"I watched you try that unfair-trade-practice suit against Lesquallan Ltd. two years ago. It was snowing outside. I was broke and the courtroom was warm. You should have won the case. Some of their evidence looked phony to me. Anyway, you did a good job." "Thank you." "Did you ever stop to think about the advantage of the egg--" "Mister Cerobie said you wished to speak to me." "That's right. I want you to draw up a something-or-other--you know what I mean--grounding Moulton Trust's ship on the Moon until this fight hassle is settled." "You mean you wish me to prepare a restraining order?" "Restrain, yeah! And restrain them as long as you can. I wish you could restrain them forever. This solar system would be a better place." "On what grounds am I to base my order?" "Claim they started the fight and our crew's so bashed up that we haven't enough able men to blast off." "But I'm afraid we can't prove that." "And what's it going to cost us to try? You're on retainer. The total bill for said restraining order will be only the price of some legal paper and the services of a notary. The steno's hired by the month, like you." Van Euing looked puzzled. "What good will it do?" "You know how long it takes courts to do anything. Before your order is tossed out, Moulton will have been grounded for a week." Van Euing lit his pipe. "In legal parlance, it is something irregular, which, being translated, means it's a slick trick." "All it's going to cost _you_ is being half an hour late to lunch." Van Euing puffed a moment on his pipe and said: "Because of your audacity, Swenson, and furthermore, because you'll be fired tomorrow, I'll prepare the restraining order." Swenson put out his hand and his blunt fingers closed around Van Euing's delicate ones. When Van Euing had gone, Swenson returned to coding the astrogram. He checked the form twice and sent it. Then he turned over his desk to an apprentice dispatcher, left orders to be called if anything broke down, and went out to lunch. * * * * * It was 2:30 P.M. when news of the restraining order arrived in the quiet, streamlined offices of the Moulton Trust. Two minutes later, the offices were still streamlined, but not quiet. The three major stockholders of the great organization, N. Rovance, F. K. Esrov, and Cecil Neinfort-Whritings, formed a tiny huddle at one end of the long conference table. Esrov was waving a copy of the order. "Gentlemen, we can consider this nothing but an outrage!" "Blackmail, really!" It was Neinfort-Whritings's lisping voice. "Whatever it is, this sort of nonsense must be stopped at the beginning. It might set a precedent." "May I suggest," Rovance broke in, "that, as the matter of precedent is sure to arise, we take no action without first consulting Lesquallan Ltd."