Hal in Tavis's waiting room (p. 510)
Neither Hal, continually checking his chin for drool, nor Pemulis, scanning and bobbing, nor Ann Kittenplan nor Trevor Axford—about whom there was today not even a hint of the color blue—are in the mood for this right now, awaiting what they presume to be some kind of administrative fallout from Sunday’s horrendous Eschaton fiasco. The presumption is based on who’s been summoned here, to wait.
Context
The scene naming its own occasion: the map-collapse has become, forty-eight hours on, "Sunday's horrendous Eschaton fiasco," an administrative matter with a waiting room. The book files the epistemological catastrophe under discipline — what broke on the courts now gets processed as fallout.