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The
heavy
plaster
swirls
of
the
482nd
,
its
splashy
pigments
,
its
areas
of
painted
metal
were
almost
repulsive
.
Even
Finge
seemed
different
,
less
than
life
-
size
,
somewhat
.
Two
years
earlier
,
to
Observer
Harlan
,
Finge
’
s
every
gesture
had
seemed
sinister
and
powerful
.
Now
,
from
the
lofty
and
isolated
heights
of
Technicianhood
,
the
man
seemed
pathetic
and
lost
.
Harlan
watched
him
as
he
leafed
through
a
sheaf
of
foils
and
got
ready
to
look
up
,
with
the
air
of
someone
who
is
beginning
to
think
he
has
made
his
visitor
wait
the
duly
required
amount
of
time
.
Finge
was
from
an
energy
-
centered
Century
in
the
600
’
s
.
Twissell
had
told
him
that
and
it
explained
a
good
deal
.
Finge
’
s
flashes
of
illtemper
could
easily
be
the
result
of
the
natural
insecurity
of
a
heavy
man
used
to
the
firmness
of
field
-
forces
and
unhappy
to
be
dealing
with
nothing
more
than
flimsy
matter
.
His
tiptoeing
walk
(
Harlan
remembered
Finge
’
s
catlike
tread
well
;
often
he
would
look
up
from
his
desk
,
see
Finge
standing
there
staring
at
him
,
his
approach
having
been
unheard
)
was
no
longer
something
sly
and
sneaking
,
but
rather
the
fearful
and
reluctant
tread
of
one
who
lives
in
the
constant
,
if
unconscious
,
fear
that
the
flooring
would
break
under
his
weight
.
Harlan
thought
,
with
a
pleasant
condescension
:
The
man
is
poorly
adjusted
to
the
Section
.
Reassignment
is
probably
the
only
thing
that
would
help
him
.
Finge
said
,
"
Greetings
,
Technician
Harlan
.
"
"
Greetings
,
Computer
,
"
said
Harlan
.
Finge
said
,
"
It
seems
that
in
the
two
years
since
—
"
"
Two
physioyears
,
"
said
Harlan
.
