The tone stopped after one sequence and the flasher stopped too, leaving a red bar across the screen. Evidently the message was not of particular urgency; he felt at first inclined to ignore it, but instead he punched the display key on the panel beneath the screen.

He watched as it spelled out his name and ID number and the characters INOF-CLS-A-RDYRD. In computerspeak this meant that the message was of interoffice origin of the lowest grade and was ready to read by simply tapping the display key once more. Several of the higher grade levels required that a personal access code be entered before the message could be received, and some would not be displayed at all but would only be dispensed on paper through the ComCen printer lest anyone unauthorized accidentally view the screen when an important message was transmitted.

Spence tapped the display key and read the following:

Spence, Come see me when you get a chance. I'd like to talk to you. Adjani.

This was an unexpected development; he was being invited to drop in on the genius just as if they were old friends. He was flattered in spite of himself and wondered what Adjani wanted to talk to him about. Only one way to find out. Go see him.

He rose just as Tickler entered the control booth. "Here are the averages, Dr. Reston," sniffed his assistant, waving a sheaf of printouts at him.

"Thanks, Tickler. I'll see to them later. Something's come up. I'll be back soon. Ready the presets for the next battery of experiments. We'll start those tonight. And Tickler, please be careful with the encephamine. Another spill like last time and you could put the whole station to sleep. Besides, the stuff is expensive!"

Spence ducked out leaving the miffed Tickler sputtering. He left the lab feeling much better than when he had entered it, and.moved out onto the trafficway heading for the main axial. For some reason he received perverse pleasure in befuddling the stuffy Tickler. The realization gave him a momentary pang of guilt which he rejected without a second thought.

He paused on his way to view a directory. He had never been to the HiEn section before and knew only vaguely how to get there. He tapped HiEn into a ComCen screen below the directory and instantly received a route suggestion, and hurried along. He took Fifth Avenue where it branched off from the main, and then made for the Belt Line tube tram. That saved him from having to meander through the complex inner core of Gotham. He got out of the tube in the blue section and took the nearest lift up four levels to his destination.

Adjani's quarters were two cramped cubicles overflowing with electronic gear, magcarts, and bubbleplates. The rooms were barely larger than sanibooths and Spence could see they had been hastily partitioned off from one of the larger labs. In one cubicle was a bed and a chair, on which were stacked a multicolored tower of magcarts; in the other room was a desk and a data base with three wafer screens and keyboards.

"I am afraid one of us will have to sit on the bed," explained Adjani apologetically as he ushered Spence in. "My arrival has caused some hardship among the housekeepers, I believe. Olmstead was kind enough to divide his quarters with me until a more suitable arrangement can be found. Come in, come in, please."

"Thank you." Spence glanced around the cluttered interior. Every square centimeter of space, except for a tentative pathway through the rooms, was crammed with data in its various disguises-on paper, disc, tape, and sealed cartridge. It reminded Spence of his own study cube back at the university years ago. "I will never complain about my miniature quarters again. Compared to these, mine are cavernous."

"I don't mind, really. I'm not here very much. Mostly I'm in one of the labs or hotrooms. They keep me pretty busy, you know. Personally, I'm beginning to think the only reason Packer wanted me here was so he wouldn't have to think anymore." The slim brown man paused, then added deviously, "I'm fixing him, though. I make him and his shuttle bums think twice as hard!"

He turned and threaded his way carefully into the adjoining cubicle. Spence followed lightly, careful not to start an avalanche. Adjani plopped the multicolored cartridges onto a knee-high stack of disc cartons and waved Spence to the chair. He curled up on the bed in lotus position. Spence wondered if his host was Hindu.

"Where are you from, Adjani?"

"San Francisco." He laughed at Spence's expression, rocking back and forth on the bed. "I know, everyone makes the same mistake. My people are from Nagaland. My father was from Imphal; my mother from Manipur. They met in London when my father was teaching at the Royal Academy. He is at Oxford now."

Adjani spoke with pride of his parents; Spence sensed they were close. Somewhat wistfully he found himself envying Adjani's relationship with his family-though he knew nothing at all about them-and regretting his own.

Adjani continued: "They waited eight years to bring me to the United States. We came under the Necessary Skills Program just after the war, and it cost my father over twelve thousand dollars to buy our entrance visas. I was eight years old when we came-I remember because I was in seventh form and everyone made fun of me for being so small."

"You were in seventh form when you were only eight?" Spence's eyes grew wide in disbelief.

"It was all they could do to keep me in printout paper," laughed Adjani.

"You stayed in California then?"

"Yes, for the most part. When I finished school we went back to India and I spent some time in my father's homeland-a very enlightening experience. Every son should have the chance to see his father as a young man. That's what I saw in Nagaland.

"Anyway, we could not go back to the United States because our visas had expired. Father went back to Great Britain. I would have joined him, I believe, but Cal Tech summoned me for their Think Tank."

"What about your visa?"

"The government waived the regulations. Olmstead arranged it, though he won't admit it. We had become friends at Stanford. And he was afraid that if he did not find me a job he would never see me again. Quite possibly it was true." Adjani spread his hands wide. "Now you know my whole life's story-but for one or two important details."

"It's an interesting story. I'm sure your parents are very proud of you."

Adjani shrugged. "Yes and no. They realize that I am what I am, but they do not deny they had greater plans for me."

The remark struck Spence as absurd. Adjani was possibly the highest man in his discipline. "What could be greater than what you're doing right now?"

"They had hoped I would become their purohit-the family priest."

"You are Hindu?" asked Spence, thinking his first impression had been correct.

"Oh, no!" laughed Adjani. "I use the word in a general sense. We are Christians. My family hoped I would be a minister, like my grandfather."

This admission made Adjani seem even more foreign and mysteriqus. For Spence, religion was merely a holdover from a superstitious age in man's history. No true scientist held to dogma.

"Does this surprise you, Spence?" Adjani's black eyes glittered intently as he leaned forward on his couch.

"A little, I guess. People don't take that stuff seriously anymore."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. Religion is elemental to man's being. True religion ennobles; it never debases."

"I guess I haven't thought much about it one way or the other." Spence shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Don't worry." Adjani smiled broadly. "I did not invite you here to preach to you."

Spence relaxed and leaned back in his chair. "I was beginning to wonder. Why did you ask me here?"

"A selfish reason. I would like to know you better." Adjani clasped his hands beneath his chin and rested his elbows on his knees. He weighed his next words before saying them.