‘I'm afraid this means the end of your job.'

‘Yes.' Mandy nodded, no longer smiling; her large eyes had become dark. ‘I can't understand why der Alte didn't veto that bill; Nicole was against it and so I was sure he would, right up to the last moment. My god, the government's got that time travel equipment; surely they can go ahead and see the harm this'll cause -- the impoverishment to our society.'

‘Maybe they did look ahead.' And he thought, there will be no impoverishment.

The office door opened. There stood the first patient of the day, Mr Gordon Rugge, pale with nervousness.

‘Ah, you came,' Dr Superb said. In fact, Rugge was early.

‘The bastards,' Rugge said. He was a tall, lean man, in his mid-thirties, well dressed; professionally he was a broker on Montgomery Street.

Behind Rugge appeared two plainclothes members of the City Police. They fixed their gaze on Dr Superb, waiting.

The reporting machines extended their hose-like receptors, sucking in data rapidly. For an interval no one moved or spoke.

‘Let's step into my inner office,' Dr Superb said to Mr Rugge. ‘And pick up where we left off last Friday.'

‘You're under arrest,' one of the two plainclothes police said at once. He advanced and handed Dr Superb a folded writ. ‘Come along.' Taking hold of Superb's arm he started to lead him towards the door; the other plainclothes man moved to the other side so that they had Superb between them. It was all done neatly, with no fuss.

To Mr Rugge, Dr Superb said, ‘I'm sorry, Gordon. Obviously there's nothing I can do by way of continuing your therapy.'

‘The rats want me to take drugs,' Rugge said bitterly. ‘And they know that pills make me sick; they're toxic to my particular system.'

‘It is interesting,' one of the reporting machines was murmuring, for the benefit of its TV audience, ‘to observe the loyalty of the analyst's patient. And yet, why not? This man has placed his faith in psychoanalysis possibly for years.'