The thought uncoiled darkly, thundering and reverberating in the horrified caverns of my brain.
A thoughtcaster. So the Guild had thoughtcasters now. The Guild had finally come.
I sat in the dank silence, shaking. A drop of ice crawled slowly down my temple. I stared around the conference table at Starza's frown, at those Term faces, the great faceted eyes.
"We gave this worker every chance," I said, licking my lips. "We put him on another operation. He still couldn't cut it. Even though we've got production to meet, we still give as many chances—"
The thought slashed. It grew into a soundless roar.
"Stop it, Jake! Tell them how Amalgamated, under the cloak of liberation, is strangling the Terms with an alien culture. Tell them what a mockery their contract really is! Tell them about that Term you condemned this morning!"
I fought it. Feeling the blood run from my lip, I fought it. I'd seen strong men driven insane by a thoughtcaster within seconds. My stability index was six point three. Damned high. I fought it. I got to my feet. The room reeled. Those damned Term faces. The shining antennae. I stumbled towards the door. The thought became a whiplash of molten fury.
"Uphold that grievance, Jake! Tell them the truth. Admit the standard was impossible to meet—"
I slammed the door. The voice stopped.