With every step, Scott’s feet became heavier. It was as though some kind of unseen force was fighting to hold him at bay—to prevent him from moving ahead. The hour before his meeting had been both a blessing and a curse. It had given him time to collect his thoughts and prepare himself for what he was about to say. At the same time, it served as a doorway for doubt and reservation. Despite his apprehension, he kept moving. When he finally arrived in front of the door, he stopped. This is what I have to do, he thought. But it has to go beyond that. Is this what I want to do? For any other occasion, necessity would outrank desire. But for him—for this—it was different. The very nature of who he was demanded desire. He would be perfectly safe with The Machine. He’d hate himself, but he’d be safe. To do this right—to heal while humbling himself—would require going in with both feet. Was that really what he wanted to do? Yes it is. Reaching out, he opened the door. The immediate absence of operatives surprised him, but he soon saw that everyone was in the lounge.
