"Straight." Borlan looked from one to the other. "Look, taking things worldwide, who would you say our biggest customer is? It's no secret—UN Space Arm. We do everything for them from Lunar data links to—to laser terminal clusters and robot probes. Do you know how much revenue I've got forecast from UNSA next fiscal? Two hundred million bucks . . . two hundred million!"

"So?"

"So . . . well—when a customer like that says he needs help, he gets help. I'll tell you what happened. It was like this: UNSA is a big potential user of scopes, so we fed them all the information we've got on what the scope can do and how development is progressing in Francis's neck of the woods. One day—the day before I called Francis—this guy comes to see me all the way from Houston, where one of the big UNSA outfits has its HQ. He's an old buddy of mine—their top man, no less. He wants to know can the scope do this and can it do that, and I tell him sure it can. Then he gives me some examples of the things he's got in mind and he asks if we've got a working model yet. I tell him not yet, but that you've got a working prototype in England; we can arrange for him to go see it if he wants. But that's not what he wants. He wants the prototype down there in Houston, and he wants people who can operate it. He'll pay, he says—we can name our own figure—but he wants that instrument—something to do with a top-priority project down there that's got the whole of UNSA in a flap. When I ask him what it is, he clams up and says it's 'security restricted' for the moment."

"Sounds a funny business," Hunt commented with a frown. "It'll cause some bloody awful problems back at Metadyne."

"I told him all that." Borlan turned his palms upward in a gesture of helplessness. "I told him the score regarding the production schedules and availability forecasts, but he said this thing was big and he wouldn't go causing this kind of trouble if he didn't have a good reason. He wouldn't, either," Borlan added with obvious sincerity. "I've known him for years. He said UNSA would pay compensation for whatever we figure the delays will cost us." Borlan resumed his helpless attitude. "So what was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to tell an old buddy who happens to be my best customer to go take a jump?"

Hunt rubbed his chin, threw back his last drop of scotch, and took a long pensive draw on his cigar.

"And that's it?" he asked at last.