Wilson paused uncertainly. The elder man's insistence was vaguely disquieting. "I don't like this."
The other eyed him narrowly. "Wouldn't you like a drink before you go?"
Wilson most assuredly would. Right at the moment a stiff drink seemed the most desirable thing on Earth-or in time. "Okay."
"Come with me." The older man led him back of the structure near the wall and through a door which led into a passageway. He walked briskly; Wilson hurried to keep up.
"By the way," he asked, as they continued down the long passage, "what is your name?"
"My name? You may call me Diktor―everyone else does.
"O. K., Diktor. Do you want my name?"
"Your name?" Diktor chuckled. "I know your name. It's Bob Wilson."
"Huh? Oh―I suppose Joe told you."
"Joe? I know no one by that name."