Captain Frank Sage, S.P., shouldered through the double safety doors of Moon Station Cafe, tossed his gear into a corner and sat down at the bar.
“’Lo, Tom,” he said glumly. “Make it black coffee, ham and eggs and apple pie.”
“You going right out?” Old Tom stopped his eternal polishing of glasses and gave his bald head a rub with the towel before switching on the hot plate. “I was hoping you could lay over a day and chew the fat.”
“Not this time.” Sage swished the coffee in its heavy cup to cool it. “I’m pushing off soon as they refuel my crate and calibrate the orbit; I’ve got troubles.”
“Um!” The bartender squinted quizzically at his lean and lanky customer. “I hear the Big Shots are big-shotting it again on Venus.”
“Right! They’re getting much too big for their britches these days;
