“Of course.”
“Even during working hours?” Metaxa scowled.
“When occasion calls.”
“Good,” Metaxa said. He poured two drinks. “You'll get your fill of seeing the galaxy,” he said. “Not that there's much to see. Man can settle only Earth-type planets and after you've seen a couple of hundred you've seen them all.”
Ronny sipped at his drink, then blinked reproachfully down into the glass.
Metaxa said, “Good, eh? A kind of tequila they make on Deneb Eight. Bunch of Mexicans settled there.”
“What,” said Ronny hoarsely, “do they make it out of?”
“Lord only knows,” Metaxa said. “To get back to Section G. We're Interplanetary Security. In short, Department Cloak and Dagger. Would you be willing to die for the United Planets, Bronston?”
That curve had come too fast. Ronny blinked again. “Only in emergency,” he said. “Who'd want to kill me?”
Metaxa poured another drink. “Many of the people you'll be working with,” he said.