"Great," said Davis, enthusiastically. "Keeping well. Getting along in years, but standing up…"
"My father and mother," Sutton told him, coldly, "died fifty years ago. In the Argus pandemic."
He heaved himself to his feet, faced Davis squarely.
"If you're through," he said, "I'd like to go to my hotel. They'll find some room for me."
"Certainly, Mr. Sutton, certainly. Which hotel?"
"The Orion Arms."
Davis reached into a drawer, took out a directory, flipped the pages, ran a shaking finger down a column.
"Cherry 26-3489," he said. "The teleport is over there."
He pointed to a booth set flush into the wall.
"Thanks," said Sutton.