He straightened and his coat drew tight across chest and shoulders. The sleeves pulled up above hands that felt average, but that the mirror showed to be huge and broad. Dan turned to go out in the hall and had to duck to avoid banging his head on the door frame. On the way down the hall, he wondered just what sort of job he had drawn this time.
Dan stopped at a door lettered:
A SECTION
J. KIELGAARD
DIRECTOR
A pretty receptionist goggled at him and said to go in. Dan opened the inner door.
Kielgaard—big, stocky, expensively dressed—looked up and studied Dan as he came in. Apparently satisfied, he offered a chair, then took out a small plastic cartridge and held it in one hand.
"Dan," he said, "what do you know about subspace and null-points?"
"Practically nothing," admitted Dan honestly.