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I did. You don’t go into the managing business these days unless you have plenty on the ball. You’ve got to know all the principles and all the tricks of organization and communication, and you’ve got to be able to waltz your way around all the roadblocks that are caused by Government laws–some of which have been floating around on the books of one nation or another for two or three centuries.

Did you know that there’s a law on the American statute books that forbids the landing of a spaceship within one hundred miles of a city? That was passed back when they were using rockets, but it’s never been repealed. Technically, then, it’s almost impossible to land a ship anywhere on the North American continent. Long Island Spaceport is openly flouting the law, if you want to look at it that way.

A managerial combine has to know all those little things and know how to get around them. It has to be able to have the confidence of the stock-holders of a corporation–if it’s run on the Western Plan–or the confidence of communal owners if it’s run on the Eastern Plan.

Something like this could snowball on Ravenhurst. It isn’t only the rats that desert a sinking ship; so does anyone else who has any sense.

“What I want to know, Mr. Oak,” Ravenhurst continued, “is who is behind this plot, whether an individual or a group. I want to know identity and motivation.”

“Is that all?” I eyed him skeptically.

“No. Of course not. I want you to make sure that the MG-YR-7 isn’t sabotaged. I want you to make sure it’s protected from whatever kind of monkey wrenches are being thrown into its works.”

“It’s nearly ready for testing now, isn’t it?” I asked.

“It is ready. It seems to be in perfect condition so far. Viking is already looking for a test pilot. It’s still in working order now, and I want to be certain that it will remain so.”

I cocked my head to one side and gave him my Interrogative And Suspicious Glance–Number 9 in the manual. “You didn’t do any checking on the first six McGuire ships. You wait until this one is done before calling me. Why the delay, Ravenhurst?”

It didn’t faze him. “I became suspicious after McGuire 6 failed. I put Colonel Brock on it.”

I nodded. I’d had dealings with Brock. He was head of Ravenhurst’s Security Guard. “Brock didn’t get anywhere,” I said.

“He did not. His own face is too well known for him to have investigated personally, and he’s not enough of an actor to get away with using a plexiskin mask. He had to use underlings. And I’m afraid some of them might be in the pay of the … ah … opposition. They got nowhere.”

“In other words, you may have spies in your own organization who are working with the Viking group. Very interesting. That means they know I’m working for you, which will effectively seal me up, too. You might as well have kept Brock on the job.”

He smiled in a smug, superior sort of way that some men might have resented. I did. Even though I’d fed him the line so that he could feel superior, knowing that a smart operator like Ravenhurst would already have covered his tracks. I couldn’t help wishing I’d told him simply to trot out his cover story instead of letting him think I believed it had never occurred to either of us before.

“As far as my staff knows, Mr. Oak, you are here to escort my daughter, Jaqueline, to Braunsville, Luna. You will, naturally, have to take her to Ceres in your flitterboat, where you will wait for a specially chartered ship to take you both to Luna. That will be a week after you arrive. Since the McGuire 7 is to be tested within three days, that should give you ample time.”

“If it doesn’t?”

“We will consider that possibility if and when it becomes probable. I have a great deal of faith in you.”