Tremaine's chin lifted. Because that's the way I want it, that's why, you repulsive creep. I'm not about to have six copies of my unpublished manuscript floating around. He made himself relax. “That's a good question, Doctor,” he said with an appreciative and thoughtful nod, “but the fact is"-he patted the thick burgundy-leather binder in front of him-"that this is the only copy of the manuscript in existence."

"Is something stopping you from making more? How much would it cost? If you look at it from a cost-benefit perspective, the time saved would more than compensate for the few out-of-pocket dollars expended."

Cost-benefit analysis? Dollars expended? Was the man a dentist or a bureaucrat? Both, now that Tremaine thought about it. If he remembered correctly, Fisk owned a seedy chain of dentures-while-you-wait establishments in Chicago.

Tremaine turned the full force of his craggy smile on him. “I'm sure you're right. It's just that it seems to me that the, er, relational dynamics produced by our, our interfacing would produce a productive level of, of…” He took a breath and finished strongly. “…of metacommunication over and above that possible in a series of essentially one-on-one transactions."

This dubious and high-flown melange had come from a “Voyages” program on “communication science,” which his producer had talked him into doing a year or so ago. The entire subject had seemed like pretentious claptrap to him at the time, and still did. But it had gotten good ratings, and here it was, proving quite useful after all: Fisk, after opening his hairy mouth somewhat in the manner of a startled carp and making a few chewing motions, fell back silent.