“Oh dear!” said Snookums. “I’m sorry, Leda!” There was real anxiety in the voice.
“That’s all right, honey,” the girl said hurriedly. “This man isn’t hurt, so don’t get upset. Come along now, and we’ll go back to the lab. You shouldn’t come out like this without permission.”
Mike had noticed that the girl had kept one hand on her belt all the time she was talking—and that her thumb was holding down a small button on a case attached to the belt.
He had been wondering why, but he didn’t have to wonder long.
The door behind him opened again, and four men came out, obviously in a devil of a hurry. Each one of them was wearing a brassard labeled SECURITY POLICE.
At least, thought Mike the Angel as he turned to look them over, the brassards aren’t in all lower-case italics.
One of them jerked a thumb at Mike. “This the guy, Miss Crannon?”
The girl nodded. “That’s him. He saw Snookums. Take care of him.” She looked again at Mike. “I’m terribly sorry, really I am. But there’s no help for it.” Then, without another word, she opened the door and went back inside, and the robot rolled in after her.
As the door closed behind her, the SP man nearest Mike, a tough-looking bozo wearing an ensign’s insignia, said: “Let’s see your identification.”
Mike realized that his own parka had no insignia of rank on it, but he didn’t like the SP man’s tone.