He went inside. The dog sedately followed. The interior of the building was singularly empty. There was a sort of resonant silence until somewhere a telewriter began to click.
"Come along," said Hardwick. "The Sector Chief's office is over this way."
Young Barnes followed uncomfortably.
"It seems odd there's no one around. No secretaries, no sentries, nobody at all."
"Why should there be?" asked Hardwick in surprise. "The guards at the gate keep civilians out. And nobody in the Service will bother the Chief without reason. At least, not more than once!"
But across a glistening, empty floor there ran an ominous crack.
They went down a corridor. Voices sounded, and Hardwick tracked them, with the paws of the dog clicking on the floor behind him. He led the way into a spacious, comfortably nondescript room with high windows—doors, really—that opened on green lawn outside. The Sector Chief, Sandringham, leaned placidly back in a chair, smoking. Werner, the other summoned Senior Officer, sat bolt upright in a chair facing him. Sandringham waved a hand cordially to Hardwick.
"Back so soon? You're ahead of schedule on all counts! Here's Werner, back from looking at the fuel-store situation."
Hardwick suddenly looked as if he'd been jolted. But he nodded, and Werner tried to smile and failed. He was completely white.
"My pilot from the ship, who's kept aground," said Hardwick. "Lieutenant Barnes. Very promising young officer. Cut my landing-time by hours. Lieutenant, this is Sector Chief Sandringham and Mr. Werner."