"Why—why, yes," faltered Warren.
"Good! Then we'll teach those idiots to sacrifice an entire system to their own selfish greed!"
"What are you going to do?" demanded Gary.
O'Day laughed, a single explosive bark in which was little mirth. "Do? Why, I'm going to get you that fuel you need, of course! The Venusian Council knows me of old ... and they know what the Black Star's guns can do. I'm going to call them now and tell them that unless they load your fuel bins to the last millimeter I'll blast Sun City off the face of their stinking planet. Come along if you want!" And he headed for the radio turret.
What happened after that was anti-climax. The effect of Lark O'Day's little speech to the Venusian Council was a measure of his greatness. He talked and they listened. They demurred and he raised his voice a note. They complained and that note became a warning note. They entered a half-hearted refusal and he stopped asking and started telling them what they must do ... or else. They capitulated, servilely. A short time later the Liberty was once again nestling in a Sun City cradle; this time gorging its belly with the five thousand tons of neurotrope for which Gary had unsuccessfully pleaded. The only difference between this arrangement and the one Lane had suggested was that the Venusians were not paid cash on the line for the vital fuel. That was Lark O'Day's idea.
"Not a damn cent," he said. "Serves them right for being so stingy with it before. This will teach them a lesson. And—" He grinned—"if your conscience bothers you, you can pay them when we come back, if our trip is successful."
"We?" said Nora Powell. "Our trip?"
Lark O'Day grinned at her happily. "Why, sure," he drawled. "You don't think I'd let an expedition like this get away without me being aboard, do you? That's my fee for helping out in a pinch. You don't mind, do you, if I join the party?"
Lane said, "Mind! We're tickled to death to have you." And he really meant it.