June's hand, under the table, patted Archy's knee. She didn't say anything—just patted his knee.
"I have one last question," said the President. "Mr. Kahler, I understand these projections are extremely complex electronic propagations. How can they be maintained by random power fields like batteries and high-tension wires?"
"There's a difference between propagating them and maintaining them," said Otto. "Once you've projected them, maintenance is fairly simple."
"I see," said Conklin. "I believe that concludes our conference. Mr. House, I don't want to see your face for five days. And I want you to come and tell me the projections are gone. All of them. If this happens, the damage might be—well, attended to. If it doesn't—you will be broken, Mr. House, very thoroughly."
"Okay, Pops," said Archy. "I mean—Mr. President."
Back at the hotel, June and Otto accompanied Archy to his suite. He wanted to talk to them, though he had a root-deep feeling nothing could do any good.
Somebody was in the suite, standing with a finger stuck in a light socket. "Hello, bud," grinned the Archy-projection passing from translucency to opaqueness as the current vitalized it. "Thought I'd recharge at our place here."
Archy glared. "Ignore the S.O.B.," he told the others. "Without an audience he won't stay."
It took an hour, during which the Archy-projection bragged of his plans for forming a TV company, stage troupes, running for congress, and producing more projections of himself, but finally he left. Archy's face was sunk in his hands.