Faintly, a voice answered, "Try the city manager's office."

The city manager's office was a tight little cubby an eighth of a kilometer deep within the tangled maze of administrative and service tunnels.  It had never been very important in the scheme of things.  The city manager's prime duties were keeping the air and water replenished and scheduling airlock inspections, functions any computer could handle better than a man had they dared trust them to a machine.  The room had probably never been as crowded as it was now.  Dozens of people suited for full vacuum spilled out into the hall, anxiously listening to Ekatarina confer with the city's Crisis Management Program.  Gunther pushed in as close as he could; even so, he could barely see her.

"--the locks, the farms and utilities, and we've locked away all the remotes.  What comes next?"

Ekatarina's peecee hung from her work harness, amplifying the CMP's silent voice. "Now that elementary control has been established, second priority must go to the industrial sector.  The factories must be locked down.  The reactors must be put to sleep.  There is not sufficient human supervisory presence to keep them running.  The factories have mothballing programs available upon request.

"Third, the farms cannot tolerate neglect.  Fifteen minutes without oxygen, and all the tilapia will die.  The calimari are even more delicate.  Three experienced agricultural components must be assigned immediately.  Double that number, if you only have inexperienced components.  Advisory software is available.  What are your resources?"

"Let me get back to you on that.  What else?"

"What about the people?" a man asked belligerantly.  "What the hell are you worrying about factories for, when our people are in the state they're in?"

Izmailova looked up sharply.  "You're one of Chang's research components, aren't you?  Why are you here?  Isn't there enough for you to do?"  She looked about, as if abruptly awakened from sleep.  "All of you!  What are you waiting for?"

"You can't put us off that easily!  Who made you the little brass-plated general?  We don't have to take orders from you."

The bystanders shuffled uncomfortably, not leaving, waiting to take their cue from each other.  Their suits were as good as identical in this crush, their helmets blank and expressionless.  They looked like so many ambulatory eggs.

The crowd's mood balanced on the instant, ready to fall into acceptance or anger with a featherweight's push.  Gunther raised an arm.  "General!" he said loudly.  "Private Weil here!  I'm awaiting my orders.  Tell me what to do."

Laughter rippled through the room, and the tension eased.  Ekatarina said, "Take whoever's nearest you, and start clearing the afflicted out of the administrative areas.  Guide them out toward the open, where they won't be so likely to hurt themselves.  Whenever you get a room or corridor emptied, lock it up tight.  Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am."  He tapped the suit nearest him, and its helmet dipped in a curt nod.  But when they turned to leave, their way was blocked by the crush of bodies.

"You!"  Ekatarina jabbed a finger.  "Go to the farmlocks and foam them shut; I don't want any chance of getting them contaminated.  Anyone with experience running factories--that's most of us, I think--should find a remote and get to work shutting the things down.  The CMP will help direct you.  If you have nothing else to do, buddy up and work at clearing out the corridors.  I'll call a general meeting when we've put together a more comprehensive plan of action."  She paused.  "What have I left out?"

Surprisingly, the CMP answered her:  "There are twenty-three children in the city, two of them seven-year-old prelegals and the rest five years of age or younger, offspring of registered-permanent lunar components.  Standing directives are that children be given special care and protection.  The third-level chapel can be converted to a care center.  Word should be spread that as they are found, the children are to be brought there.  Assign one reliable individual to oversee them."

"My God, yes."  She turned to the belligerent man from the Center, and snapped, "Do it."

He hesitated, then saluted ironically and turned to go.

That broke the logjam.  The crowd began to disperse.  Gunther and his co-worker--it turned out to be Liza Nagenda, another ground-rat like himself --set to work.

In after years Gunther was to remember this period as a time when his life entered a dark tunnel.  For long, nightmarish hours he and Liza shuffled from office to storage room, struggling to move the afflicted out of the corporate areas and into the light.

The afflicted did not cooperate.

The first few rooms they entered were empty.  In the fourth, a distraught-looking woman was furiously going through drawers and files and flinging their contents away.  Trash covered the floor.  "It's in here somewhere, it's in here somewhere," she said frantically.

"What's in there, darling?" Gunther said soothingly.  He had to speak loudly so he could be heard through his helmet.  "What are you looking for?"

She tilted her head up with a smile of impish delight.  Using both hands, she smoothed back her hair, elbows high, pushing it straight over her skull, then tucking in stray strands behind her ears.  "It doesn't matter, because I'm sure to find it now.  Two scarabs appear, and between them the blazing disk of the sun, that's a good omen, not to mention being an analogy for sex.  I've had sex, all the sex anyone could want, buggered behind the outhouse by the lizard king when I was nine.  What did I care?  I had wings then and thought that I could fly."

Gunther edged a little closer.  "You're not making any sense at all."

"You know, Tolstoy said there was a green stick in the woods behind his house that once found would cause all men to love one another.  I believe in that green stick as a basic principle of physical existence.  The universe exists in a matrix of four dimensions which we can perceive and seven which we cannot, which is why we experience peace and brotherhood as a seven-dimensional greenstick phenomenon."

"You've got to listen to me."

"Why?  You gonna tell me Hitler is dead?  I don't believe in that kind of crap."

"Oh hell," Nagenda said.  "You can't reason with a flick.  Just grab her arms and we'll chuck her out."

It wasn't that easy, though.  The woman was afraid of them.  Whenever  they approached her, she slipped fearfully away.  If they moved slowly, they could not corner her, and when they both rushed her, she leaped up over a desk and then down into the kneehole.  Nagenda grabbed her legs and pulled.  The woman wailed, and clutched at the knees of her suit.  "Get offa me," Liza snarled.   "Gunther, get this crazy woman off my damn legs."

"Don't kill me!" the woman screamed.  "I've always voted twice--you know I did.  I told them you were a gangster, but I was wrong.  Don't take the oxygen out of my lungs!""

They got the woman out of the office, then lost her again when Gunther turned to lock the door.  She went fluttering down the corridor with Nagenda in hot pursuit.  Then she dove into another office, and they had to start all over again.

It took over an hour to drive the woman from the corridors and release her into the park.  The next three went quickly enough by contrast.  The one after that was difficult again, and the fifth turned out to be the first woman they had encountered, wandered back to look for her office.  When they'd brought her to the open again, Liza Nagenda said, "That's four flicks down and three thousand, eight hundred fifty-eight to go."

"Look--" Gunther began.   And then Krishna's voice sounded over his trance chip, stiffly and with exaggerated clarity.  "Everyone is to go to the central lake immediately for an organizational meeting.  Repeat:  Go to the lake immediately.  Go to the lake now."  He was obviously speaking over a jury-rigged transmitter.  The sound was bad and his voice boomed and popped on the chip.