75
We swing through the open door with thirty seconds to spare.
I want to say I use the very best traction pad technique I know, but the possibility of getting smeared by an oncoming elevator does make me hurry a bit.
The open elevator leads to a great big open floor plan office, dimly lit by every fourth overhead light. I smell fruity cleaner and polishing wax. Mad squiggles in a dozen shades of blue cover the carpet. Nobody has a private desk. The workspaces are thirty-foot tables the color of light wood, with badly padded leather chairs every ten feet. The employees have a set of items at each workstation, photographs and squeezy bottles and mugs, but nothing except open space separates one flunky from another.
The aristocracy is no longer permitted to whip the peasants, but this is
