After the meal, they retired with Elfor and several members of his staff to a quiet lounge. Like every other place they had seen in the building, it was lit with candelabra. They relaxed in comfortable, leather-covered chairs and the men enjoyed the long-forgotten luxury of good cigars. White-aproned servitors brought them wine in fragile, long-stemmed glasses.
"You asked about space travel from Earth," said Elfor. "Yes, you might call it at a low ebb. Yours is the first ship to blast down in fifty years, except the scout ships in the Jupiter sector.
"It is such an unusual occurrence that the Topkick is being informed daily of developments. When the men of your starship have been assured of our peaceful intentions, it will be hangared underground and the personnel quartered here until further orders from the Topkick. Meanwhile, you are the deevs of the hour and we shall drink to your return to Earth."
He stood and raised his glass. They all arose. The glasses clinked together.
"Conserve!" shouted the Third Sarge and gulped his wine.
It was a warm moment. For the first time, John felt the genuine glow, the thrill of homecoming, as he and Phil drained their glasses and performed the ancient rite of the spacemen when he sets foot on Earth once more. As in one motion, they hurled the empty glasses through the open door, to smash to pieces against the farther wall of the adjoining corridor. There was a second crashing tinkle on the heels of the first as the glasses of the women followed them closely.
It was only when he turned back to Elfor, his face alight, that John realized something was wrong. The Third Sarge stood with his mouth open in astonishment. There was something of horror on the faces of the other Earthmen. Dead silence hung in the room.
"Sleep in peace," said Elfor at last, in a strained voice. He turned on his heel and left the room. The staff members followed, coldly.
"Well, what do you make of that?" asked John, turning to the others with outspread hands. "Do you suppose those glasses were valuable heirlooms or something?"
"They looked like ordinary wine-glasses to me," said Fran. "I don't get it, but it looks like we slipped up somewhere."