Part 2 (1/2)

But tomorrow morning....

A good breakfast inside of him, the early morning sun brightening the scene before him, not even combined could they dispel any of Bennington's bitter anger at the memory of last night's saturnalia.

He marched across the twenty-five feet separating his house from the Administration Building, a long, two-story structure on the western end of the compound.

The entire end nearest his house was taken up by Message Center, the one room which had had Bennington's full approval on his tour of inspection both times he had seen the prison. Internally, the separate parts of the prison were linked together by telephone, a P.A. system, and intercom. The outside world could be reached or could come to them by 'phone, radio, teletype, and facsimile reproduction.

Bennington opened the door, glanced up to check his wrist.w.a.tch with the big clock on the wall.

0800.

He stepped inside, closed the door, looked around.

The man on night duty was sound asleep.

Bennington coughed once, loudly. The man raised his head and looked sleepily around.

”Are you the only one here?”

”The others come in around nine,” the clerk said, yawning, bleary-eyed.

”I see. Did anything come in last night?”

”That stuff.” A wave toward a roll of yellow teletype paper.

Bennington stared at the man, continued to stare until the clerk flushed a deep red. Finally the night man straightened in his chair, then stood up. He picked up the roll of paper and came around his desk.

”Sir,” he said ”this report came in last night. It is a list of the prisoners we can expect to receive today and the probable time of their arrival.”

”Thank you,” Bennington said, accepting the roll. ”I will be in my office if anyone is looking for me.”

”Sir....” The clerk gulped, hesitated, forced out the words. ”That's the only copy.”

Bennington looked the man directly in the eyes. ”You must have been very busy last night.” He returned the roll of paper. ”I'll be in my office.”

”Yes, sir!”

Bennington started to walk away, but before he reached the door, the clerk, a man Bennington remembered as being on day duty on his first visit, began to sputter, ”Sir, the quickest way to your office--”

The general glanced over his shoulder, then continued on his way.

Before he could get to the door he had chosen, he heard behind him the electrotyper chattering away like an automatic weapon with a weak sear spring.

Bennington could have left by a door leading into Dr. Thornberry's office and gone on through another door into his own big office. But he wanted to check on the availability of the rest of the staff.

The door he opened led into a long hallway. On the left was the long room where Thornberry's psych-med staff had their personal desks and permanent records. On the right, a door leading to Thornberry's office, but none into his own. His room was reached only through the office of a clerk-receptionist or Thornberry's.

Down the hall, past the wide main entrance with its glimpse of the flagpole outside and inside the stairs leading to the second floor, where a large part of the permanent staff were given rent-free quarters.