"My name is Hocking," said the apparition.

"I'm Reston." Spence's mouth was dry and he licked his lips, trying not to stare.

Hocking's body was painfully thin. Bones jutted out at sharp angles, and his head Wobbled uncertainly on his too-slender neck. Why isn't the man in a hospital bed somewhere? wondered Spence. He looked too weak to endure even sitting through the lecture.

Hocking rested in the hi-tech comfort of a pneumochair; his body, which could riot have weighed more than eighty pounds, sank into the supporting cushions. He looked like a mummy in a sarcophagus. A thin tangle of wires made it's way out of the base of Hocking's skull and disappeared into the headplate of the chair. Obviously mind-controlled, Spence considered; the chair probably monitored its occupant's vital sins as well.

"What level are you?" Spence heard his voice asking. It was an automatic question, one that opened every conversation between Gotham's inhabitants.

"A-level. Sector 1." Hocking blinked. Spence was immediately impressed. He had never heard of anyone reaching that designation. To most people it way, merely a theoretical possibility. "How about you?" Hocking nodded slightly in his direction. Spence hesitated. Ordinarily he would have been proud to share his designation, but it was embarrassing to him now.

"Oh, I'm C-level," he said, and let it go at that. Spence knew that most of his countrymen never progressed beyond the lower sectors of E-level. Even those allowed aboard advancement centers were mostly D-level-although none were ever below Sector 2.

Spence realized he was staring again, Hocking shifted his weight awkwardly in the chair. It was clear that he suffered from some neuromuscular ailment-lie had no muscle control at all, or at least very little. "I'm sorry," Spence said at: last. "It's just that I've never met an A-level before. You must be very proud of yourself." He knew it sounded foolish, but the words were already out.