"My final inspection?" Mike the Angel arched his heavy golden-blond
eyebrows. "Hell, Wally, Serge Paulvitch is on the job down there, isn't
he? You don't need _my_ okay. If Serge says it's ready to go, it's ready
to go. Or is there some kind of trouble you haven't mentioned yet?"

"No; no trouble," said Wallingford. "But the power plant on that ship
was built according to your designs--not Mr. Paulvitch's. The Bureau of
Space feels that you should give them the final check."

Mike knew when to argue and when not to, and he knew that this was one
time when it wouldn't do him the slightest good. "All right," he said
resignedly. "I don't like Antarctica and never will, but I guess I can
stand it for a few days."

"Fine. One more thing. Do you have a copy of the thrust specifications
for Cargo Hold One? Our copy got garbled in transmission, and there
seems to be a discrepancy in the figures."

Mike nodded. "Sure. They're in my office. Want me to get them now?"

"Please. I'll hold on."

Mike the Angel barely made it in time. He went to the door that led to
his office, opened it, stepped through, and closed it behind him just as
the blast went off.

The door shuddered behind Mike, but it didn't give. Mike's apartment was
reasonably soundproof, but it wasn't built to take the kind of explosion
that would shake the door that Mike the Angel had just closed. It was a
two-inch-thick slab of armor steel on heavy, precision-bearing hinges.
So was every other door in the suite. It wasn't quite a bank-vault door,
but it would do. Any explosion that could shake it was a real doozy.

Mike the Angel spun around and looked at the door. It was just a trifle
warped, and faint tendrils of vapor were curling around the edge where
the seal had been broken. Mike sniffed, then turned and ran. He opened a
drawer in his desk and took out a big roll of electrostatic tape. Then
he took a deep breath, went back to the door, and slapped on a strip of
the one-inch tape, running it all around the edge of the door. Then he
went into the outer office while the air conditioners cleaned out his
private office.

He went over to one of the phones near the autofile and punched for the
operator. "I had a long-distance call coming in here from the Right
Excellent Basil Wallingford, Minister for Spatial Affairs, Capitol City.
We were cut off."

"One moment please." A slight pause. "His Excellency is here, Mr.
Gabriel."

Wallingford's face came bac