Savant by Nik Abnett Page A

to recognise when there was a problem, and he obviously had a problem.”
    “So the Master was upset?” prompted Bello.
    “Yeah, that’s right,” said Pitu 3, and then hesitated for a moment, before contradicting himself.
    “Well, not exactly upset. More... I don’t know... It was weird. He was holding his robe and tiptoeing across the floor, only stepping on the bare linopro, and there was all this stuff. It wasn’t normal.”
    “So was it the Master that was upsetting, or was it the state of his room?”
    “You can never tell with him, anyway,” said Pitu 3. “None of them give much away. It’s not as if we really know what they’re like. It’s like they’ve got something missing, or something. You can tell what they’re thinking by what they’re doing, and he was doing weird stuff on the linopro. He wasn’t even using a pen. I don’t know what that yellow stuff was on the linopro, but it wasn’t right.”
    “Did the room upset you, Pitu?” asked Bim.
    “Yeah, I guess,” said Pitu 3, slightly sullen. “But if something’s wrong, we’re supposed to hit our buttons. That’s all I did. I just did what I was told.”
    “We know, Pitu,” said Bim. “There’s nothing to worry about. Now, why don’t we get you over to the infirmary, and have you checked out properly? Then you can get some rest.”

 

    Chapter Fifteen
     
     
    R ANKED O PERATOR M C C OLL was tired. Strazinsky had to be tired. McColl looked up at the screen, at Agent Operator Henderson; he looked as fresh as the proverbial daisy, although McColl still wasn’t sure whether he reminded him of someone, and if so, whom.
    McColl tried to glance at his watch, without drawing attention to himself. Agent Operator Henderson was halfway through asking a question, and couldn’t possibly notice what McColl was doing. It felt, to McColl, as if the interview had gone on for a long time; so many questions had been asked and answered. Several times, he had thought that Henderson had come to the end of his questions, but still they came, homing in on very small, very specific target areas.
    “Yes,” said Named Operator Strazinsky in answer to the question.
    “Are we keeping you, Ranked Operator McColl?” asked Agent Operator Henderson.
    “Yes,” said McColl, looking directly at Henderson on the screen in front of him.
    “No, sir. Sorry, sir,” said McColl, stumbling through the embarrassment brought on by his less than professional response. “Seriously, begging your pardon, Agent Operator Henderson, sir, I –”
    “At ease,” said Agent Operator Henderson, cutting McColl off, casually, while he looked down at his own watch. When he looked up again, McColl was staggered to see that Henderson appeared to be smiling, even though the screen never showed a very distinct image, and expressions were almost impossible to read.
    “It might interest you to know, McColl,” he said, “that your position as observer was required simply to make sure that we were getting as close to the truth as, if you’ll excuse the um... Well, as close to the truth as humanly possible. None of my questions to Strazinsky, and none of his answers could be validated without your presence.”
    “Yes, sir,” said McColl. “Still, sir...”
    “Don’t worry about it, McColl,” said Henderson. “If it’s any consolation, I was had in that style not once, but twice when I was Ranked, and one of those times was on Manoeuvres. I’m not sure I’ve lived it down, to this day. That’s why I worked my arse off to make Agent; I couldn’t take the mockery any longer.”
    Henderson appeared to be smiling again, but it was still impossible to tell, for sure.
    “That will be all,” he said.
    As Agent Operator Henderson got out of his chair, the screen switched to drifting snow.
    McColl and Strazinsky looked at each other, and sagged, visibly, with the relief of having got through the interview.
    “Well, that could’ve been worse,” said McColl.
    “Only for