"Mr. Clacker is no longer with us, Mr. Radek." "Huh? What happened to him?" "Mr. Clacker has been taken to the three Final Machines for trial and judgment. I am now taking over here. My name is Hortense. G. Welker Hortense." Tony looked at the blonde. Crude, undisguised lights were coming from the woman's eyes. Promotion-happy. He said at last: "Sorry as hell about that. The solenoid thing, I suppose. I didn't mean to get the guy in trouble. I sure didn't mean that." "He'd been ordered to change it. It was no one's fault but his own. You were only doing your duty, I'm sure. And duty comes above everything." "Yeah. Yeah, sure. I know." He sighed once more. "Get me an airbrush and a bottle of white paint." "What?" "I want an airbrush and a bottle of white paint. I want to paint my nice little ritual roses. I don't like red any more. I want all white ones." "Mr. Radek...?" Tony glared. "Do I get that paint or don't I? Don't just stand there!" His fist banged down on Supplies and Control button. The Master Screen went blank, and then flashed into motion again fast. The blonde again. Nasty now. A chip off the old block. Another hell-hips, but this time with skirts. "Request not granted! This is entirely against regulations, Mr. Radek! Specifically, against ordinance 1991, of the Code of...." "Oh, can it," he growled wearily. "For God's sake, don't give me any more of that." The blonde stiffened. "Well! After all, I'm only doing my duty, Mr. Radek. As head of Supplies and Control, I have certain well-defined and inflexible...." Tony blacked her out. He held her blacked out till he was sure she wouldn't come on again. Duty. The Master Clock made a quiet blipping noise. Amber Official lights dimmed and Emote Neutral came on. Long, probing shadow fingers snaked here and there across the floor, and a stillness that should have been restful descended eventually on the place. "_Radek!_" The hard eyes. The hard voice. Tony looked into the screen. "Yes, sir?" "Radek, that woman is still downstairs in _Portal Waiting_! We can't have her hanging around all night. Why hasn't she been given her bill of divorcement and sent home? My God, man, where's your feelings? She's at least entitled to that." "Right away, sir. I was just going." He picked up the square of white paper. He pushed back his chair, got to his feet, went across the office taking those peculiar, quiet little steps of his. Yes, sir. Just going, sir. On my way, sir. Because, sir, as you've pointed out so clearly, sir, she's at least entitled to that. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Furious Rose, by Dean Evans