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He looked again at the small scrap of paper which was clipped to the letter. On it was scrawled: "DeVore See me HRM." For a moment, DeVore considered using his own mentacom, then he discarded the idea. To be sure, the leader had insisted that his subordinates use the devices for their own communications, and he'd cut Fixed Communications to the bone.
Nobody'll even notice you. But if you feel like talking, half a dozen total strangers'll find something in common with you. And they'll discuss it. Honey, you'll be surprised how much you've missed. Get your mentacom. Let's take a little shopping trip." "And here's one of our more difficult cases. But he's coming along nicely." Dr. Moran pointed through the one-way window. "Name's Howard Morely.
"I received you perfectly, and so did practically everyone here. Why the apology?" Bond grimaced. "We found out something peculiar while we were making preliminary tests on this device, sir," he explained. "Some people don't seem to be able to pick up clear thoughts with it, unless another person uses the mentacom to drive in to them.
I'm not completely used to this mentacom, myself." He looked toward the deputy leader. "Do you have anything to add, sir?" The deputy shook his head. "No," he said thoughtfully. "I think the demonstration was adequate. He cast a quizzical look at Bond, then looked around the room. "You gentlemen will find a supply of these devices in the outer office.
"Meet the new production manager, Mentacom Division, Consolidated Electronics." "Production manager? But, Paul, only first-class citizens can hold supervisory positions." "Not any more. Didn't you have the communicator on for the news? It all came in." Elaine shook her head and jumped to the floor. "I've a confession to make, Paul.
With the exception of a few empathic cripples, who can't use the mentacom properly anyway, everyone, inside the administrative offices, as well as out, recognized that the bureaucracy was simply unworkable as it stood. So, they changed it. Effective immediately." Elaine stamped her foot. "You know I haven't been out of this apartment," she cried. "And you know why.
While you sat around in your splendid isolation, everything turned upside down." She looked at him indignantly for an instant, then turned toward the kitchen. "Paul, if you don't stop raving, I'm going to get my mentacom and pry it out of you," she threatened. "Now, you just settle down. Stop talking in circles and tell me what this is all about." "Oh, all right. If you insist."
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