“You must have had a large family,” Lou said.
“A large family,” Burris said, “and many guests. Many, many guests. From all over. Including famous people. General Hood slept in this house, and he slept very well indeed.”
“As a matter of fact,” Lou added, “he’s still sleeping. They call it being dead.”
“That’s not funny,” Burris snapped.
“Sorry,” Lou said. “It was meant to be.”
“I—” Burris shut his mouth and glared.
Malone was far away, thinking of the sixty rooms full of people, sitting quietly, their minds ranging into the distance, meshed together in small units. It was a picture that frightened and comforted him at the same time. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but he certainly didn’t dislike it, either.
After all, he told himself confusedly, too many cooks save a stitch in time.
He veered away from that sentence quickly. “Tell me,” he said, “were you receiving my broadcast on the way here?”
Burris and Sir Lewis nodded. Lou started to nod, too, but stopped and looked surprised. “You mean you didn’t know we were?” she said.