Of the three people in the room, Scott recognized two: Kring, Ylia's father, and Toby Black, a W.G. investigator whose real job was known to only a few and who posed as a sales manager for a construction firm. The guise enabled him to be places where the presence of a W.G. representative would be unwelcome. Here, possibly. The other Martian in the room looked familiar, but Scott couldn't place him. Scott shook hands with Kring and let himself be introduced to Toby, although they'd had many a drink together in the Press Club bar and in less respectable places. "And this is Mr. Rastol," Kring said of the familiar-looking Martian. Then Scott remembered. Two days ago President Murain had decided on a man to fill the job of commerce minister in the Martian government, a post vacated through the death of a cabinet member. Murain had offered the job to Rastol. Scott had no idea what had prompted the offer. He felt sure that Murain hadn't acted of his own free choice; pressure must have been brought on him. Apparently it was a concession he felt it necessary to make--a sort of horse trade with some powerful leader in Parliament to get an administration bill through. All Scott knew, now that he remembered, was that Rastol was a Rockhead. Not an overt one, true. There was no blood on his hands, as far as anyone could prove. But Rastol had been a power in the totalitarian government lately voted out. Possibly Murain could find no one else for the job. Rastol had ability, of course, but he also had a tinge, if not a definite odor. He had been brought to trial, under a W.G. indictment, but had been acquitted of complicity in any of the really unsavory doings of the Rockhead regime. Some had said it was lack of evidence, but newsmen covering the trial had a strong suspicion that several prosecution witnesses had been given bank accounts. And Rastol went free. And now Murain was offering him the big commerce job--one that held the purse strings of a fair share of the Martian budget. The post would give Rastol the power to spend, to let contracts, to make loans and parcel out a tremendous amount of business. That money could go to help the economy of Mars back on its feet, or it could be pork-barreled into the coffers of firms whose ties with the Rockheads had been only nominally broken. Rastol's acceptance of the job, not yet forthcoming, and his confirmation in it by Parliament, would be a kick in the teeth to Martian democracy. The reason for this off-in-the-corner Landing Day soiree became a little clearer--although Scott still was unable to figure out why he'd been invited.