His eyes were level with the top of her head as she stood before him, removing the junior executive's insignia from his coat lapels. She worked deftly, her face warmly placid. She placed the old, plain stars on the table beside her and picked up the rayed stars of the senior executive.
Quickly she fixed them in his lapels, and then stood back a step. She gave him a soft salute, which he returned. Then she stepped forward and kissed him chastely.
"Ah, fine!" boomed the voice of Andrew Greggor from the doorway. "The old ritual! That makes you official, Guy. Like the old superstition about a ship that is launched without a proper christening, no officer will succeed whose insignia is not first pinned on by a woman. Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir," said Guy, taking the extended hand.
"Now," said Greggor, "dinner is served. Come along, and we'll toast my loss of a fine secretarial assistant. Your swivel-chair command is over, Guy."
"We're not sorry," said Laura. "After all, what glory is there in doing space hopping in a desk-officer's job?"
"None," agreed her father.
"He'll get some now," Laura assured the men.
"If those experiments turn out correct," said Greggor to Guy Maynard over Laura's head, "you sure will. Funny, though, I still considered you as my assistant until they handed you the senior's rank."
"Still had your brand on him?" laughed Laura.