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Show 37 Ten Robeck sits forward at his desk, the surface of which is now perfectly clear except for the manuscript of his Defense. The order in his office is now reestablished after the demise of the rat project: the books have been reshelved, files reinserted in their proper drawers, and even the adjoining laboratory facilities have been cleaned, so that there is no miscellaneous glassware or unsterilized surgical tools or odd scraps of paper lying around. Robeck riffles his fingers through the stacked pages of the manuscript. "Have it typed for me," he is saying to Liller.. Liller leans across the desk, fingering the tails of his limp necktie, but now Robeck sees a smile break out across Li Tier's face. "I thought you'd stopped working on it," Liller says, "You've hardly been here at all. I was afraid ..." "You were afraid I'd given up. Well, you're right. I'm not going to publish this thing after all." "Not publish it?" Liller drops dismayed into the chair beside Robeck's desk. The chair is not a standard chair, but one which stands a little lower from the ground than an ordinary chair, it has the odd property of exaggerating, to anyone who sits in it, Robeck's unusual height and size. Even now that age is beginning to make him slightly stooped and hollow, Robeck is still a large, imposing man, a figure who suggest both brilliance and power. "I've made one of the most significant discoveries of my life," Robeck says, elevating his voice for mock-dramatic effect, though even Liller can |
