"I don't know." "Why not?" "My mother never told me. I don't think she knows. In the name of God, why don't you send Number 3...." "What's your nationality?" "I'm supposed to be a Swede." "What do you mean, 'supposed'?" "Will you open one of those beers?" "I asked you...." Swenson made a notation on the Dispatch Sheet and spun around in the swivel chair. "I was born on a _Swallow Class_ ship in space between the Moon and Earth. My mother said my father was a Swede. She was Irish. I was delivered and circumcised by a rabbi who happened to be on board. The ship was of Venutian registry, but was owned by a Czechoslovakian company. Now you figure it out." "How did you happen to come here?" "I met Dovorkin in a bar. He told me that you were in trouble. You are. Is one of the Moulton Trust's ships at Luna City?" "Yes." "Then that's why you're grounded. They've got an in with the Planetary Commerce Commission. What's the demurrage?" "Seventy-six thousand dollars." "Can you raise it?" "No." * * * * * Swenson glanced at the sheet. "How come Number 2 is in New York?" "We're waiting for additional cargo. We have half a load of snuff for Mars. And we've been promised half a load of canned goods for Luna City. It's reduced rate freight that another company can't handle." "Dovorkin told me about the snuff. That's a starter, anyway." Swenson turned back to the Dispatch Sheet and muttered to himself: "Always a good thing to have snuff for Mars." Mister Cerobie became strangely interested. "Why?" Swenson paid no attention. "What are you taking a split load for?" "We had no choice." "You know damn well that the broken-down old stovepipes you buy from war surplus are too slow to handle split loads. Who promised you the canned goods?" "Lesquallan, Ltd." "Oh, Lord!" said Swenson. "An outfit that expects lions to lie down with lambs!" The red _ship-calling_ light flashed on. "Number 4 to dispatcher. This is Captain Elsing. Dovorkin...." "Dispatcher to Number 4. Dovorkin, hell. This is Swenson. What blasts?" "B jet just went out. Atomic slug clogged." "How radioactive is the spout?" asked Swenson. "Heavy." "Have somebody who's already had a family put on armor and clean up the mess," Swenson said, "and alter course for Luna City. I'll send you the exact course in a few minutes. When you get to Luna, land beside the Moulton Trust's ship. Now stand by to record code." Swenson reached back to Mister Cerobie. "Acme private code book." Silently, the Chairman of the Board handed it to him. When Swenson had finished coding, he handed the original message to Mister Cerobie. The message read: "Captain Elsing, have crew start fight with Moulton's crew. Not much incentive will be necessary. See that no real damage is done. Urgent. Will take all responsibility. Explain later. Cerobie." "Swenson," Mister Cerobie said quietly, "you _are_ insane. Tear that up."