* * * * *
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?"
"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."