He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Now he could hear voices. He stopped to listen. The conversation was coming from an office down the hall—if it could be called a conversation.
There would be long periods of silence, then a word or two: "But not that way." "Until tomorrow." "Vacillates."
There were three different voices.
Houston moved on down the hall, his stun gun ready. A few yards from the door, he stopped again, and, very gently, he sent out another thought-probe, searching for the minds of those within, carefully forging his way.
And, at that crucial instant, a voice spoke in his ear.
"Houston! What's going on? You haven't said a thing for two full minutes!"
"I'm all right!" Houston snapped. Only the force of long training and habit kept him from shouting the words aloud instead of keeping them to a subvocal whisper.
"All right or not," said the other, "we're coming in in seven minutes, as ordered. Meanwhile, there's a news bulletin for you; the British division has picked up another Controller—a woman named Dorrine Kent. Two in one night ought to be a pretty good bag."