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THEN THE STORM!
Warders had to fight like lepertiges to hold the mob in check. The prison guards were blurs of motion with electric whips. They managed,jo hold the front of the room clear and keep Gris from being torn limb from limb, but only because somebody and then somebody else noticed that Lord Turn was banging his gong for all he was worth: they saw the motion, the sound was lost. He was also holding up his hand. Gradually, because Lord Turn was trying to say something, the din temporarily subsided. "HOWEVER!" shouted Turn into his amplifier, probably for the twentieth time, and when he could be heard, proceeded, "I shall have to hold Soltan Gris in custody, until I clarify the status of Jettero Heller. Soltan Gris may have done other crimes that only Heller is aware of. It is quite probable that Soltan Gris will not escape severe punishment or even execution yet. Warders! Return the prisoner to his cell. THIS TRIAL IS ENDED!" The crowd was slightly mollified. But groups of them, when driven from the court, went out screaming, "Death to the Apparatus!" Gris, on hearing the first finding, had soared to elation. Then, on hearing the second, had nose-dived into despair. He was dragged off, half-unconscious, to his cell, not even walking. Madison, watching Gris go, was in a turmoil of his own. He was scared stiff at what Teenie might be thinking or pla
Madison lived through the following day. It was awful for him. His best-laid plans had not worked! The trial developments had absolutely smothered the Heller issue. He felt that Heller had somehow sneaked up on him, giving those blackmail files to the Gris attorneys. Didn't Heller realize that Madison was only trying to make him immortal? Who could possibly object to that, much less actively thwart it? Confound these amateur interferences with PR! And that was not all that was bothering Madison: Teenie would be in an absolute fury! Deprived of her prey despite Madison's promises, there was no telling what she might do. Then there was the matter of Lombar Hisst: he would not be pleased at the way the Apparatus was being mauled. Madison wondered nervously if he was losing his grip. Maybe he was not neurotic enough lately and, as a consequence, maybe his genius was slipping. Standing at his bedroom window in the townhouse, gazing out over Joy City, he felt that his sphere of influence was collapsing. A pall of smoke was rising a quarter of a mile away. He heard some noise behind him and he said, "What's happening over there?" It was the circus girl, Flip. She had taken to making his bed lately and laying out his clothes and talking with i
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"I've got to think," said Madison. "Well, think while I'm working on you: you might get some great ideas. Here, put your hand____________________
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"Flip, run out and tell my reporters I want to see them in my office." "Oh, Chief, you don't need those (bleepards) to stand around and watch. They might get hot and pile in! They can't (bleep) worth a (bleep): we know; we tried them." She was taking her robe off. Firmly, he put it back on her. "Flip, please." "There's something weird about you, Chief. I mean it. Go get your own (bleep) reporters!" After she flounced out, Madison located Flick and had him form a reporter conference in his office. The five reporters, the horror story writer and, as a consultant, the director, soon stood around Madison's desk. "How do we stand?" said Madison. "We don't," said one of the reporters. "In every paper the Gris finding is all over the front page. To make it even worse, in addition to the shocker news of finding Gris not guilty, somebody gave the papers a photo taken last year at some farewell party for some tug and it shows him eating a human hand. It was probably cake but it's driving the country insane. They're screaming now that the Apparatus are ca