"And that, Mister Cerobie," said Swenson, "is how you slide out of a jam. You'll get enough cash for that snuff haul to Mars to pay the crew of Number 5 when she lands there. And you'll have enough left over to pay the demurrage and repair charges at Luna. Now open me a beer." Mister Cerobie opened the beer wearily. "You're fired, Swenson," he said. "I'll be damned if I'll write another speech or be your bartender." Swenson drank and smiled. The ship-calling light flashed red. "Number 3 to dispatcher. This is Captain Marwovan. Compartment holed by meteorite. Cannot land on Ganymede until we make repairs. Send me the orbital curve so we can circle until the hole is patched. And tell Mister Cerobie that the crew is complaining about back pay." Transferring the beer to his other hand, Swenson grabbed the microphone. "Dispatcher to Number 3...." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Swenson, Dispatcher, by R. DeWitt Miller