By Robert Silverberg
Grasp of existence and dying by way of Robert Silverberg
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Must be firm with him, and must handle with great delicacy. Perhaps time to let Walton know. Hmm, that was interesting, Walton thought. He had no idea who Lamarre might be, but FitzMaugham had drawn a spidery little star in the upper-right-hand corner of the memo sheet, indicating crash priority. He flipped on the annunciator. “There’s a Mr. Lamarre who had an appointment with Director FitzMaugham for 1215 today. If he calls, tell him I can’t see him today but will honor the appointment tomorrow at the same time.
He scribbled his initials on both the letters and dropped them into the chute that led Master of Life and Death 31 to files, where they would be put on microfilm and scrupulously stored away. FitzMaugham insisted that every letter received be read and so filed. Some day soon, Walton thought, population equalization would be unnecessary. Oh, sure, euthanasia would stick; it was a sane and, in the long run, merciful process. But this business of uprooting a few thousand Belgians and shipping them to the open spaces in Patagonia would cease.
In the suddenness of the encounter he had no time to evaluate what had happened, no time to react to FitzMaugham’s murder. His one thought was that Ludwig had to be subdued. His fist cracked into the other’s mouth; sharp pain shot up through his hand at the impact of knuckles against teeth. Ludwig sagged. Walton realized that he was blocking the doorway; not only was he preventing Ludwig from escaping, he was also making it impossible for anyone outside to come to his own aid. Blindly he clubbed his fist down on Ludwig’s neck, spun him around, crashed another blow into the man’s midsection.