"Yes, if Miss Westland knows where to find you." "She will. I'll inform her of my whereabouts." "I may want to consult you after I read the reports." "That will be all right. The autocall can find me anywhere on Venus Equilateral, if I'm not at the place Miss Westland calls." * * * * * Don Channing stopped at Arden's desk. "I'm booted," he told her. "Leaving Venus Equilateral?" she asked with concern. "No, blond and beautiful, I'm just shunted back to my own office." "Can't I go with you?" pleaded the girl. "Nope. You are to stay here and be a nice, good-looking Mata Hari. This bird seems to think that he can run Interplanetary Communications like a bus or a factory. I know the type, and the first thing he'll do is to run Interplanetary Communications into a snarl. Keep me informed of anything complicated, will you?" "Sure. And where are you going now?" "I'm going down and get Walt Franks. We're going to inspect the transparency of a new type of glass." "I didn't know that optical investigations come under your jurisdiction." "This investigation will consist of a visit to the ninth level." "Can't you take me along?" "Not today," he grinned. "Your new boss does not believe in the evils of looking through the bottom of a glass. We must behave with decor. We must forget fun. We are now operating under a man who will commercialize electronics to a fine art." "Don't get stewed. He may want to know where the electrons are kept." "I'm not going to drink that much. Walt and I need a discussion," he said. "And in the meantime, haul my spinach out of the office, will you, and take it back to the electronics office. I'll be needing it back there." "O.K., Don," she said. "I'll see you later." Channing left to go to the ninth level. He stopped long enough to collect Walt Franks. Over a tall glass of beer, Channing told Franks of Burbank's visit. And why. Only one thing stuck in Franks' mind. "Did you say that he might close Joe's?" asked Franks. "He said that if it were in his power to do so, he would." "Heaven forbid. Where will we go to be alone?" "Alone?" snorted Channing. The barroom was half filled with people, being the only drinking establishment for sixty-odd million miles. "Well, you know what I mean." "I could smuggle in a few cases of beer," suggested Don. "Couldn't we smuggle him out?" "That would be desirable. But I think he is here to stay. Darn it all, why do they have to appoint some confounded political pal to a job like this? I'm telling you, Walt, he must weigh two hundred if he weighs a pound. He holds his stomach on his lap when he sits down." Walt looked up and down Channing's slender figure. "Well, he won't be holding Westland on his lap if it is filled with stomach." "I never hold Westland on my lap--" "No?"