"First, read them section 942 in your copy of _Space Regulations_," said Swenson. "If they divert ship from Mars without your permission, it's mutiny. That means the neutron death chamber or, if they are very lucky, life sentences to the Luna Penal Colony. Get them all together and read it to them. You're free-falling now, so even the jetters won't have to be on duty." "But if I could talk to Mister Cerobie--" "I've already told you I don't know where the hell he is. He couldn't do you any good, anyway. Didn't you ever read _Space Regulations_? Section 19: 'The captain of a ship in flight is _solely responsible_ for the maintenance of discipline and his orders cannot be changed or overruled'." "Swenson, you said a moment ago that this was your first suggestion. I presume, therefore, that you have others." "I have two others." Swenson paused long enough for a brief study of his Master Ship Location Chart, which he had just brought up to date. The chart showed the position of all ships at the moment in space. "There's a patrol cruiser loaded with gendarmes three million miles behind you on a course paralleling yours. It's one of the new Arrow Class and if they blast full, they can catch you in ten hours. Mention to the crew that you could notify the police boys and have them pick you up and escort you to Mars." "What is the patrol ship's number and call letters?" "Arrow--British--Earth--number 96. Call letters MMXAH." "Thanks. If things get too bad, I might take advantage of our valiant guarders of the spaceways. All right, you said you had three suggestions. What's the third?" "Some goons on a Moulton Trust ship, parked beside our number 2 on the Moon, started a fight and beat up our boys. We're about to sue Moulton for plenty. Tell your crew about it and suggest that if they behave, we'll cut them in on the proceeds from the suit, in addition to paying their wages as soon as a snuff cargo that I had to send into orbital gets to Mars." "On whose authority am I to make such a statement?" "Swenson's. You don't need any other, do you? I know most of the boys on your mobile junkyard. They trust me, so they'll trust you. You have my word that Cerobie will go for the idea." "You talk to Cerobie and let me know what happens. Meanwhile, I'll think over your suggestions." * * * * * The ship-calling light blinked off and Swenson went back to coding the speech insert. As he was finishing, O'Toole came in. Swenson looked up. "O'Toole, sure and it's one hell of a job you're doing. You've got me in a fight with myself. My Swedish half wants to ignore you and my Irish half wants to punch you in the nose. You're supposed to handle labor relations. And I just received a message from Captain Verbold of Number 5 that his crew is about to mutiny." "Mother of God, what can I do?" cried O'Toole. "This outfit's so broke, it doesn't have enough money to pay the filing fee for bankruptcy."