The original situation which had precipitated the fight was being
duplicated. But while the three Lowers had failed to respond to Joe
Mauser's tone of authority, there was no similar failure now.
The owner of the voice, beautifully done up in the uniform of Vacuum
Tube Transport, complete to kilts and the swagger stick of the officer
of Rank Colonel or above, stood glaring at them. Age, Joe estimated,
even as he came to attention, somewhere in the late twenties--an Upper
in caste. Born to command. His face holding that arrogant, contemptuous
expression once common to the patricians of Rome, the Prussian Junkers,
the British ruling class of the Nineteenth Century. Joe knew the
expression well. How well he knew it. On more than one occasion, he had
dreamt of it.