He slid into the back of the car; Presslie and Mike Cameron moved over to make room for him. Haugen nudged the start-button, the turboelectrics thrummed, and the car headed smoothly off toward the city.

Apparently, Spalding had been in the middle of some joke when they stopped to pick up Kennedy. Now he reached the punch-line and the five of them, everyone in the car but Kennedy, laughed.

Kennedy disliked Spalding. The slim young fourth-level man lived in the apartment development three miles further along the road; he was unmarried, deeply intense about most subjects, and almost never let anyone know what he might actually be thinking. It was not a trait that endeared him to people, which was probably why he was still only a fourth-level man after three years at Steward and Dinoli. It was no secret that old Dinoli preferred outgoing types, married, in his higher levels.

“Any of you know anything about the big deal brewing today?” Mike Cameron asked suddenly.

Kennedy jerked his head to the left “What big deal? Did you get invited to Floor Nine, too?”

Cameron nodded. “We all were. Even Spalding. I guess Dinoli sent that memo to the whole third and fourth level yesterday afternoon. Something big’s brewing, mark my words, friends!”

“Maybe the agency’s dissolving,” Lloyd Presslie suggested sourly. “Or maybe Dinoli hired a bunch of top-level men away from Crawford and Burstein and we’re all being bounced down three notches.”

Haugen shook his head. “It’s some big new account the old man landed. I heard Lucille talking about it near closing time. Whenever you’re in doubt, ask Dinoli’s secretary.” He laughed coarsely. “And if she’s reluctant to spout, pinch her a little.”

The car swung into the main artery of the Thruway. Kennedy peered pensively out the window at the towns flashing by, a hundred feet below the gleaming white ribbon of the main road. He said little. The thunderburst of H-bombs echoed in his ears, souvenir of the past night’s dreaming, and in any event he still felt drugged by sleep.