"Everything. Wages have not been paid for six months. Poor radiation shielding. Food not up to standard. You know the story."
"It's not the first time I've heard it."
"What am I to do?"
"First, read them section 942 in your copy of Space Regulations," said Swenson. "If they divert ship from Mars without your permission, it's mutiny. That means the neutron death chamber or, if they are very lucky, life sentences to the Luna Penal Colony. Get them all together and read it to them. You're free-falling now, so even the jetters won't have to be on duty."
"But if I could talk to Mister Cerobie—"
"I've already told you I don't know where the hell he is. He couldn't do you any good, anyway. Didn't you ever read Space Regulations? Section 19: 'The captain of a ship in flight is solely responsible for the maintenance of discipline and his orders cannot be changed or overruled'."
"Swenson, you said a moment ago that this was your first suggestion. I presume, therefore, that you have others."
"I have two others." Swenson paused long enough for a brief study of his Master Ship Location Chart, which he had just brought up to date. The chart showed the position of all ships at the moment in space. "There's a patrol cruiser loaded with gendarmes three million miles behind you on a course paralleling yours. It's one of the new Arrow Class and if they blast full, they can catch you in ten hours. Mention to the crew that you could notify the police boys and have them pick you up and escort you to Mars."
"What is the patrol ship's number and call letters?"