Ramsey laughed harshly and said nothing. That gave Margot something to think about. Maybe it would keep her thoughts out of his mind, keep her from reading….
X marks the spot, thought Ramsey. XXX marks the spot-spot-spot. X is a spot in a pot or a lot of rot….
“Oh, stop it!“ Margot cried irritably. “You’re thinking nonsense.“
“Then get the heck out of my mind,“ Ramsey told her.
Vardin walked on without speaking. If she had any inkling of what they were talking about, she never mentioned it.
Margot said: “I still get the impression.“
“What impression?“
“That we’re being followed. That we’re being watched. Every step of the way.“
Wind and cold and darkness. The hairs on the back of Ramsey’s neck prickled. They walked on, bent against the wind.
Security Officer Second Class Ramar Chind reported to his Chief in the Hall of Retribution the following morning. Chind, a career man with the Irwadi Security Forces, did not like his new boss. Garr Symm was no career man. He knew nothing of police procedure. It was even rumored—probably based upon solid fact—that Garr Symm liked his brandy excessively and often found himself under its influence. Worst of all—after all, a man could understand a desire for drink, even if, sometimes, it interfered with work—worst of all, Garr Symm was a scientist, a dome-top in the Irwadi vernacular. And [p 108] hard-headed Ramar Chind lost no love on dome-tops.