oe looked
properly thankful.

* * * * *

Joe Mauser finished off his own red tape and headed for the street to
locate a military tailor who could do him up a set of the Haer kilts and
fill his other dress requirements. As he went, he wondered vaguely just
how many different uniforms he had worn in his time.

In a career as long as his own from time to time you took semi-permanent
positions in bodyguards, company police, or possibly the permanent
combat troops of this corporation or that. But largely, if you were
ambitious, you signed up for the fracases and that meant into a uniform
and out of it again in as short a period as a couple of weeks.

At the door he tried to move aside but was too slow for the quick moving
young woman who caromed off him. He caught her arm to prevent her from
stumbling. She looked at him with less than thanks.

Joe took the blame for the collision. "Sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I
didn't see you, Miss."

"Obviously," she said coldly. Her eyes went up and down him, and for a
moment he wondered where he had seen her before. Somewhere, he was sure.

She was dressed as they dress who have never considered cost and she had
an elusive beauty which would have been even the more hadn't her face
projected quite such a serious outlook. Her features were more delicate
than those to which he was usually attracted. Her lips were less full,
but still-- He was reminded of the classic ideal of the British Romantic
Period, the women sung of by Byron and Keats, Shelly and Moore.

She said, "Is there any particular reason why you should be staring at
me, Mr.--"

"Captain Mauser," Joe said hurriedly. "I'm afraid I've been rude,
Miss--Well, I thought I recognized you."

She took in his civilian dress, typed it automatically, and came to an
erroneous conclusion. She said, "Captain? You mean that with everyone
else I know drawing down ranks from Lieutenant Colonel to Brigadier
General, you can't make anything better than Captain?"

Joe winced. He said carefully, "I came up from the ranks, Miss. Captain
is quite an achievement, believe me."

"Up from the ranks!" She took in his clothes again. "You mean you're a
Middle? You neither talk nor look like a Middle, captain." She used the
caste rating as though it was not _quite_ a derogatory term.

Not that she meant to be deliberately insulting, Joe knew, wearily. How
well he knew. It was simply born in her. As once a well-edu