"But—"
"Tell her the traffic was too much. Don't tell her we couldn't get to the street. That goes for everybody else too!"
"But ... why?" Colborn got out.
"Why? You want the D.I.R. boys throwing this up to us every time I try to get money out of them for the bare necessities of our operation? We can get people out of dungeons on planets not even in the Galatlas, but can't even escape from our own little hideaway?"
"It never happened," Parrish agreed quickly.
"Damn' right!" said Smith. "Okay, Bob, push the button! Go with him, Willie! You girls—nobody in before noon tomorrow; we have an extra TV operator to take care of things."
"Look, I...." Colborn started to say as he stepped out of Westervelt's way.
"Aw, thanks for phoning in the first place," grinned Smith, punching him lightly on the shoulder. "Wait for me downstairs, Willie! We'll see what we can do about Harris tomorrow!"
"Appoint him an ambassador," muttered Westervelt, coming up behind Lydman as the elevator door slid smoothly open.
What an outfit! he thought to himself. I'm going to apply for field duty, where you can get out among the stars and let someone else figure ways to keep you out of trouble.