Docker was a big man with a red face that perpetually showed the red coloration of hidden anger. He had full, thick lips, the avid lips of a greedy man. Whatever these lips tasted or drank, they wanted more of it, all of it. His eyes confirmed his lips. Here was a man who wanted the world with an iron fence around it. Or better still, the solar system, with a big sign saying—KEEP OUT. THIS IS ALL MINE. He looked up as Larkin entered the cabin, glanced up at the men with him.
"He's clean," one of the men said.
"Okay, you can leave. Set down, Larkin." Docker's eyes went back to the papers on his desk.
Larkin sat down. There seemed nothing else to do. He was very much aware that his situation here was ticklish. Docker finished with the papers. He looked up. His eyes were bold, confident, and arrogant.
"Larkin, we're taking over the distribution of all minerals used for soil enrichment on Mars."
Larkin felt shock rise in him. He held it under control. His hands clenched into fists. "By whose authority?" His voice had acid in it.
"Whose authority?" For an instant, Docker looked astonished. "Why, Roy said—" He caught himself. The astonishment turned into swift anger which showed as a tide of red creeping over his face. "By our own authority!" His fist pounded on the desk, emphasizing the words.
"You do not have the sanction of the Martian government?"
"What government is there on Mars?" Docker demanded. "The whole cursed planet is split into a hundred different tribes that do not even know the meaning of the word government."