Full Circle

           ItwaswithadullsurprisethatTechnicianAndrewHarlan,onburstingintothe575th,foundhimselfinthenightshift.Thepassingofthephysiohourshadgoneunnoticedduringhiswildstreaksalongthekettleshafts.Hestaredhollowlyatthedimmedcorridors,theoccasionalevidenceofthethinned-outnightforceatwork.

           ButinthecontinuedgripofhisrageHarlandidnotpauselongtowatchuselessly.Heturnedtowardpersonalquarters.HewouldfindTwissell’sroomonComputerLevelashehadfoundFinge’sandhehadaslittlefearofbeingnoticedorstopped.

           TheneuronicwhipwasstillhardagainsthiselbowashestoppedbeforeTwissell’sdoor(thenameplateuponitadvertisingthefactinclear,inlaidlettering).

           Harlanactivatedthedoorsignalbrashlyonthebuzzerlevel.Heshortedthecontactwithadamppalmandletthesoundbecomecontinuous.Hecouldhearitdimly.

           Astepsoundedlightlybehindhimandheignoreditinthesureknowledgethattheman,whoeverhewas,wouldignorehim.(Oh,rose-redTechnician’spatch!)

           Butthesoundofstepshaltedandavoicesaid,"TechnicianHarlan?"

           Harlanwhirled.ItwasaJuniorComputer,relativelynewtotheSection.Harlanragedinwardly.Thiswasnotquitethe482nd.