos he liked, how often he attended the symphony, what major illnesses he had suffered while growing up, how he felt about politics, religion, economics, his work, and dozens more.
Finally, “How do you feel at this moment?”
That one made him hesitate. “I don’t follow your meaning.”
“Right now, sitting in Booth B, how would you evaluate your general condition?”
“Put upon, confused, anxious, otherwise healthy and sane.”
“And physically?
“About the same. A little bruised and battered. I’ve had a rough couple of days, but I haven’t broken any bones or torn any muscles.”
A long pause, then, “You are Eric Abbott.”
“Is this some kind of a joke? All this is readily available to you from fifty different sources.”
“Verification is always—”
“Useful, yeah, you said that.”
“You want to know about Lisa Tambor?”
This couldn’t be Colligatarch Central, Eric decided. Never mind the fact that it could hardly be bothered by the problems of one man in search of his lady-love. It would not spend expensive time querying him all the way from Europe simply to ascertain whether his true weight was eighty or ninety kilos. Someone was stalling him, toying with him, though he didn’t think it was Tarragon’s people. They would have burst in on him by now.
“Where is she?” he asked. He did not expect a useful answer. Some part of him added aloud, “I love her.”
“That is not relevant. Eric Abbott, you are advised to return to your home and work in Phoenix and forget about Lisa Tambor.”
“Funny, I’ve already been told that.” Maybe it was Tarragon. Maybe in spite of everything, he was hoping this machine-oriented directive would get the troublesome engineer out of his hair.
“I am aware that you have been so instructed previously. You must return to your home, Eric Abbott. There is no malice in this order.” Order; he thought. Not suggestion. “Lisa Tambor serves a function which your presence complicates. No actions will be taken against you if you return home now.”
“Really? What about my free ticket?”
“I am not aware of it.”
“Oh, come on.” He was tired of the game. “Your security people, a man named Kemal Tarragon, offered me a free ride home if I’d leave Lisa alone.”
“Then I suggest you contact this man to see if that option remains available to you. This may be your last opportunity to do so. Transmission ends.”
Eric leaned forward. “Now hold on! You directed me up here to repeat that same old…!”
He stopped. Every light on the console had winked out save those which indicated it was still powered-up. Try as he would, Eric couldn’t prod it to respond.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He exited the booth, forgetting for an instant that there might be police waiting for him to emerge. There was no one except the elderly supervisor who’d first guided him to the booth. Apparently she’d decided to wait for him. Now she watched him curiously.
“It’s quite a privilege, you know. I envy you.”
“Envy me what?” he said absently. “What’s quite a privilege?’ ’
“Talking direct with Colligatarch Central.” She looked apologetic. “The details of your communication remain private, of course, but there’s no hiding where the input originated.”
“So you’re in on it, too.”
She looked confused. “In on what?”
“Nothing. I’ll find my own way out.”
