CHAPTER 5THE WAREHOUSE was a lofty building, well filled with rank on military rank of mobile construction equipment. Feliz Gebrod strolled down the center corridor, looking over the ranks like an inspecting general and debating which of the many machines available he could (a) use and (b) run. Then it struck him that undoubtedly there were skilled machine operators among the black-uniformed people. He turned and put the question to Og.
“Sir?” said Og, blankly.
“I said,” said Feliz impatiently. “You have men who know how to run these things, don’t you?”
“No, sir,” said Og.
Feliz stared at him. “You don’t?” he echoed incredulously. “Where are the machine operators, then?”
“There aren’t any, sir,” said Og, almost stuttering in his alarm at having to disappoint Feliz and probably therefo
