"Romm! Dammit, if you weren't my boss, I'd kick you where it would do the most good!"
Parmay turned solemnly, presenting his gluteal region for assault.
"Go ahead," he said sorrowfully, "I'm not the boss any more."
"All right, you're asking—what? What did you say?"
Parmay turned back to face Kerrman. The grin on his face threatened to break into laughter.
"Let you be the first to congratulate me. You are gazing at the Chief of Psychological Contact."
"Contact!" Kerrman grinned back. "You mean you're going out with the fleet?"
"Right. They just told me. I've got to get myself a group together, one for each hypersee ship. So far, I am the head cheese of a totally nonexistent group; I'm nobody's boss."
"Need a good assistant?" Kerrman asked hopefully.
"No, I need a good contact here. You've got my job now, and more. There isn't room on a ship to carry a complete psych analyzer, much less a synthesizer, so, for anything I dig up, you'll have to do most of the math."