It worked out neatly enough, at that. An Areopolitan court decreed that Shanig, being bound by the requirements of Martian law to expiate his crimes with as little expense to the polity as possible, should spend the five years of his sentence guarding Joey-Cora in a force-wall detention area to be set up in Syrtis Major. By the time his term ended my combination smiley would have fissioned, Shanig would have paid his debt to society and my investment would have paid dividends.
It could have been worse. For the time being I was out some forty thousand credits, but I managed to salvage enough for a moderate celebration by contracting with the government to furnish khiff roots from Mimas to keep Shanig from going berserk under Joey-Cora's influence.
The arrangement wasn't too hard on Shanig, even. The worst of it would be the isolation—that, and the packs of Syrtis Major jackals that would crowd around the force-wall at night and howl for his blood.
"Good enough," I told Cheryl after the trial. "That leaves just one small detail to be arranged. I'll have to wangle another loan from Martian Bankings."
She raised a slim brow. "Loan? For a grubstake?"
"For our weekend on Phobos," I said. "Remember?"
She laughed. "There's another little detail you overlooked, William. My ring size is five and one-half."
"Ring?" I said. "Oh, a ring.... Would you rather have a Tellurian diamond, an A-belt fire-opal, or—"
"Nothing expensive," she cut me off. "Something simpler would be more appropriate, I think. Under the circumstances, I'd suggest a plain gold band."