"And that statement, I believe, is the voice of education, of training, of conditioning. I doubt that you really know what is good for you!"
"We'll never know," said Maynard.
"No, please God," said Jerimick, fervently. "But both of us have work to do." He scribbled on a printed form, filling out less than one quarter of the spaces, and handed it to Guy. "Through that door and to your right. The medical examiner will O.K. you first, and then you'll be sent direct to your job. Luck, Gomanar."
"Thank you," replied Guy, worrying slightly about the examiner.
He discovered that the examination was as sketchy as the filled-in hiring-form. Within an hour he was seated at a bench with tools and equipment before him, and was whistling a cheery but tuneless melody as he delved into the insides of a small traffic-control that must be intended for local flier-traffic.
And so Guy Maynard came to Ertene.
XVI.
In the days that passed, Guy noted a tendency to show him deference. He could not understand, though he tried, why they would single him out above the others. When he needed a tool, and his actions showed that he was in search, a mere question brought immediate—not only results—but delivery to his bench.
They stood aside as he approached narrow passageways, and in a tight corridor they would back up all the way without a word. His own offer of retreat went unwanted; the other party retreated and waited with a smile until Guy decided that they had reached an impasse and went himself since the other obviously had no intention of moving.