"How's it going, Mac?" Loch asked. "I understand you're having trouble with Number Four."
"It's worse than just trouble, Paul," MacIlheny told him. He carefully explained what had happened.
Loch nodded. "Looks rough. What do you figure on doing?"
"How much will it cost me to rent one of your RJ-37 jobs with a drone robot in it?"
"Fully fueled?" Loch thought a moment, then named a figure.
"That's pretty steep," MacIlheny objected.
Loch spread his hands. "Actually, it's just a guess; but I'm pretty sure we won't be able to get insurance on her for something like this. What do you plan to do?"
"I want to take an RJ-37 up there to Number Four and use it to put the satellite back in a safe orbit. It'll have to be done quickly or we'll lose the satellite and a few thousand square miles of Earth."
Loch paused again, turning the idea over in his mind. MacIlheny said nothing; he knew how the mind of Paul Loch worked. Finally, Loch said: "Tell you what; get the Government to underwrite the insurance, and we'll give you the RJ-37 at cost. Fair enough?"
MacIlheny nodded. "Get her ready. If the President won't okay the insurance, we'll have to pay the extra tariff. We absolutely can't afford to lose that satellite."