Cramer was still considering how he might snatch the capsule away when the Captain dropped it back into a self-locking pocket of his suit. The cab had stopped before the sleekest tower on Boulevard Radial. Hartley jumped out, waving for Cramer to follow.
The elevator had several other people in it, all of whom eyed the Probationary badge with distaste. Any attempt to subdue Hartley would receive no support from these super-respectables.
The two of them got off at the eighty-seventh floor and were ushered into a vast, luxuriously-decorated chamber. About a dozen men and women were scattered about the room, boredly watching a color symphony unfold on one wall. They were all dressed in the sort of highest fashion glitter which evoked as much disgust as amusement among most space workers. But Hartley was obviously not typical of his breed; he enjoyed coming among these people, livening up as soon as he saw them.
A tall, blonde man came slowly toward them, wearily rejoicing. "So glad to see you, Hartley. Ah, a Probationary in tow—well, any Probationary is a fellow friend in the kingdom of chaos."
Hartley perfunctorily introduced them, then glanced around. "Drinking nectar?"
"It kills time, can't do any damage and—I know what you're going to say," he grinned, "it's a bore!"
"Well, it is, you should be on to something stronger."
"You gone space gaga?"
"Not at all, Neilson."
"Who would bother with what isn't safe? Everyone knows down to the last nerve tremor the consequences of really good stimulants. We've seen it, smella- and feela-visioned it through social indoctrination procedures to the point where no one would dare. All we can do is stick to the legally permissible alkaloid-heightened caffein derivatives."