matter of going through the formal motions.

Dal felt the motors change in pitch, and the needle-nosed shuttle plane
began to dip once more toward the horizon. Ahead he could see the
sprawling lights of Hospital Seattle, stretching from the Cascade
Mountains to the sea and beyond, north to Alaska and south toward the
great California metropolitan centers. Somewhere down there was a
council room where a dozen of the most powerful physicians on Hospital
Earth, now sleeping soundly, would be meeting tomorrow for a trial that
was already over, to pass a judgment that was already decided.

He slipped Fuzzy back into his pocket, shouldered his pack, and waited
for the ship to come down for its landing. It would be nice, he thought
wryly, if his reservations for sleeping quarters in the students'
barracks might at least be honored, but now he wasn't even sure of that.

In the port of Seattle he went through the customary baggage check. He
saw the clerk frown at his ill-fitting clothes and not-quite-human face,
and then read his passage permit carefully before brushing him on
through. Then he joined the crowd of travelers heading for the city
subways. He didn't hear the loudspeaker blaring until the announcer had
stumbled over his name half a dozen times.

"_Doctor Dal Timgar, please report to the information booth._"

He hurried back to central information. "You were paging me. What is
it?"

"Telephone message, sir," the announcer said, his voice surprisingly
respectful. "A top priority call. Just a minute."