When I went in, Bish rose from his desk and came to meet me, shaking my hand. He looked and was dressed like the old Bish Ware I'd always known.
"Glad you dropped in, Walt. Find a seat. How are things on the Times?"
"You ought to know. You're making things busy for us."
"Yes. There's so much to do, and so little time to do it. Seems as though I've heard somebody say that before."
"Are you going back to Terra on the Simón Bolivar?"
"Oh, Allah forbid! I made a trip on a destroyer, once, and once is enough for a lifetime. I won't even be able to go on the Cape Canaveral; I'll take the Peenemünde when she gets in. I'm glad MacBride—Dr. Watson—is going to stop off. He'll be a big help. Don't know what I'd have done without Ranjit Singh."
"That won't be till after the Cape Canaveral gets back from Terra."
"No. That's why I'm waiting. Don't publish this, Walt, I don't want to start any premature rumors that might end in disappointments, but I've recommended immediate reclassification to Class III, and there may be a Colonial Office man on the Cape Canaveral when she gets in. Resident-Agent, permanent. I hope so; he'll need a little breaking in."
"I saw Tom Kivelson this morning," I said. "He seems to be getting along pretty well."
"Didn't anybody at the hospital tell you about him?" Bish asked.