He stopped at the open door to the bathroom and turned his head toward the President. "All right, out with it." Without knowing how, exactly, Bodger knew it was about Lloyd again. And worse than before.
Stanton reached inside his suitjacket and withdrew a folded legal paper, a black-lettered stiff document with an illuminated margin of pale orange. "I have here," he said, watching Bodger's face, "an order for Readjustment. It just came up the tube from the Brain. Do I have to read you the name of the Kinsman on it?"
"Good lord," Bodger whispered. "What—What could he possibly have done to—?"
"As I said, there was a Vote last night. The proposition was a simple one: "Shall, in the interests of good government, the draft age be lowered to fifteen?" You want to know how Lloyd voted?"
"Not con?! He has more brains than to—I've told him all the catch-phrases that demand a pro Vote. Is there any possibility of—?"
"Error?" Stanton smiled bitterly. "You of all people should know better. It was Lloyd's plate in the slot when the Vote was cast, all right. The Brain can't be wrong on that. The alternative solutions to the problem—alternatives to his making a deliberate Vote against the interests of good government, I mean—are very few: One—He was not paying attention to the screen. Two—He struck the con button by accident. Three—He let somebody else use his plate. Any one of which reasons is in itself grounds for Readjustment!"
"Fred, you wouldn't...."
"Of course not, Bodger. I had the incident erased from the memory circuits immediately. This is the only copy of his Readjustment order. You can keep it, tear it up—Frame it, if you like! That's not why I'm here."
"You don't have to tell me," Bodger sighed. "In the past sixteen hours, the son of the Secondary Speakster has blithely violated the social and political ethics of the Hive, to the extent that his destruction—"
"Bodger!" Stanton flared. "You have a rotten habit of—"