ng?"

"Certainly, sir. You're welcome at any time."

"Thank you." The two Earthmen rose from their seats--Tarnhorst
carefully, Danley with the ease of long practice. "Would nine in the
morning be convenient?"

"Quite convenient. I'll expect you."

Danley glided over to the door and held it open for Tarnhorst. He was
wearing magnetic glide-shoes, the standard footwear of the Belt, which
had three ball-bearings in the forward part of the sole, allowing the
foot to move smoothly in any direction, while the rubber heel could be
brought down to act as a brake when necessary. He didn't handle them
with the adeptness of a Belt man, but he wasn't too awkward. Tarnhorst
was wearing plain magnetic-soled boots--the lift-'em-up-and-lay-'em-down
type. He had no intention of having his dignity compromised by shoes
that might treacherously scoot out from under him.

* * * * *

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Georges Alhamid picked up
the telephone on his desk and punched a number.

When a woman's voice answered at the other end, he said: "Miss Lehman,
this is Mr. Alhamid. I'd like to speak to the governor." There was a
pause. Then:

"George? Larry here."

Alhamid leaned back comfortably against the wall. "I just saw your
guests, Larry. I spent damn near three hours explaining why it was
necessary to put anchors in rocks, how it was done, and why it was
dangerous."

"Did you convince him? Tarnhorst, I mean."

"I doubt it. Oh, I don't mean he thinks I'm lying or anything like that.
He's too sharp for that. But he _is_ convinced that we're negligent,
that we're a bunch of barbarians who care nothing about human life."

"You've got to unconvince him, George," the governor said worriedly.
"The Belt still isn't self-sufficient enough to be able to afford an
Earth embargo. They can hold out longer than we can."

"I know," Alhamid said. "Give us another generation, and we can tell the
World Welfare State where to head in--but right now, things are touchy,
and you and I are in the big fat middle of it." He paused, rubbing
thoughtfully at his lean blade of a nose with a bony forefinger. "Larry,
what did you think of that blond nonentity Tarnhorst brought with him?"

"He's not a nonentity," the governor objected gently. "He just looks it.
He's Tarnhorst's 'expert' on space industry, if you want my opinion. Did
he say much of anything while he was with you?"

"Hardly anything."

"Sam