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expense.
    “Ah, I see,” Lag replies. “So, if I may interpret your question more precisely, you are asking me to say who is the most important person at this table?”
    The Doc and Senator and their wives protest halfheartedly, but someone says, “That’s a great way to put it,” to the general agreement of the rest of the table and a few passengers nearby who have been listening in. Lag looks around at everyone seated.
    “Well…” he chews thoughtfully, “obviously I don’t know everyone perfectly, so there is always a chance I’m wrong, but: A senator passes laws that affect everyone. If he makes a mistake, he doesn’t know who died. There are lawsuits, money changes hands, and he passes another law while blaming the opposition.” There are gasps of agreement at the baldness and accuracy of his words.
    “A surgeon holds life in his hands. If he makes a mistake, someone dies on his table.” The Senator and his wife look flustered. The Doctor smiles but says nothing. “But it’s only that one person.” The Doc frowns, and the Senator’s wife smiles.
    “However … judging by the flaming cogwheel badge of a drive tech, the number of stripes on his sleeve, and the bags under his eyes, the chief engineer down there,” everyone swivels to look at the older man wearing an ill-fitting and rumpled ship uniform, with a badge on one shoulder and many service and rank stripes, “has been putting in long hours keeping this old bird flying. If he makes a mistake, we all die. I’d say he is the most important person on this ship right now.”
    General acclamation at the table, accompanied by muted protests from the Senator and Doc and their wives. The Chief Engineer’s surprised expression slowly turns into a sly grin.
    Dinners have been eaten, conversations moved on, and the seating shuffled a bit. Lag and the Chief Engineer now sit next to each other, conversing in low tones. “Seriously, how are things?” Lag asks.
    “Holding together. We’re down a few key guys so we do a few extra shifts. Keeps us busy. No real problems, though.” Lag nods in understanding and leans back in his chair.
    The evening progresses, and people have moved again. Helton’s discussing transition space with the Senator and the Doctor, while their wives and Bipasha compare notes on restaurants in New Chicago. Trask and Lag sit leaning slightly together, half-facing the table.
    “Well, that is a way to end an argument, though I think you made an enemy or two.”
    Lag chuckles. “I said I settle disputes, not that I make people happy. Besides, annoying a third-rate snollygoster that will get voted out next election and a self-important body technician is a small price to pay for the truth.”
    “You certainly made everyone else at the table happy.”
    “It is amazing how a little perspective makes things clear, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, indeed,” Trask says, more seriously. “You know, I was wondering…”
    “If I’m available for some intractable problem you have?” Lag says.
    Trask nods, looking mildly embarrassed at being anticipated.
    “Things are a little busy at the moment but I may have some openings. What and where?”
    “I was heading to Throwdart II to deal with a series of disputes at a local mine. It seemed to finally be settled after an explosion killed some people, but now the accounting is looking very … odd. And I’m not getting any straight answers from anyone.”
    “Hmmm. I don’t usually do accounting issues, but … Throwdart II is interesting. Rough place a while back, with a very ugly mine strike. Quiet now, I hear.”
    “Ah, good, you know of it. So … any chance you’ll be out that way?”
    “Not planning on it, but it’s not too far off course. If we catch a swirl that forces us over that way, I might be able to drop in. Are you going directly there?”
    “Not quite. I’ve another couple of stops. I should land there in a month or so.”
    “Well, we can talk more as we get closer to