“Why did I ever listen to you about this race? I already spend a bunch right here on Earth,” protested Jerome Blacker, president of JBI. “I’ve been having second thoughts about this Jupiter race.”

The two tanned and muscular people facing him looked uneasy. A sales tag was still attached to the man’s sleeve and flapped as he waved his hand while speaking. “You already made the commitment, JB—you just have to follow through. Come on, it doesn’t cost you any real money.”

“You sure as hell aren’t much of a businessman if you think this won’t cost me anything!” JB said nastily.

“Mr. Blacker,” Pascal interrupted, “the publicity about this race will bring in more than enough to offset expenses.”

Jerome leaned across the desk. “What about insurance, the cost of transport, the cost of the boats? Those things aren’t cheap!”

Pascal sighed. “The funds from the Jovian ventures can’t be spent on Earth. Thanks to the treaty of ’54, you have to reinvest at least 75 percent of your profits.”

Jerome winced. “Don’t remind me about those damn pirates! If it hadn’t been for my stations and hubs, the damned Jovians wouldn’t have a pot to piss in,” he grumbled.

Pascal continued his attack. “GeoGlobal and the Times cartel are both outfitting ships for the race. No telling how many the Jovians are going to enter themselves. If we don’t race, JBI will lose a lot—the publicity about our entry will bring in more than enough revenue to cover our expenses.”