"Sorry to keep you waiting, Frank," he said to the tall, gangly youth who rose from a chrome-and-plastic chair and came into the main office.
The man called Frank sank into a chair and fiddled idly with a button on his shirt until Lennick had the door closed again. When the youthful producer was once more back in his swivel chair, eyeing his visitor, Frank lost his casual air and locked eyes with him, disconcertingly steady blue eyes, and Lennick had to fight an impulse to wince.
"Trouble?" he said, after a moment.
Frank knitted his brows, and cupped his upper lip in the moist curve of his lower before replying, without emotion, "Depends." He fiddled with the button again, then gave it up and stood. He preferred pacing as he talked. "It's—Well, it's about Andra, Bob."
Lennick stiffened. "They got her...?" His relief was only a conditional relaxation when the other man shook his head; he was keyed to tighten up again without notice. "So where is she? How is she?"
"Fine, to answer your second question. I don't know the answer to the first, though I could make some guesses. The thing is—We better get the word out to the others not to try and contact her."
"Not to—!?" said Lennick, stunned. "But she needs help, bad. She has to hide until we can—!... Frank, what's the matter? You look so damned funny!"
"Okay, I'll level with you, Bob." Frank stood at the front of the desk and leaned his hands on the blotter, staring down at the anxious face of his friend. "Last night, after her escape, Andra tried to hide in the Temple, up on ninety-five. The Goons were right after her, Bob. There wasn't even any Service because of her. Every person in that Temple was checked—one by one—for Voteplates. She had one, Bob. She got out."
"That's crazy!" Lennick gasped. "Where in hell—? Frank, I saw them collect her Voteplate after the accident. She couldn't have gotten it back. And she couldn't have a spare, I know, so—?" He saw the uneasiness still in the man Frank's features, and was quiet. "There's more...?"
"After her escape," Frank said flatly, taking no joy in telling the tale, "She met a man, outside the arcade, went with him for cocktails, then up to his level. That's the last she was seen, Bob. It was the Hundred-Level. None of us are authorized to go that high without escort."