"Finogenov had a clay samovar sent up. Lemon and nutmeg, too. Real, by God, fresh lemons for the tea, the last time I was there. His own office is about ten by ten. Think of that. One hundred square feet. And a wooden desk. A wooden desk. And a chair. A wooden chair. Everything big and heavy. Everything. Weight, hell. Fifty pounds more or less—"
"They've got the power-plants for it."
"Do you think he did that deliberately?" Major Winship asked. "I think he's trying to force us off. I think he hoped for the quake. Gagarin's built to take it, I'll say that. Looks like it, anyhow. You don't suppose they planned this all along? Even if they didn't, they sure got the jump on us again, didn't they? I told you what he told me?"
"You told me," Capt. Wilkins said.
After a moment, Major Winship said bitterly, "To hell with the Russian engineer."
"If you've got all that power...."
"That's the thing. That's the thing that gripes me, know what I mean? It's just insane to send up a heavy wooden desk. That's showing off. Like a little kid."
"Maybe they don't make aluminum desks."
"They've—got—aluminum. Half of everything on the whole planet is aluminum. You know they're just showing off."