'But -'
'Oh, I understand, Gwen. It's my fault. I worked you much too hard. But that is past.'
'Andre, you don't -'
'Yes, I do! I understand. You were going to sink the ship and go down with it. My poor, dear Gwen. A death wish! If you'd only paid attention to your Interdorma Telelog.'
'I didn't want to hurt anyone here, Andre. Only those two -'
'Yes, yes. I know. You're all mixed up.'
That's true.' She felt like crying. She hadn't cried ... since ... she couldn't remember when. 'You know,' she said, 'I can't remember ever crying.'
'That's it!' said Battlemont. 'I cry all the time. You need a stabilizing influence. You need someone to teach you how to cry.'
'Would you teach me, Andre?'
'Would I ...' He wiped the tears from his eyes. 'You are going on a vacation. Immediately! I am going with you.'
'Yes, Andre.'
'And when we return -'
'I don't want to come back to the agency, Andre. I ... can't.'
'So that's it!' said Battlemont. 'The advertising business! It bugs you!'
She shrugged. 'I'm ... I just can't face another campaign. I ... just ... can't.'
'You will write a book,' announced Battlemont.
'What?'
'Best therapy known,' said Battlemont. 'Did it myself once. You will write about the advertising business. You will expose all the dirty tricks: the hypno-jingles, the subvisual flicker images, the advertisers who finance textbooks to get their sell into them, the womb rooms where the you-seekers are programmed. Everything.'
'I could do it,' she said.
'You will tell all,' said Battlemont.
'Will I!'
'And you will do it under a pseudonym,' said Battlemont. 'Safer.'
'When do we start the vacation, Andre?'
'Tomorrow.' He experienced a moment of his old panic. 'You don't mind that I'm ... ugly as a pig?'
'You're just beautiful,' she said. She smoothed the hair across his bald spot. 'You don't mind that I'm smarter than you?'
'Ah, hah!' Battlemont drew himself to attention. 'You may be smarter in the head, my darling, but you are not smarter in the heart!'
The Worlds of Frank Herbert Page 24