"You mean Earthside."

"You see?" Hamilton said.  "You're not as stupid as you like to make yourself out to be."  She flipped the lens down again, stood very still, then lifted a metal-gauntleted hand and ran through a complex series of finger movements.  "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Tokyo, Berlin, Buenos Aires--do any of these hold magic for you?  How about Toronto?  The right move now could be a big boost to your career."

"All I want is to stay here, do my job, and draw down my salary," Gunther said carefully.  "I'm not looking for a shot at promotion, or a big raise, or a lateral career-track transfer.  I'm happy right where I am."

"You've sure got a funny way of showing it."  Hamilton powered down her gloves, and slipped her hands free.  She scratched her nose.  To one side stood her work table, a  polished cube of black granite.  Her peecee rested there, alongside a spray of copper crystals.  At her thought, it put Izmailova's voice onto Gunther's chip.

"It is with deepest regret that I must alert you to the unprofessional behavior of one of your personnel components," it began.  Listening to the complaint, Gunther experienced a totally unexpected twinge of distress and, more, of resentment that Izmailova had dared judge him so harshly.  He was careful not to let it show.

"Irresponsible, insubordinate, careless, and possessed of a bad attitude."  He faked a grin.  "She doesn't seem to like me much."  Hamilton said nothing.  "But this isn't enough to ... "  His voice trailed off.  "Is it?"

"Normally, Weil, it would be.  A demo jock isn't 'just a tech on retainer,' as you so quaintly put it; those government licenses aren't easy to get.  And you may not be aware of it, but you have very poor efficiency ratings to begin with.  Lots of potential, no follow-through.  Frankly, you've been a disappointment.  However, lucky for you, this Izmailova dame humiliated Don Sakai, and he's let us know that we're under no particular pressure to accommodate her."