more than the fact that we succeeded where they failed and they want on the bandwagon."
Michele cocked her head slightly and looked straight into Mark's eyes, but she was lost deep in thought. "The royals would do that, but not Victor. We're 'way too small for him. Did you make the deal with Victor personally or just with his office?"
"With Victor personally. He called us, and when he called he knew about your Mom."
"That's not the same Victor I dated twenty-five years ago."
"The Lord can work in anyone's heart. Maybe he's changed. Do you mistrust him?"
"He's trustworthy. It's just that he's married to the empire. Now that's not such a bad thing, but he's not the least bit interested in anything that isn't furthering the Constitutional Empire. When we were trying to go outbound, that didn't include us. We need to find out what changed. Did you even check on the current market price of methane?"
"Victor was the first one to call and his price was so good that when he offered to do all the service work, I didn't even care what other jobbers would give us."
"What do you mean, 'do all the service work'?'"
"This price includes docking at the Royal base on Deimos. While we take a two-week break, they will begin reoutfitting the Sojourner. Before we leave again we must spend two weeks training some Royals for a few balloons they've built."
Michele shook her head and dropped her arms. "The Royals have built their own balloons? That's a switch. I can still remember Sir Cramer saying, 'We don't see any immediate need for new fuel sources. We can't stop you from going on your own, but remember, you're on your own.' Did Victor even give you any hints as to the change of heart?"
"Nothing," said Mark. "The only thing that I noticed was that he wasn't his old chipper self. Something was eating at him."
"Did you make a firm deal or just an intent?"
"Oh, I was willing to shop around until he threw in the service. I've always wondered what it would be like getting the best."
"Just the same, I'm calling up a history of methane prices since we've been gone."
"Just what you need. Something else to do."
"Relax. I'll be done in an hour."
"At least there's nothing left of the garden to tend."
Five
Mark entered the doorway to the control room from the outside. As he took off the tanks and suit, he gave Michele a report.
"Everything checks out OK. The Lord has blessed us with no measurable methane losses. Stopping the heat losses must have taken care of that. There were several frozen lines, but they're flowing now. Did your search turn up anything?"
"That's weird..." murmured Michele.
'Weird: of or pertaining to the supernatural.' You find something spooky in all those numbers?"
"Maybe I have."
"This I gotta see."
"That's just it. There's nothing to see. Prices rose steadily, but only slightly until a couple of weeks ago. The Royals are paying nearly double market price. I just don't get it. For what?"
"Well stop and think. What are they getting out of this? Our good will?"
"Hardly," sniffed Michele. "The Lunar delegation would probably like to confiscate everything we own under the guise of some new taxes. That's exactly what they did to the Cortez. If it had come back, it would have been seized for taxes without the royals ever putting a dime into it. Why should they care what we think?"
"I don't know, but it's rather obvious that they do."
"So what are they getting out of this?" asked Michele.
"As much methane as possible as soon as possible," replied Mark.
"So why is that important?" persisted Michele.
"Basic economics: quantity and or quality of product."
"What's fueling the demand?"
"Oh no you don't," objected Mark. "We haven't got enough time to search for some two-paragraph story buried on page two hundred ten of three weeks ago's info sheet."
"Did you ask Victor?"
Mark stopped momentarily and said, "No."
"He'll tell me," said Michele confidently.
"If he knows."
"Victor will know. Call him up."
"When?"
"Right now."
"OK," said Mark. He sat down and began typing. Victor's face appeared on the monitor in seconds.
"Victor?" Mark raised his eyebrows. "Thanks for the quick response."
"Why are you giving us this deal?" asked Michele. To her Victor seemed much the same as when she had last seen him about ten years ago. His black hair bore some traces of gray and the lines above his brown eyes had gotten quite heavy. She saw, as Mark had, that he was bothered by something. His laugh in response to her question was nervous.
"You're as direct as ever," said Victor. "I thought a few decades of marriage would mellow you somewhat."
"So what's the deal?" demanded Michele.
"I'm not allowed to tell you," responded Victor. "What I can tell you is that you'd better not shop around."
"Why?" queried Michele.
"Some people want to seize your ship outright," said Victor. "I was able to convince them that you would be far more disposed to help us -- and we must have your help -- if you were persuaded and not coerced."
"So you're not going to let us shop around?" asked Mark.
"We cannot stop you from doing anything you want, but they will make you sorry if you resist."
"Resist?" echoed Mark.
"Poor choice of words, please forgive me." Victor smiled and the screen went blank.
"Have they got any information about Titan's atmosphere that we don't have?" wondered Mark.
"What? Why? What difference does that make?" sputtered Michele.
"They either want the methane or they want something that we're bringing back as an impurity. Since we don't know ourselves what's mixed in, do they know something we don't?"
"No!" insisted Michele. "I mean, of course we can't know everything someone else knows, but we've studied this for years. Every probe sent out contradicted every other probe. They can't be sure of anything."
"So they need the methane."
"And we need the money. Sounds like a good market economy. We also need to stay alive."
"The Royals don't murder to get their way," said Mark.
"They tax," said Michele. "And taxes can murder by slow starvation."
"So you think that we should take their offer and not try to find out why?"
"I don't think that we have much choice," said Michele. "We certainly don't have enough time to look for hidden clues."
A yellow warning light flashed on the central control panel.
"You're certainly right about that," said Mark. He left the room. He came back to pick up some tools and left again.
Six
The computer spoke in complete darkness. "Docking to Deimos in four hours, twenty-seven minutes. Weightlessness commences in four hours, 8 minutes. Speed matched to Deimos, clearance granted, docking collar extended and ready. Request from Deimos for docking collar matching information. This information is classified and must be transmitted manually. Please advise."
Mark sat up in bed and Michele rolled over. The lights began to glow.
"Please advise!" roared Mark. "I have no idea what our docking collar info is. Where would I find it?"
"Muffh," said Michele.
"Come on!" Mark shook his wife. "Do you know where the docking collar information is?"
"Sorry, no idea," said Michele without moving.
Mark jumped out of bed, went across the bedroom to the control panel and sat down. He stared at the panel, opened a drawer, pulled out a disk and inserted it.
"Found it," He called out. He typed a few seconds and the lifepod area vibrated to the sound of grinding metal. The room shifted and the lights came up to full. The control panel beeped.
"Now what?" said Mark sharply.
An unfamiliar face, a very young man with close-
cropped blond hair and blue eyes came up on the monitor.
"That's not a very Christlike attitude," chided Michele as she entered the room.
"You're right," said Mark. "Please forgive me."
He touched the panel and the image on the monitor began speaking.
"This is Lieutenant Junior Grade Phillip Edwards. Your docking collar information is either incomplete or inaccurate. I have been ordered to make a physical inspection, so please make ready for boarding in fifteen minutes." The screen went blank.
"Up and dressed," said Mark. "We're having company."
"Nooooooooooooo. You guys have your meeting. Let me sleep."
Mark pulled clothes out of a drawer and threw them at her.
"Put some clothes on."
As they dressed, they watched a shuttlecraft approach the Sojourner. As it fastened to the Sojourner's side, a suited figure got out and entered through the exterior air lock.
Mark and Michele entered the control room as the man they had seen onscreen, dressed in an officer's uniform, stepped through the doorway from outside.
"Phil Edwards," he introduced himself with a smile. "May I see the disk with your docking collar information on it, please?"
Mark handed it to him.
"We have very little time," said Phil. "I can examine this as we go."
"Go where?" asked Michele.
"To physically examine your docking collar," said Phil.
"But that's in the core!" protested Michele.
"Which is why we need to hurry," said Phil. Mark pulled out a suit and began to get into it. Michele balked.
"There's no need for both of us to go . . . " she argued.
"If everything checks out," said Phil.
"I'll just stay here and watch on monitor," Michele persisted.
"But if everything does not check out, you should both be present to sign any necessary change orders. Please, we have very little time."
"Humor him, please," said Mark.
"Oh, all right," grumbled Michele. She suited up and