Joe turned away. He would have liked to have gone out and handled the job himself, but there were too many other matters at hand. Too many executive matters. Joe gagged on that word. It made him think of plump, jolly men at luncheon clubs.
It was six-thirty, and the evening crews had come on, when he folded up his papers and decided to call it a day. Many of the customers insisted on continuous attention to their needs, so Joe had long ago gone on a round-the-clock basis. He wondered how they were coming on the Nerane ship.
Even as he thought about it, his phone buzzed and Litchfield, Chief Repair Engineer, spoke:
"Joe? This Nerane IV ship is a screwball setup. We can't find anything wrong with the thing. It's a heavy-water outfit with a type eight drive and a few modifications. As far as we can see it's in perfect working order. The Neranians say it goes all right up to about half cee, but the super-cee won't throw in. We've checked it with the Manson field, and it works perfectly as far as we can see. I don't think these soap-brains know how to run the ship."
"Were there only two of them aboard as Perkins said?"
"That's right."
"How about their mensa? That's the little monkeys that they use to do the heavy work. Telepathic symbiosis."
"Didn't see anything of them. Just these two crabshells."
"Well — it's none of our business if things aren't according to Hoyle with the customers. You're sure they're Neranians?"
"I'm not sure of anything. They look like the pictures in our library books."