He looked and was dressed like the old Bish Ware I'd always
known.
"Glad you dropped in, Walt. Find a seat. How are things on the
_Times_?"
"You ought to know. You're making things busy for us."
"Yes. There's so much to do, and so little time to do it. Seems as
though I've heard somebody say that before."
"Are you going back to Terra on the _Simon Bolivar_?"
"Oh, Allah forbid! I made a trip on a destroyer, once, and once is
enough for a lifetime. I won't even be able to go on the _Cape
Canaveral_; I'll take the _Peenemuende_ when she gets in. I'm glad
MacBride--Dr. Watson--is going to stop off. He'll be a big help. Don't
know what I'd have done without Ranjit Singh."
"That won't be till after the _Cape Canaveral_ gets back from Terra."
"No. That's why I'm waiting. Don't publish this, Walt, I don't want to
start any premature rumors that might end in disappointments, but I've
recommended immediate reclassification to Class III, and there may be
a Colonial Office man on the _Cape Canaveral_ when she gets in.
Resident-Agent, permanent. I hope so; he'll need a little breaking
in."
"I saw Tom Kivelson this morning," I said. "He seems to be getting
along pretty well."
"Didn't anybody at the hospital tell you about him?" Bish asked.
I shook my head. He cursed all hospital staffs.
"I wish military security was half as good. Why, Tom's permanently
injured.
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