“I don’t know, Commander,” said the ensign. “I understand that several new men have come in today, but I don’t know all of them. You’d better talk to Dr. Fitzhugh.”
“Such are the beauties of security,” said Mike the Angel. “Where can I find this Dr. Fitzhugh?”
The security man looked at his wrist watch. “He’s down in the cafeteria now, sir. It’s coffee time, and Doc Fitzhugh is as regular as a satellite orbit.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say ‘clockwork,’” Mike told him. “I’ve had enough dealings with machines today. Where is this coffee haven?”
The ensign gave directions for reaching the cafeteria, and Mike pushed open the door marked entrance. He had to pass through another inner door guarded by another pair of SP men who checked his ID card again, then he had to ramble through hallways that went off at queer angles to each other, but he finally found the cafeteria.
He nabbed the first passer-by and asked him to point out Dr. Fitzhugh. The passer-by was obliging; he indicated a smallish, elderly man who was sitting by himself at one of the tables.
Mike made his way through the tray-carrying hordes that were milling about, and finally ended up at the table where the smallish man was sitting.
“Dr. Fitzhugh?” Mike offered his hand. “I’m Commander Gabriel. Minister Wallingford appointed me Engineering Officer of the Branchell.”
Dr. Fitzhugh shook Mike’s hand with apparent pleasure. “Oh yes. Sit down, Commander. What can I do for you?”
Mike had already peeled off his electroparka. He hung it over the back of a chair and said: “Mind if I grab a cup of coffee, Doctor? I’ve just come from topside, and I think the cold has made its way clean to my bones.” He paused. “Would you like another cup?”