"Honest result?" he echoed, and snorted. "Was your test honest? What really happened out there in space?"
"Nobody asked me," I said hotly. "My assignment was to test that gate until a part failed."
"A dishonest assignment," Cleary said. "Sit down a minute." We both calmed down and took our seats. I got a cigar out of my coat, peeled the wrapper and made counter-smoke. "Here, I'll give you an honest assignment, Seaman. You're a test engineer. Tell me what happened out there in space. Why did that switching operation fail?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," I said.
"Then find out!"
I chewed my cigar. "Without duplicating the conditions?" I protested. "And how can we? There's zero gravity—zero pressure—all sorts of things going on out there we can't duplicate in a lab."
"I really don't care how you do it," he said. "But if it were my job I'd just light my pipe and sit here and think for a week or so. Why don't you try it?"
I got up again. "Yes, sir," I said. "I suppose it would help to have the original telemetry data so that I could evaluate for myself what went wrong."
"I thought you'd get to that," he said, passing me a fat file-folder. "Here it is." He stood up, too, and led me to the door. "And other data you might want?" he asked, now a good deal more kindly. His hand was on my elbow.
I looked at him. "How about the phone number of the brunette out there?" I asked without taking the stogey from my teeth.