It worked out neatly enough, at that. An Areopolitan court decreed that Shanig, being bound by the requirements of Martian law to expiate his crimes with as little expense to the polity as possible, should spend the five years of his sentence guarding Joey-Cora in a force-wall detention area to be set up in Syrtis Major. By the time his term ended my combination smiley would have fissioned, Shanig would have paid his debt to society and my investment would have paid dividends. It could have been worse. For the time being I was out some forty thousand credits, but I managed to salvage enough for a moderate celebration by contracting with the government to furnish _khiff_ roots from Mimas to keep Shanig from going berserk under Joey-Cora's influence. The arrangement wasn't too hard on Shanig, even. The worst of it would be the isolation--that, and the packs of Syrtis Major jackals that would crowd around the force-wall at night and howl for his blood. * * * * * "Good enough," I told Cheryl after the trial. "That leaves just one small detail to be arranged. I'll have to wangle another loan from Martian Bankings." She raised a slim brow. "Loan? For a grubstake?" "For our weekend on Phobos," I said. "Remember?" She laughed. "There's another little detail you overlooked, William. My ring size is five and one-half." "Ring?" I said. "Oh, a ring.... Would you rather have a Tellurian diamond, an A-belt fire-opal, or--" "Nothing expensive," she cut me off. "Something simpler would be more appropriate, I think. Under the circumstances, I'd suggest a plain gold band." I gaped at her like a swamp-guppy until it seeped through my skull that she was in dead earnest. "Wait up," I said. "What about Perry Acree?" She snapped her fingers. "_That_ for Perry. I thought I wanted the little creep until you brought him back, but after that I couldn't bear the sight of him." "You mean," I said, grasping at any straw, "that you really want to be--" "Married," she said definitely. "First and firmly, or no Phobos trips!" "It wouldn't last," I argued. "Being an A-belt prospector's wife is no snap, Cheryl. I'd be out in the _Annabelle_ for weeks on end, slamming around in God knows what kind of dangers. And one of these days I wouldn't come back at all and you'd be a widow." "_You_ wouldn't be slamming around," she corrected me softly. "_We_ would, Willie dear. I'd be with you every minute." That did it. It was "Willie dear" already, and she'd be with me every minute. Even in port.... "I'll have to give this some serious thought," I said. "Look, you wouldn't want us to plunge into a deal that wouldn't work out, would you?" "Of course not," she said with a demure certainty that made my blood curdle. "But this will work, Willie darling. I'll see to that."