Even as I looked upon the room's occupant, I knew that this, my initial step, would be a success. The man was a toad of flesh with little pig eyes and albino hair. He put down the glass from which he had been swilling liquor and glared at me. "Complaint department down the hall," he said. "This is a private office."
I crossed to the chair beside his desk and sat down. "I'm George Dulfay," I said quietly, "the new inspector sent by the Council. Will you sign my papers, please?"
He scowled again and peered at me shrewdly through blood-shot eyes, but, after a careless glance at the document I had handed him, he seized a stylus and affixed his signature. Then he raised his eyes to mine.
"New man, eh?" he grinned. "And what do you think of our fair city?"
"It stinks."
My words prompted no reproach from him. He leaned back and made steeples of his hands. "Everything's the same," he said. "Four hundred deaths, four hundred births. One attempted escape resulting in execution. Flood-water"—he glanced across at the far wall where a panel bore a series of dials—"water 65.0, oxygen zero-zero, paldine 5."
"And the research bureau?" I questioned. So far, I knew I was playing my part to satisfaction.
He snorted. "Failures as usual. You and the Council know as well as I do that there's no cure for the plague."
It was time for the first step, but I didn't hurry it. I got a cheroot out of my pocket, lit it and blew a shaft of smoke toward the mildewed ceiling.
"I'll okay the report as usual," I said. "But there's one thing more. I'll want to buy some of your power. About sixteen thousand graphlos...."