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should--" "I could kill you myself." Martin stands. "Get out." "I could be just like them, but I'm not. I really am not." He raises his arms and shouts, "No agreements, no pressure. I'd give it all up. Doctor, you can have it all ... Just get me out of this!" "I've told you what my limits are, Mr. Crest. I can give you the names of very discreet emergency therapists--" Crest stands and brushes off his elbows, though the chair arms are not dusty. His voice is steady now. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time. I'll feed fifty K into your accounts for your trouble." "No need," Martin says, knowing that his anger is completely inappropriate, but feeling very angry. Martin escorts Crest to the door. Crest pauses, turns as if to say something more, and then leaves. Martin sighs deeply, collects himself. He walks into the lobby a few minutes later. Arnold and Kim stare at him, sharing his relief and astonishment. They go to the window looking down on the street and see a small black limousine move into traffic three floors below. "That is the strangest encounter I've had in years," Martin says. He glances at Kim. "Evaluation?" "He's real close," Kim says. "He should go to a primary therapist." "That's what I told him. He wouldn't listen." "Then there's nothing we can do." Nevertheless, Martin feels a jab of guilt. He has not even re-applied for a federal license. He is sure he would be turned down--and that could be a black mark against his current practice. Like Crest, he, too, has a tortuous path to follow. "Doctor," Arnold says. "Ms. Carrilund got your touch and needs to respond right away. I wouldn't interrupt before the next client, but--" He thinks of Crest's situation, and how prevalent in the real world that kind of cruel competition must be, to drag down even the wealthiest. "I'll take it," Martin says. He returns to his office and faces the pad on the desk. Carrilund appears before him in complete detail, mid-fifties, white-blonde, in a stylishly tailored
    32 GEG
    commons suit with ruffle sleeves. She is handsome and aging naturally, and Martin concludes she must have been dangerously beautiful in her youth. In some respects she reminds him of Carol--but many women remind him of Carol now.
    "I'm glad you have time to talk, Dr. Burke," Carrilund begins. "Your work has been highly recommended by a number of our clients."
    "I'm pleased to hear that," Martin says. His mouth is still sour. He pours himself a glass of water from the carafe on his desk and takes a sip.
    "Have you noticed an increase in fallbacks in your practice?" Carrilund asks. "No. Most of my practice is with core therapy rejects."
    "I see. All of our clients with you now are CTRs, are they not?"
    "Yes."
    "Dr. Burke, my sources tell me you're likely to receive a flood of fallback
    and CTR clients in the next few months."
    "From your agency?" Martin asks.
    "Perhaps, but not necessarily through this office. We've had CTR notices on over half our clients going into primary therapy. That's not something I would
    like blown to the ribes, Dr. Burke, but it's not going to be a secret for long." Martin whistles. "Extraordinary," he says.
    "We've never seen rates higher than five percent in all the years I've been with Workers Inc. I was wondering if you'd be interested in participating in a little study."
    "I don't see why not--if this is a real, long-term problem. But as I said, in my practice, I would not notice such a trend until..." What she has said suddenly hits him. He feels a little queasy.
    "There are only five doctors in your line of work in the Corridor," Carrilund says. "I think you're going to see a big increase in your business."
    If her statistics were not just flukes, that would mean . . . He quickly calculates. Tens of thousands for each of the five. "I can't handle that kind of load."
    Carrilund smiles sympathetically. "It could be a big problem for us all. We'd like to work with you to learn the root causes... If there are any. We're looking at