“Wyatt at lunch?” Tong nodded toward Algie’s empty desk.

“He’s been back from lunch for ages,” said Lidia defensively. Lunch at the Organization was officially one hour, and Algie was often overdue.

“They’re not renewing his contract.”

“What contract?”

“His Permanent Contract, of course.” Permanence, at the Organization, was viewed in blocks of five years, and a Permanent Contract was subject to quinquennial review. “The Terminations Board decided against renewing. They’re going to let him retire early instead.”

“But he doesn’t want to retire early. How unfair.”

“Another sort of place would have fired him.”

“And another sort of place would have promoted him.”

“Look—I like him too—everyone likes him—but there’s a limit.” Limits were often proudly cited at the Organization.

Lidia took up her pencil again. “He’s a good translator.”

“Well—that’s an opinion I never went along with. We worked together once, you know—on the Preliminary Survey of Intolerance. I had to correct him repeatedly.”

Lidia raised her eyebrows, but merely asked, “Do you get full pension if you’re retired before time?”

“Wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he ends up better off than we do.”

“Oh, come.”

“Well, at least they’re not firing him. They’re being decent. That’s one thing you can say for the Organization. They’re decent about this sort of thing. They wouldn’t fire him.”

“He’d get more money if they did.” (Certain indemnities were involved in the rupture of Permanence.) Lidia put her head back down to her work. “I’ve got to get on with this.”

Tong, passing Algie coming from the elevators, raised his hand in cordial greeting. “All O.K. with you, I hope, Wyatt?” (Tong was a man who could reverse himself in this way.)

“Splendid,” grunted Algie. (Algie was a man who could grunt such a word.) He went slowly along the corridor to the office he shared with Lidia.

An odd pair, Tong thought. He still had not told the news about Algie to his friend Pike in Inland Waterways on the floor below. Rather than wait for the elevator, he opened a dangerously heavy door marked “Sortie de Secours” and ran down the emergency stairs.

“Tong was here,” Lidia said.

“Saw him in the corridor.” Algie let himself into his chair. “Tong,” he mused. “The very word is like a bell.”

Lidia had no way of telling whether Algie had been informed that he was to be retired early. She would have liked to make him some show of solidarity but could only offer him a peppermint, which he refused.

“You free for lunch tomorrow?” she asked—Algie’s telegraphic manner of communication having rubbed off on her to some extent.

“Tomorrow—what’s tomorrow?” Algie turned several pages of his desk calendar. “Sorry, no. Lunching with Jaspersen. Could change it, perhaps?”