Jack Kinnison dashed to the nearest window, threw it open, and dived headlong out of the building.
[CHAPTER 14]
The employment office of any concern with personnel running into the hundreds of thousands is a busy place indeed, even when its plants are all on Tellus and its working conditions are as nearly ideal as such things can be made. When that firm's business is Colonial, however, and its working conditions are only a couple of degrees removed from slavery, procurement of personnel is a first-magnitude problem; the Personnel Department, like Alice in Wonderland, must run as fast as it can go in order to stay where it is. Thus the "Help Wanted" advertisements of Uranium, Incorporated covered the planet Earth with blandishment and guile; and thus for twelve hours of every day and for seven days of every week the employment offices of Uranium, Inc. were filled with men—mostly the scum of Earth.
There were, of course, exceptions; one of which strode through the motley group of waiting men and thrust a card through the "Information" wicket. He was a chunky-looking individual, appearing shorter than his actual five feet nine because of a hundred and ninety pounds of weight—even though every pound was placed exactly where it would do the most good. He looked—well, slouchy—and his mien was sullen.
"Birkenfeld—by appointment," he growled through the wicket, in a voice which could have been pleasantly deep.
The coolly efficient blonde manipulated plugs. "Mr. George W. Jones, sir, by appointment.... Thank you, sir," and Mr. Jones was escorted into Mr. Birkenfeld's private office.
"Have a chair, please, Mr. ... er ... Jones."
"So you know?"
"Yes. It is seldom that a man of your education, training, and demonstrated ability applies to us for employment of his own initiative, and a very thorough investigation is indicated."