Sense of Proportion
By E. C. Tubb
I sensed trouble as soon as I arrived at the studios. It wasn’t anything definite or superficial but I’ve been in the game too long not to recognize the signs. There was a false heartiness in Fred’s greeting as he took over my coleopter for parking, a cold politeness from Sam as he took me down from the roof, a subtle difference in Moira’s welcome as I entered my office. I had been on vacation for a month and, apparently, it had been four weeks too long.
Starman was waiting for me and he, of them all, still seemed normal. He bounced forward with his toothy smile and wrung my hand in his own.
“Gee, boss!” he said. “It’s good to see you. Have a nice vacation?”
“Wonderful.” It hadn’t been as good as all that but it was the only thing to say. Some people might like visiting dusty museums and art galleries but I wasn’t one of them. “Anything new?”
“Mary’s had a baby,” he beamed. “Eight pound girl.” He waited for my congratulations.
. . .
