In the
half-light from the sky, he could see a well-kept lawn, and there were a
few groups of men standing about idly. Most wore white coveralls, though
two were dressed in simple business suits.
Hanson moved forward purposefully, acting as if he had urgent business.
If he stopped, there would be questions, he suspected; he wanted to find
answers, not to answer idle questions.
There was no one at the desk in the little reception alcove, but he
heard the sound of voices through a side door leading out. He went
through it, to find a larger yard with more men idling. There should be
someone here who knew more of what was going on in this world than he
did now.
His choice, in the long run, seemed to lie between Bork and the Satheri,
unless he could find some way of hiding himself from both sides. At the
moment, he was relatively free for the first time since they had brought
him here, and he wanted to make sure that he could make the most use of
the fact.
Nobody asked anything. He slowed, drifting along the perimeter of the
group of men, and still nobody paid him any attention. Finally, he
dropped onto the ground near a group of half a dozen men who looked more
alert than the rest. They seemed to be reminiscing over old times.
"--two thirty-eight an hour with overtime--and double time for
the swing shift. We really had it made then! And every
Saturday, never fail, the general would come out from Muroc and
tell us we were the heros of the home front--with overtime pay
while we listened to him!"
"Yeah, but what if you wanted to quit? Suppose you didn't like
your shift boss or somebody? You go down and get your time, and
they hand you your draft notice.
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