The object of their attention was Spartacus. The blue-collared Sinthian was poised on his glide board at the top of the long, curved flight of stairs that led from the Plaza’s mezzanine to the main lobby. As they watched, he shifted his weight forward, plunging the board down the stairs. Neither the curve of his course nor the frightening acceleration seemed to bother the Sinthian as he rode the glide board down a level and across the lobby, skillfully weaving it around a group of Legionnaires who were standing there in conversation. The Legionnaires didn’t bother to look around as he swept past, ignoring him, as did the hotel staff at the main desk.
“Seems like folks are pretty used to these goings-on,” Goetz said dryly, noting the lack of reaction in the lobby.
“If we encourage him, he just starts showing off,” Phule said. “When that happens, things usually get broken. He’s really very good on that thing, though … practically lives on it. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him before. He’s usually in the park across the street every evening matching stunts with the kids that hang out there.
“Excuse me, Captain?”
Phule glanced around, then drew himself up and returned the smart salute being given him by the company’s supply sergeant, who had managed to approach unnoticed.
“Good morning, C.H. We were just talking about you a second ago. What’s the problem?”
“No problem, Captain. It’s getting on toward time for the weapons demo, and I thought I’d offer you a lift on my hawg. “
“Not this time, Sergeant. Chief Goetz here is already giving me a ride … Oh, excuse me. You two have met, haven’t you?”