Socrates still sweated, but he was all business now. "Of course it's safe. All my ships are war-surplus two-man cruisers, all twenty of them. You trust the Space Navy, don't you?" "Naturally, naturally." Farquhart lit a cigar. "But what do you do with those ships?" "We ride the rings, that's what we do. Only A and B, of course. The Saturnian Merrygoround, that's what we have here. Someone's a licensed pilot, I let him take a ship up himself. Otherwise I provide pilots." "But is it safe?" "You bet it's safe! And fun--it's terrific. The whole ring system is a hundred and seventy-one thousand miles across, a big merrygoround. Ten thousand miles of outer ring, sixteen thousand miles of bright ring--all to play in. Billions of meteors, and all the tourists have to do is dodge 'em. Great fun." "I don't want to be a stick in the mud, Mr. Smith, but, ah, what happens if someone doesn't dodge?" "Not a chance. How could anyone miss? The ring-particles shine by reflected sunlight--you can see each one clear as hell, and you just avoid 'em, that's all. We don't go near the third ring, the crepe ring--not that dark baby. That could be dangerous. You know, the innermost ring, only seven thousand miles from Saturn itself. That's dark as the inside of a Plutonian catacomb. I thought of a resort there at first, but it's too damned far--" Farquhart stood up. "Well, I don't want to take any more of your time. Tell you what I'll do, Smith. I'll stick around three, four days, and watch some of your tourists. I'll be fair about the whole thing--if it's safe, excellent: if not--" He shrugged. "You got quarters for me, Smith?" Socrates started to tell him of the wonderful accommodations, thought better of it, checked on a domette vacancy, and gave Farquhart his key. "I'll see you," the short fat man said. Socrates mopped his brow. * * * * * "Can I come out now?" Wearily, Socrates sat down. "Yes, come on. He's gone." She was as tall for a girl as Socrates was for a man, and the long cascade of her golden hair didn't need sunlight to make it gleam. She was the prettiest thing in Mimas, and that included Socrates' glossy new domettes. But it was because of her that he perspired. "Please go away," he said. "Grow up in someone else's tourist haven, Norma, like a good girl. If you hadn't decided to see what was in the sponge grottoes of Callisto I'd still have my business there. If you hadn't--" "Bygones are bygones, Smitty. That's a good boy. But not quite. I see your good friend Percival Farquhart is back--" "Is that what the P. stands for? Percival, hah-hah." "I wouldn't talk, _Socrates_. I wouldn't talk at all." "Okay, okay. But look--there's a liner for Ceres tonight. I'll buy you a ticket. The Interplanetary Fair--"