It didn't even seem long ago to Barton. It was oddly like a dream that might have been in the past, or the future, or never at all.
Von Ulrich grabbed up the spacegram and walked stiffly erect out of the basketball.
At some time in the future, Von Ulrich showed up again with even more complicated tests and questions. Barton wasn't sure, but it seemed longer than usual that Von Ulrich was away these days. Time didn't mean much. It didn't have any particular use to Barton now.
"Yes, yes, you have a perfect service record, Barton. Never have missed turning in an alarm with alacrity. And we're so damned short of men capable of taking this kind of duty that I can't pull you out of here until you make an error—or crack up. Just the same you're not fooling me much longer, and you won't be able to fool yourself either."
Sometime later there was the business about Barton's mother. Von Ulrich had files on Barton going clear back to pre-natal, and maybe even before that.
"All right, Barton, you were an only child, and you lived with your mother for 10 years after your father died. Then you married. What about the fact that Jean was a replacement for your mother?"
"If she was, it never seemed that way to me."
"You expected your wife to take care of you the way your mother did. And not demand anything of you. You expected to escape all responsibility and—Barton, do you consider this basketball to be your mother?"
"What's that, sir?"
"Deafness can be psychosomatic too, don't forget that. I said—but you heard me, answer me."