"I only wanted to see you for a moment, Ker-jon; just a moment, that's all. Will you take breakfast with me?"
"No. I said I have an appointment."
"You're always rushing around like the enzymes we feed into the 'ponic-vats. I'm sure your appointment will keep. I'm also sure it is unwise, this appointment."
Ker-jon prayed silently that she wouldn't part her lips invitingly for a kiss, because then indeed he might decide to forego his appointment with the psych-tech. Apparently, that did not enter Cluny-ann's mind. She merely walked out into the corridor, hands still on hips, blocking his path.
"Tomorrow we try to smash the Mutant-makers," she told him. "But today you must carry your dream with you and have it interpreted. Won't it keep? If something lurks in that dream which holds the key to our plans—poof! No more plans. Stay, Ker-jon."
Gently but firmly, he pushed her out of the way, smiled for a moment when she struggled futilely against the muscles of his good right arm. He said, as he went on down the corridor, "We can take lunch together. I'll feel more like eating after this nightmare is explained, anyway."
The psych-tech, Ab'nath-Jawg, wore an immaculate white smock over his scrawny frame, a pair of spectacles over his big, watery eyes. Ker-jon saw no reason for the white smock; perhaps tradition said all psych-techs were to wear white smocks, and that was that.
"Ker-jon," Ab'nath mumbled, looking at his records, "bio-tech first class, non-mutant, no mutations in the family line. Right?"
Ker-jon nodded.