"Ummm. Offhand one of the single-place jobs that Venusians bought from Earth before the war. Full armament, too."
"What? You sure, Cap? After the Earth-Venus twenty-two eighty treaty, we reclaimed and destroyed all the armed—"
"Yeah, I know," cut in the Captain's voice. "All but a few that the Venusian renegades—the pirates—got off with before then. Well—we're going down. Corey's found a place not too far from it where he can set the giro down, or says he can."
"If that's a pirate ship, Cap, be careful!"
"Don't worry. We're armed. And the ship's pretty smashed up. Probably at least kayoed whoever was in it. Well, keep your key open and I'll call you back. We're down."
Mart found the shipment chart and began to check off tonnage. That much he wanted to get out of the way before—but something was gnawing at the back of his mind. It took him a moment to trace what it was. Of course. The workman who was waiting for the Director was wearing tinted glasses.
Tinted glasses on Callisto! It didn't make sense. The sun, half a billion miles away, gives only a twenty-fifth of the light that falls on Earth. Even when that light is augmented by Big Jupe, it isn't—Yes, it was the first time he'd seen tinted glasses in Comprotown.
Curiously, he turned to glance at the seated workman. But the carrier wave of the desk communicator hummed and he forgot his visitor as Captain Wayne's voice boomed in.
"Dispatcher Wells. Captain Wayne calling Dispatcher—"
"Okay, Cap. Go ahead."