"How do you feel now, Ed?" pursued Blair. "Happy in your work, content with the job and the pay and the living conditions? How are you going to feel two months from now?"
"I know that, Glenn. Believe me, I know exactly what you mean. Don't forget, I come from QB. If there's any way at all to fix that strike and save the cargo, I'll do it."
"What do you figure your chances, Ed?"
"It's hard to say, before we get a closer look. Maybe fifty-fifty."
"If I open the Section Five door and go in there and get that cargo out, what are the chances of the meteor being knocked out? Fifty-fifty?"
"Less than that, Glenn. You've only got half-pressure in there, you tell me." Wiley patted his shoulder. "We'll work it out," he said.
"I'm glad to hear it."
Blair left the office and took the elevator down to Section Two and his cubicle. As he was getting into his suit, there was a knock at the door. He grunted, and Ricks came in.
The two had been avoiding each other for the last two weeks, Ricks more obviously than Blair. Whenever one entered a room—mess hall or library or whatever—the other immediately left. When they passed one another in a corridor, they looked straight ahead with no acknowledgment.