The unity control building filled virtually the whole business area of Geneva, a great imposing square of white concrete and steel. Its endless rows of windows glittered in the later afternoon sun; lawns and shrubs surrounded the structure on all sides; gray-clad men and women hurried up the wide marble steps and through the doors.
Jason Dill's car pulled up at the guarded Director's entrance. He stepped quickly out and held the door open, "Come along," he said.
For a moment Marion Fields remained in the car, unwilling to leave. The leather seats had given her a sense of security, and she sat looking out at the man standing on the sidewalk, trying to control her fear of him. The man smiled at her, but she had no confidence in the smile; she had seen it too many times on the public television. It was too much a part of the world that she had been taught to distrust.
"Why?" she said. "What are you going to do?" But at last she slid slowly from the car onto the pavement. She was not sure where she was; the rapid trip had confused her.
"I'm sorry you had to leave your possessions behind," Dill said to her. He took hold of her hand and led her firmly up the steps of the great building. "We'll replace them," he said. "And we'll see that you have a pleasant time here with us; I promise you, on my word of honor." He glanced down to see how she was taking it.
The long echoing hall stretched out ahead of them, lit by recessed lights. Distant figures, tiny human shapes, scampered back and forth from one office to another. To the girl, it was like an even larger school; it was everything she had been subjected to but on a much larger scale.
"I want to go home," she said,
"This way," Dill said in a cheerful voice, as he guided her along. "You won't be lonely because there are a lot of nice people who work here who have children of their own, girls of their own. And they'll be glad to bring their children by so you can have someone to play with. Won't that be nice?"