Stan shook his head impatiently and moved aside. Again, the man was in front of him, blocking his view. Again, Stan moved.
The third time the man blocked his view, Stan touched his shoulder.
"Hey, Chum," he said mildly, "how about holding still a while. The rest of us would sort of like to see, too."
For several seconds, the other froze. Then he whirled, to present a scowling face.
"Who you pushing around, little rat? Keep your greasy paws to yourself, see." He turned again, then took a sudden, heavy step back.
Stan moved his foot aside and the man's heel banged down on the stone floor. For a heartbeat, Stan regarded the fellow consideringly, then he shook his head.
"Stay in orbit, remember?" he told himself. He moved aside, going to the other side of the group around the fabricator.
Now he remembered the man. Val Vernay had been working on the fabricators when Stan had come to the shop.
Somehow, he had never run an acceptable program, but he hung around the demonstrations, unable to comprehend the explanations—resentful of those who showed aptitude.
He glanced aside as Stan moved, then pushed his way across until he was again in front of the smaller man. Stan sighed resignedly.