"Thought you two ought to get together," Andrusco said, reaching for his hat. "Think he can help a lot, Tom. Talk it over."
"Well—suppose we have a drink, Sergeant? That fit your plans all right?"
"Suits me," the man said, without emotion.
They went down in the elevator together, and slid into a red-leather booth in the Tuscany Bar in the base of the building. The sergeant ordered a double Scotch, and gulped it with the same respect you give water.
"So you've been in space," Tom said, looking at him curiously. "Must have been quite an experience."
"Yeah."
"Er—I take it you've left the service."
"Yeah."
Tom frowned, and sipped his martini. "How many trips did you make, Sergeant?"
"Just one. Reconnaissance Moon Flight Four. About six years ago. You must have read about it."