HEAR PERSISTENT RUMOR YOUR SHIP ON WHICH I AM A PASSENGER HELD HERE FOR NON-PAYMENT OF DEMURRAGE. MUST MAKE WORLD CRISIS SPEECH ON MARS AS SCHEDULED. ASTROGRAM TRUTH OF SITUATION AT ONCE. INVESTIGATION OF SUCH MATTERS NOW PENDING BEFORE SUBCOMMITTEE. DO NOT ASTROGRAM COLLECT. SEN. HIRAM C. HIGBY Swenson snapped off the intercom, glanced at his Dispatch Sheet, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was silent for the next half hour and drank three beers, looking either thoughtful or asleep. Mister Cerobie smoked a cigar until it burned his mustache. When the third beer was finished, Swenson reached for an astrogram blank and wrote: HON. SENATOR HIRAM C. HIGBY ESQ. ACME INTERPLANETARY EXPRESS LUNA CITY RUMOR RE UNPAID DEMURRAGE UTTERLY UN-FOUNDED. INFORMATION HERE THAT RUMOR STARTED BY YOUR OPPOSITION. HAVE VITAL NEW DATA FOR YOUR LUNA CITY SPEECH. WILL SEND SPEECH INSERT AT ONCE. JAMES CEROBIE Mister Cerobie, who had been reading over Swenson's shoulder, said: "You know that demurrage rumor is true." "If things don't work out and we have any trouble, you can say you hadn't heard about the demurrage. By the way, can you write an insert to a political speech?" "I suppose so. I've lied before." "Make sure it will take ten minutes to deliver--even talking fast--which Senators don't usually do." "What," inquired Mister Cerobie, "shall I write about?" "You know that scandal Senator Higby's opposition just got involved in. That business about slave labor exploitation on Venus. The story broke this morning. Get in touch with my friend Max Zempky on _Telenews_ and have him give you some inside details. It doesn't matter if they're important or not. The Senator will grab anything that might pep up his speech. Besides, he's probably been having a large time in Luna City and hasn't heard about this morning's story." Mister Cerobie executed a sweeping bow. "Yes, sir. And if this thing doesn't work, I told you yesterday in my office what would happen." Swenson shrugged. "Kismet." * * * * * As Mister Cerobie opened the door to his private office, Swenson called after him: "Where's this outfit's attorney?" "In the Board Room." "Find him and send him in here." Mister Cerobie nodded. "And," Swenson added, "be damned sure that speech insert will run at least ten minutes. More, if possible." Mister Cerobie slammed the door. Five minutes later, slim, soft-spoken Van Euing, Acme's attorney, coughed behind the dispatcher's chair. Swenson swiveled from coding the astrogram and dropped his cigarette. "What the hell--oh, you. Lawyers are like policemen--they sneak up on people." "How did you know I was the firm's attorney?"