"Don't bother," Walton said hurriedly.
He moved on, down the winding corridor that led to the execution chamber. Falbrough, the executioner, was studying a list of names at his desk when Walton appeared.
Falbrough didn't look like the sort of man who would enjoy his work. He was short and plump, with a high-domed bald head and glittering contact lenses in his weak blue eyes. "Morning, Mr. Walton."
"Good morning, Doctor Falbrough. You'll be operating soon, won't you?"
"Eleven hundred, as usual."
"Good. There's a new regulation in effect from now on," Walton said. "To keep public opinion on our side."
"Sir?"
"Henceforth, until further notice, you're to check each baby that comes to you against the main file, just to make sure there's been no mistake. Got that?"
"Mistake? But how—"
"Never mind that, Falbrough. There was quite a tragic slip-up at one of the European centers yesterday. We may all hang for it if news gets out." How glibly I reel this stuff off, Walton thought in amazement.