He smacked his lips. "Wonderful!" Then, as she started away he called her back. "Do you know a Mr. Panek? I was to meet him here, but I don't see him."
Her eyes widened a bit at that name. "I'll see if I can locate him for you, sir," and she moved away.
Some minutes later, while he was still pretending to sip his drink, Hanlon felt a hearty clap on the shoulder.
"Well, well, it's my pal from the ship. Welcome to Sime, Pal, welcome to Sime."
"Hi, Panek! Hope you meant that about looking you up, 'cause here I am."
Hanlon flipped a credit note on the bar and followed Panek. He was led toward a back corner, but there, instead of going into one of the booths, Panek pushed through an almost hidden alcove. He knocked peculiarly on a door, and a peephole was opened. When the guardian saw who it was, the door was opened enough so the two could slide through.
Hanlon, in a quick, comprehensive glance, saw that it was a fairly large office, at present occupied by four men.
"This is George Hanlon," Panek introduced him, "the guy who did that job on old Abrams, the same guy."
Hanlon noticed that Panek did not name the men there, but he could see they appeared to know all about him, and were giving him a close once-over. Hanlon scanned back in return, his mind quickly touching one after another of the three sitting in large, easy chairs. Only their surface thoughts were readable, and he knew at first touch they were but underlings, the same as Panek. He read a favorable impression of himself, but with reservations.
He turned his attention to the well-dressed, impressive-looking man behind the plasticene desk, nor had his other probings taken more than a few seconds. He noted with interest the round, smooth face, the slightly over-large greenish eyes, the silver hair that seemed finer and silkier than any Hanlon had ever seen on a human being. It was almost like fine fur, he thought suddenly.