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Joe was taken aback. "Why ..." he said, hesitated as he got the other's point, then went on, nodding. "Yes. They used to be company size a few hundred lads involved. After a while, a battalion size fracas became fairly commonplace, then about ten years ago a corporation of any size had to be able to put at least a regiment into the field and the biggies had brigades." "And now?" Holland urged.
"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "That puts a crimp in the ready-made dinner business, I expect." "Not at all," says Vee. "Until he comes back, after the war, Marion is going to carry on." "Anyway," says I, "it ends 'Puffy' Biggies as an impendin' tragedy, don't it? And I expect that's worth while, too."
The Baron's ability, his aggressiveness, his flair, his political pull, had all helped, but now the chips were down. He was up against one of the biggies, and this particular biggy was tired of ambitious little Vacuum Tube Transport. He listened to his son's words, listened to Joe's defense.
"Maybe the kids will go on to using something else if vibroblades don't work, but I think I'd prefer a rocket in the head to being carved by a vibro." "To be honest," Mike said, "I think the vibro is just a fad among the JD's now, anyway. You know if you're one of the real biggies, you carry a vibro.
The fine old house was left free and clear, but there was hardly enough to keep it up unless Marion could rustle a job somewhere. "And all she knows how to do is nurse," says Vee. "She's not even a trained nurse at that." "Ain't there anybody she could marry?" I suggests. "That's the tragic part, Torchy," says Vee. "There is Mr. Biggies."
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