
Plat’s nostrils flared.
Plat’s nose twitched at the smell of oil and machinery. More than most of the perfume-spoiled Higher Ones, he was used to odors of all sorts. He had been on the Surface and smelled the pungence of its growing fields and the fumes of its cities.
He said to the technician, “I am seriously thinking of building a new house and would like your advice as to the best possible location.”
The technician was amazed and electrified. “Thank you, Higher One. It has become so difficult to arrange the available power.”
“It is why l come to you.”
They talked at length, Plat asked a great many questions and when he returned to crystal level his mind was a maze of speculation. Two days passed in an agony of doubt. Then he remembered the shining dot, spiraling and spiraling, and the young, wondering eyes upon his own as Spinnev said, “They’re only Lower Ones.”
He made up his mind and applied for audience with the Sekjen.
The Sekjen’s drawling voice accentuated the boredom he did not care to hide. He said. “The Plats are of good family, yet you amuse yourself with technicians. I am told you speak to them as equals. I hope that it will not become necessary to remind you that your estates on the Surface require your care.”
That would have meant exile from Atlantis, of course.
Plat said, “It is necessary to watch the technicians, Sire. They are of Lower extraction.”
The Sekjen frowned. “Our Wave Commander has her job she takes care of such matters.”
“She docs her best, I have no doubt, Sire, but I havemade friends with the technicians. They are not safe. Would I have any other reason to soil my hands with them, but the safety of Atlantis.”
The Sekjen listened. First, doubtfully; then, with fear on his soft face. He said, “I shall have them in custody -”
“Softly, Sire,” said Plat. “We cannot do without them meanwhile, since none of us can man the guns and the antigravs. It would be better to give them no opportunity for rebellion. In two weeks the new theater will be dedicated with games and feasting.”
