But instead of the usual morning run of hysterical relatives and masochistic mystics, I had to face one of my superiors from the Committee itself.
Councilman Coleman was an impressive figure in a tailored black tunic. His olive features were set off by bristling black eyes and a mobile mustache. He probably scared most people, but not me. Authority doesn't frighten me any more. I've put to sleep too many megalomaniacs, dictators, and civil servants.
"Warden Walker, I've been following your career with considerable interest," Coleman said.
"My career hasn't been very long, sir," I said modestly. I didn't mention that nobody could last that long in my job. At least, none had yet.
"I've followed it from the first. I know every step you've made."
I didn't know whether to be flattered or apprehensive. "That's fine," I said. It didn't sound right.
"Tell me," Coleman said, crossing his legs, "what do you think of Dreamland in principle?"
"Why, it's the logical step forward in penal servitude. Man has been heading toward this since he first started civilizing himself. After all, some criminals can't be helped psychiatrically. We can't execute them or turn them free; we have to imprison them."
I waited for Coleman's reaction. He merely nodded.
"Of course, it's barbaric to think of a prison as a place of punishment," I continued. "A prison is a place to keep a criminal away from society for a specific time so he can't harm that society for that time. Punishment, rehabilitation, all of it is secondary to that. The purpose of confinement is confinement."