"Well, I don't know. I got a couple newspapers. But here's where I smell a deal, Maclamore. You want to know where that scout boat is. Played right, you figure you got a good chance of a raid on an arsenal or a power plant to pick up a few slugs of the heavy stuff; then you high-tail out, join up with the rest of the squadron and, with the ordnance you pack, you can sit off and dictate the next move." Arena leaned back and took a deep breath. His eyes didn't leave me. "Okay. I got one of you here. I found out something from him. He gave me enough I know you boys got something up your sleeve. But he don't have the whole picture. I need more info. You can give it to me. If I like what I hear, I'm in a position to help--like, for example, with the fuel problem. And you cut me in for half. Fair enough?" "Who is it you've got?" He shook his head. "Uh-uh." "What did he tell you?" "Not enough. What was Hayle holding out? You birds found something out there. What was it?" "We found a few artifacts on Mars," I said. "Not Martian in origin; visitors. We surveyed--" "Don't string me, Maclamore. I'm willing to give you a fair deal, but if you make it tough for me--" "How do you know I haven't got a detonator buried under my left ear," I said. "You can't pry information out of me, Arena." "I think you want to live, Maclamore. I think you got something you want to live for. I want a piece of it." "I can make a deal with you, Arena," I said. "Return me and my shipmate to our scout boat. Fuel us up. You might throw in two qualified men to help handle the ship--minus their black-jacks, preferably--then clear out. We'll handle the rest. And I'll remember, with gratitude." Arena was silent for a long moment. * * * * * "Yeah, I could do that, Maclamore," he said finally. "But I won't. Max Arena is not a guy to pick up the crumbs--or wait around for handouts. I want in. All the way in." "This time you'll have to settle for what you can get, Arena." I put the gun away and stood up. I had a feeling I would have to put it over now or not at all. "The rest of the squadron is still out there. If we don't show, they'll carry on alone. They're supplied for a century's operation. They don't need us." That was true up to a point. The squadron had everything--except fuel. "You figure you got it made if you can get your hands on that scout-boat," Arena said. "You figure to pick up fuel pretty easy by knocking off say the Lackawanna Pile." "It shouldn't be too tough; a fleet boat of the Navy packs a wallop." Arena tapped his teeth with a slim paper-cutter. "You're worried your outfit will wind up Max Arena's private Navy, right? I'll tell you something. You think I'm sitting on top of the world, huh? I own this town, and everybody in it. All the luxury and fancy dinners and women I can use. And you know what? I'm bored." "And you think running the Navy might be diverting?"