Stan lowered himself to the padded seat, then leaned back. It was one of those deep armchairs which invite relaxation. The official touched a button, then leaned forward. "Tell me, Stanley," he said gently, "what were you doing in the Federation Building a few minutes ago?" Stan tried to lift a hand in a casual gesture, but it seemed stuck to the chair. He exerted more force, then twisted his body. But his arms and legs refused to move away from the upholstery. Mauson smiled. "Just a little precaution, Stanley. A gravito unit, you see. It may be unnecessary, but you do have a reputation for a certain--shall we say, competence. Although you have never demonstrated your abilities here, I see no reason for taking foolish chances." His smile faded. "Now, suppose you tell me all about that visit you made to the Federation Building." Stan forced himself to relax. Have to be careful, he thought. He forced a grin to his face. "Lunch," he said casually. "The Interstellar Room has a reputation all over Talburg, you know." He laughed easily. "Truth is, I got sort of homesick. Got a sudden urge to have a good dish of _delsau_. It's a sort of preserve we really enjoy at home." "Now, now." Mauson closed his eyes. "Try again. You should be able to do better than that." He tapped at some notes. "You were assigned to straighten out that man, Sornal, weren't you?" "Yes. I was, and I did." Stan found he had enough freedom to move his head. "He was just suffering from--" Mauson coughed dryly. "I have a report on that, too. You fed him some tea, talked for a while, then left him." Again, he tapped at his notes. "Then you came here and demanded the man's Personnel file. You read that and went directly to the Federation Building. Now, I'm not a completely stupid man. Don't try to make me believe you just wanted some exotic food." He poked a switch. "Wizow, will you step in here, please?" "Yes, Mauson?" The blocky production chief loomed through a door. He glanced at Stan. "Oh. You got him in here, then?" "Yes. Oh, he came in by himself. But now, he's trying to be a little coy. Suppose you reason with him." "Pleasure." Wizow strode forward to stand over the chair. He struck one hand into the palm of the other, twisting his wrist at each blow. For the first time since Stan had known him, he had a faint smile on his face. "I don't like you, Graham," he said. "I didn't like you the first time I saw you, and you haven't done a thing to change that first impression. "Thought you had something funny about you, the way you've always coddled the workmen. Looked as though you were running some sort of popularity contest." Again, he punched his palm. "And then, there were those suggestions of yours. Smart words--always pushing the wrong people off balance, like other staffmen." The smile became one-sided. "You know, you haven't made yourself too popular around here. Not with the people that count. I've been getting complaints.