He cleared his throat, feeling foolish. “Thanks, Tog,” he said.
“Not at all, Ronny. Why, this is my job.”
Was there the faintest of sarcasm in her voice? It hadn't been more than a couple of hours ago that he had been hinting rather heavily to Sid Jakes that he needed no assistance.
She even knew the layout of the West Greater Washington shuttleport. Her small body swiveled through the hurrying passengers, her small feet a-twinkle, as she led him to and down Corridor K and then to the desk at Exit Four.
Ronny anticipated her here. He flashed his own badge at the chair-borne Space Forces lieutenant there.
“Lieutenant Economou?” he said. “Ronald Bronston, of the Bureau of Investigation, Section G. We've got to get to Neuve Albuquerque soonest.”
The lieutenant, only mildly impressed, said, “We can have you in the air in ten minutes, citizen. Just a moment and I'll guide you myself.”
In the rocket, Ronny had time to appraise her at greater length. She was a delicately pretty thing, although her expression was inclined to the over-serious. There was only a touch of the Mongolian fold at the corner of her eyes. On her it looked unusually good. Her complexion was that which only the blend of Chinese and Caucasian can give. Her figure, thanks to her European blood, was fuller than Eastern Asia usually boasts; tiny, but full.
Let's admit it, he decided. My assistant is the cutest trick this side of a Tri-Di movie queen, and we're going [pg 031] to be thrown in the closest of juxtaposition for an indefinite time. This comes under the head of work?