Falbrough looked grave. "I see, sir. Of course. We'll double-check everything from now on."
"Good. Begin with the 1100 batch."
Walton couldn't bear to remain down in the clinic any longer. He left via a side exit, and signaled for a lift tube.
Minutes later he was back in his office, behind the security of a towering stack of work. His pulse was racing; his throat was dry. He remembered what FitzMaugham had said: Once we make even one exception, the whole framework crumbles.
Well, the framework had begun crumbling, then. And there was little doubt in Walton's mind that FitzMaugham knew or would soon know what he had done. He would have to cover his traces, somehow.
The annunciator chimed and said, "Dr. Falbrough of Happysleep calling you, sir."
"Put him on."
The screen lit and Falbrough's face appeared; its normal blandness had given way to wild-eyed tenseness.
"What is it, Doctor?"
"It's a good thing you issued that order when you did, sir! You'll never guess what just happened—"