"In other words, efficiency depends on what you need to effish," Ellen bantered. She grew grave once more and studied him for a while before she mused, "The same person who swung a pick, a couple of years ago, now deals with something as marvelous as this...." He forgot about worrying.
But he remembered later, when the gig had left and Chung called him to his office. Avis came too, by request. As she entered, she asked why.
"You were visiting your folks Earthside last year," Chung said. "Nobody else in the Station has been back as recently as that."
"What can I tell you?"
"I'm not sure. Background, perhaps. The feel of the place. We don't really know, out in the Belt, what's going on there. The beamcast news is hardly a trickle. Besides, you have more common sense in your left little toe than that big mick yonder has on his entire copperplated head."
They seated themselves in the cobwebby low-gee chairs around Chung's desk. Blades took out his pipe and filled the bowl with his tobacco ration for today. Wouldn't it be great, he thought dreamily, if this old briar turned out to be an Aladdin's lamp, and the smoke condensed into a blonde she-Canadian—?
"Wake up, will you?" Chung barked.
"Huh?" Blades started. "Oh. Sure. What's the matter? You look like a fish on Friday."
"Maybe with reason. Did you notice anything unusual with that party you were escorting?"