"Wait a minute, squirt," the second man said. "Now, listen, Curt, did you make the contacts you—"
The negro brushed the others impatiently aside, tugged at Curt's arm. He smiled, and his teeth were a solid bar of white across ebony.
"Come on with me, Boss," he ordered. "You've got some cleaning up to do."
"Dammit, Curt—" Schutler began petulantly.
"Curt, those reports mus—" the second man said impatiently.
The Falcon gestured wearily. "That can wait for a time, Crandal. Right now, I need food and a bit of medical care." He grinned. "Anyway, I've a guest to show around the Base."
"A guest?" Schutler asked.
"Come out, Jean," Curt Varga called. Jean Harlon stepped from the lock, utterly lovely and feminine. She stared with puzzled eyes at the men standing with the Falcon.
"Why do you permit such liberties with the men you rule?" she asked.
Schutler laughed delightedly, the sound rolling and booming. "A new convert, Curt?" he said, then laughed again, and swept the startled girl into the circle of his arms. "Welcome to the snake's den," he finished happily.