At the spaceport he took a cab to the Presidential Palace. It was an auto-cab, of course, and at the Palace gates he found he had no money on him. He snorted wearily. It was the first time in almost a year that he'd had to pay for anything.
Four sentries were standing at attention. He said, "Do one of you boys have some coins to feed into this slot? I'm fresh out."
A sergeant grinned, approached, and did the necessary.
Don Mathers said wearily, "I don't know how you go about this. I don't have an appointment, but I want to see the President."
"We can turn you over to one of the assistant secretaries, Captain Mathers," the sergeant said. "We can't go any further than that. While we're waiting, what's the chances of getting your autograph, sir? I gotta kid ..."
It wasn't nearly as complicated as he'd thought it was going to be. In half an hour he was seated in the office where he'd received his decoration only—how long ago was it, really less than a year?
He told the story briefly, making no effort to spare himself. At the end he stood up long enough to put a paper in front of the other, then sat down again.
"I'm turning the whole corporation over to the government...."