THE GREEN HILLS OF EARTH

Tiny snorted. «Maybe I can't fire you; I can send you home. 'Requisitioned personnel must be satisfactory to the contractor.' – meaning me. Paragraph Seven, clause M; I wrote that clause myself.»

«Then you know that if requisitioned personnel are refused without cause the contractor bears the replacement cost.»

«I'll risk paying your fare home, but I won't have you here.»

«You are most unreasonable!»

«Perhaps, but I'll decide what's good for the job. I'd rather have a dope peddler than have a woman sniffing around my boys!»

She gasped. Tiny knew he had said too much; he added, «Sorry, Miss. But that's it. You'll stay under cover until I can get rid of you.»

Before she could speak I cut in. «Tiny – look behind you!»

Staring in the port was one of the riggers, his eyes bugged out. Three or four more floated up and joined him.

Then Tiny zoomed up to the port and they scattered like minnows. He scared them almost out of their suits; I thought he was going to shove his fists through the quartz.

He came back looking whipped. «Miss,» he said, pointing, «wait in my room.» When she was gone he added, «Dad, what'll we do?»

I said, «I thought you had made up your mind, Tiny.»

«I have,» he answered peevishly. «Ask the Chief Inspector to come in, will you?»

That showed how far gone he was. The inspection gang belonged to Harriman Enterprises, not to us, and Tiny rated them mere nuisances. Besides, Tiny was an Oppenheimer graduate; Dalrymple was from M.I.T.

He came in, brash and cheerful. «Good morning, Superintendent. Morning, Mr. Witherspoon. What can I do for you?»

Glumly, Tiny told the story. Dalrymple looked smug. «She's right, old man. You can send her back and even specify a male relief. But I can hardly endorse 'for proper cause' now, can I?»

«Damnation. Dalrymple, we can't have a woman around here!»

«A moot point. Not covered by contract, y'know.»

«If your office hadn't sent us a crooked gambler as her predecessor I wouldn't be in this jam!»

«There, there! Remember the old blood pressure. Suppose we leave the endorsement open and arbitrate the cost. That's fair, eh?»

«I suppose so. Thanks.»

«Not at all. But consider this: when you rushed Peters off before interviewing the newcomer, you cut yourself down to one operator. Hammond can't stand watch twenty-four hours a day.»

«He can sleep in the shack. The alarm will wake him.»

«I can't accept that. The home office and ships' frequencies must be guarded at all times. Harriman Enterprises has supplied a qualified operator; I am afraid you must use her for the time being.»

Tiny will always cooperate with the inevitable; he said quietly, «Dad, she'll take first shift. Better put the married men on that shift.»

Then he called her in. «Go to the radio shack and start makee-learnee, so that Hammond can go off watch soon. Mind what he tells you. He's a good man.»

«I know,» she said briskly. «I trained him.»

Tiny bit his lip. The C.I. said, «The Superintendent doesn't bother with trivia – I'm Robert Dalrymple, Chief Inspector. He probably didn't introduce his assistant either – Mr. Witherspoon.»

«Call me Dad,» I said.

She smiled and said, «Howdy, Dad.» I felt warm clear through. She went on to Dalrymple, «Odd that we haven't met before.»

Tiny butted in. «McNye, you'll sleep in my room – »

She raised her eyebrows; he went on angrily, «Oh, I'll get my stuff out – at once. And get this: keep the door locked, off shift.»

«You're darn tootin' I will!»

Tiny blushed.

I was too busy to see much of Miss Gloria. There was cargo to stow, the new tanks to install and shield. That left the most worrisome task of all: putting spin on the living quarters. Even the optimists didn't expect much interplanetary traffic for some years; nevertheless Harriman Enterprises wanted to get some activities moved in and paying rent against their enormous investment.

I.T.&T. had leased space for a microwave relay station – several million a year from television alone. The Weather Bureau was itching to set up its hemispheric integrating station; Palomar Observatory had a concession (Harriman Enterprises donated that space); the Security Council had some hush-hush project; Fermi Physical Labs and Kettering Institute each had space – a dozen tenants wanted to move in now, or sooner, even if we never completed accommodations for tourists and travelers.

There were time bonuses in it for Five Companies, Incorporated – and their help. So we were in a hurry to get spin on the quarters.

People who have never been out have trouble getting through their heads – at least I had – that there is no feeling of weight, no up and down, in a free orbit in space. There's Earth, round and beautiful, only twenty-odd thousand miles away, close enough to brush your sleeve. You know it's pulling you towards it. Yet you feel no weight, absolutely none. You float.

Floating is fine for some types of work, but when it's time to eat, or play cards, or bathe, it's good to feel weight on your feet. Your dinner stays quiet and you feel more natural.