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Before
unrolling
the
foil
,
letting
it
peel
off
onto
the
table
top
where
it
would
be
held
by
a
soft
paramagnetic
field
,
Harlan
paused
a
split
moment
.
The
molecular
film
that
covered
the
table
was
subdued
but
was
not
zero
.
The
motion
of
his
arm
fixed
his
eye
and
for
an
instant
the
reflection
of
his
own
face
seemed
to
stare
somberly
up
at
him
from
the
table
top
.
He
was
thirty
-
two
,
but
he
looked
older
.
He
needed
no
one
to
tell
him
that
.
It
might
be
partly
his
long
face
and
dark
eyebrows
over
darker
eyes
that
gave
him
the
lowering
expression
and
cold
glare
associated
with
the
caricature
of
the
Technician
in
the
minds
of
all
Eternals
.
It
might
be
just
his
own
realization
that
he
was
a
Technician
.
But
then
he
flicked
the
foil
out
across
the
table
and
turned
to
the
matter
at
hand
.
"
I
am
not
a
Sociologist
,
sir
.
"
Voy
smiled
.
"
That
sounds
formidable
.
When
one
begins
by
expressing
lack
of
competence
in
a
given
field
,
it
usually
implies
that
a
flat
opinion
in
that
field
will
follow
almost
immediately
.
"
"
No
,
"
said
Harlan
,
"
not
an
opinion
.
Just
a
request
.
I
wonder
if
you
won
’
t
look
over
this
summary
and
see
if
you
haven
’
t
made
a
small
mistake
somewhere
here
.
"
Voy
looked
instantly
grave
.
"
I
hope
not
,
"
he
said
.
Harlan
kept
one
arm
across
the
back
of
his
chair
,
the
other
in
his
lap
.
He
must
let
neither
hand
drum
restless
fingers
.
He
must
not
bite
his
lips
.
He
must
not
show
his
feelings
in
any
way
.
Ever
since
the
whole
orientation
of
his
life
had
so
changed
itself
,
he
had
been
watching
the
summaries
of
projected
Reality
Changes
as
they
passed
through
the
grinding
administrative
gears
of
the
Allwhen
Council
.
As
Senior
Computer
Twissell
’
s
personally
assigned
Technician
,
he
could
arrange
that
by
a
slight
bending
of
professional
ethics
.
Particularly
with
Twissell
’
s
attention
caught
ever
more
tightly
in
his
own
overwhelming
project
.
(
Harlan
’
s
nostrils
flared
.
He
knew
now
a
little
of
the
nature
of
that
project
.
)
