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my best to see that it's encouraged.
    "Since I've been General Manager here this mine has broken all productivity records. We're on our way to becoming Con-Amalgamate's leading deep-system operation, and everyone in this room has received the bonus checks to prove it. There isn't another mine or manufacturing facility outside Mars that can boast our profit margin. I expect it to continue that way.
    "Good work only comes from contented people." This time the smile seemed less forced. "I work them hard and I let them play hard."
    O'Niel didn't respond to the subsequent pause, simply continued watching Sheppard. The manager gave a mental shrug and continued.
    "So when the time comes to let off a little steam, you have to allow them some room. Considering how hard they push themselves out there,"— he jerked a thumb toward a port that showed the yellow orange surface of Io— "they're entitled to that." He leaned forward toward O'Niel.
    "Just give them a little room." He was still smiling. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Marshal?"
    There was an uncomfortable moment of total silence in the room. Montone wished fervently he was somewhere else.
    He needn't have worried. O'Niel's response was noncommital but satisfactory. "Thank you for the advice, Mr. Sheppard."
    "We're all professionals here," the General Manager added, relaxing in his chair.
    "I'm sure we are."
    "You drop around to my office." Sheppard was feeling quite content now. "We'll talk some more."
    "I'll do that." O'Niel stood. "I'd better be getting back to the office." People were already filing out of the room. No one came forward to shake O'Niel's hand or wish him well. It didn't surprise O'Niel. He was used to that. "We professionals have our work to do."
    "Right." Sheppard didn't rise along with him, signaled to a younger man to bring him some more coffee.
    Once safely outside and halfway down a corridor, O'Niel let his anger out. Not by punching one of the prefab metal walls, or kicking at the unscuffable floor, or spewing a stream of curses. His face tightened a little, but most of the anger came out in his stride, which increased in length and force until his boots were hitting the floor with far more energy than was necessary just to carry a man forward.
    They entered the vacuum-hose accessway which swayed under his march as Montone struggled to keep pace with his boss
    "Now don't go getting your nose all out of joint," the sergeant urged him.
    O'Niel didn't reply, didn't slacken his pace. His eyes stared straight ahead, ignoring the dim light that flashed occasionally from read-outs on the ceiling.
    "What the hell was that all about?" he finally asked. His voice changed as he mimicked Sheppard's. " 'Do you understand what I'm saying, Marshal?' "
    "That's just his way." Montone's voice was soothing. "A little ceremony for the good folk, that's all. I'm told he goes through that with every Marshal who comes here. He wasn't singling you out or anything like that. It's just his way. You know how some of these General Managers are."
    "I don't like his way," said O'Niel softly.
    Montone turned serious. "Not many people do. Only those who count, like the members of the Con-Am General Board. He gets results, Sheppard does. That's all they want to know. Don't mess with him."
    "He's an asshole."
    "He's a very powerful asshole. Don't mess with him! Save it for the rowdies in the Club. Take it out on them and stay away from Sheppard."
    They walked the rest of the way in silence.
    Eventually the corridor ended in a hatch seal. O'Niel thumbed the switch and the hatchway admitted them to Building C. The mine complex was full of hatches, double and triple checks to contain any accidental air leaks.
    The combination switch on this particular hatch was unusual. Most such portals had only a single stud to press to gain the supplicant admission. But Building C was tighter: it housed, among other important sections, the security area.
    There was a jail uniquely suited to its