POLICE YOUR PLANET

 By ERIC VAN LHIN

 SCIENCE FICTION AVALON BOOKS 22 EAST 60TH STREET NEW YORK

 Copyright, 1956, by Eric van Lhin

 [Transcriber's note: This is a rule 6 clearance. A copyright renewal could not be found. ]

 Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number: 56-13313

 PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN THE DOMINION OF CANADA BY THE RYERSON PRESS, TORONTO

 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC. , CLINTON, MASSACHUSETTS

CONTENTS

 I One Way Ticket

 II Honest Izzy

 III The Graft Is Green

 IV Captain Murdoch

 V Recall

 VI Sealed Letter

 VII Electioneering

 VIII Vote Early and Often

 IX Contraband

 X Marriage of Convenience

 XI The Sky's the Limit

 XII Wife or Prisoner?

 XIII Arrest Mayor Wayne!

 XIV Full Circle

 XV Murdoch's Mantle

 XVI Get the Dome!

 XVII Security Payoff

POLICE YOUR PLANET

Chapter I

ONE WAY TICKET

There were ten passengers in the little pressurized cabin of theelectric bus that shuttled between the rocket field and Marsport. Tenmen, the driver--and Bruce Gordon. 

He sat apart from the others, as he had kept to himself on the ten-daytrip between Earth and Mars, with the yellow stub of his ticket stillstuck defiantly in the band of his hat, proclaiming that Earth had paidhis passage without his permission being asked. His big, lean body wasslumped slightly in the seat. There was no expression on his face. 

He listened to the driver explaining to a couple of firsters that theywere actually on what appeared to be one of the mysterious canals whenviewed from Earth. Every book on Mars gave the fact that the canals wereeither an illusion or something which could not be detected on thesurface of the planet. 

He glanced back toward the rocket that still pointed skyward back on thefield, and then forward toward the city of Marsport, sprawling out in amess of slums beyond the edges of the dome that had been built to holdair over the central part. And at last he stirred and reached for theyellow stub. 

He grimaced at the ONE WAY stamped on it, then tore it intobits and let the pieces scatter over the floor. He counted them as theyfell; thirty pieces, one for each year of his life. Little ones for thetwo years he'd wasted as a cop. Shreds for the four years as a kid inthe ring before that--he'd never made the top. Bigger bits for two yearsalso wasted in trying his hand at professional gambling; and the sixfinal pieces that spelled his rise from a special reporter helping outwith a police shake-up coverage, through a regular leg-man turning uprackets, and on up like a meteor until.... He'd made his big scoop, allright. He'd dug up enough about the Mercury scandals to doublecirculation. 

And the government had explained what a fool he'd been for printing halfof a story that was never supposed to be printed until all could berevealed. They'd given Bruce Gordon his final assignment. 

He shrugged. He'd bought a suit of airtight coveralls and a helmet atthe field; he had some cash, and a set of reader cards in his pocket. The supply house, Earthside, had assured him that this pattern had neverbeen exported to Mars. With them and the knife he'd selected, he mightget by. 

The Solar Security office had given him the knife practice, to make surehe could use it, just as they'd made sure he hadn't taken extra moneywith him beyond the regulation amount. 

"You're a traitor, and we'd like nothing better than seeing your gutsspilled, " the Security man had told him. "That paper you swiped wasmarked top secret. But we don't get many men with your background--cop, tinhorn, fighter--who have brains enough for our work. So you're boundfor Mars, rather than the Mercury mines. If... "

It was a big _if_, and a vague one. They needed men on Mars who couldact as links in their information bureau, and be ready to work on theirside when the expected trouble came. They wanted men who could servethem loyally, even without orders. If he did them enough service, theymight let him back to Earth. If he caused trouble enough, they couldstill ship him to Mercury. 

"And suppose nothing happens?" he asked. 

"Then who cares? You're just lucky enough to be alive. "

"And what makes you think I'm going to be a spy for Security?"

The other had shrugged. "Why not, Gordon? You've been a spy for a yellowscandal sheet. Why not for us?"

Gordon had been smart enough to realize that perhaps Security was right. 

They were in the slums around the city now. Marsport had been settledfaster than it was ready to receive. Temporary buildings had been thrownup, and then had remained, decaying into deathtraps. It wasn't a prettyview that visitors got as they first reached Mars. But nobody except theromantic fools had ever thought frontiers were pretty. 

The drummer who had watched Gordon tear up his yellow stub moved forwardnow. "First time?" he asked. 

Gordon nodded, mentally cataloguing the drummer as the cockroach type, midway between the small-businessman slug and the petty-crook spidertypes that weren't worth bothering with. But the other took it asinterest. 

"Been here dozens of times, myself. Risking your life just to go intoMarsport. Why Congress doesn't clean it up, _I'll_ never know!"

Gordon's mind switched to the readers in his bag. The cards wereplastic, and should be good for a week or so of use before they showedwear. During that time, by playing it carefully, he should have hisstake. Then, if the gaming tables here were as crudely run as anoldtimer he'd known on Earth had said, he could try a coup. 

"... Be at Mother Corey's soon, " the fat little drummer babbled on. "Notorious--worst place on Mars. Take it from me, brother, that'ssomething! Even the cops are afraid to go in there. See it? There, toyour left!"

The name was vaguely familiar as one of the sore spots of Marsport. Bruce Gordon looked, and spotted the ragged building, half a mileoutside the dome. It had been a rocket-maintenance hangar once, then hadbeen turned into temporary dwelling for the first deportees, when Earthbegan flooding Mars. Now, seeming to stand by habit alone, it radiateddesolation and decay. 

He stood up, grabbing for his bag, and spinning the drummer aside. Hejerked forward, and caught the driver's shoulder. "Getting off!"

The driver shrugged his hand away. "Don't be crazy, mister! They--" Heturned, saw it was Gordon, and his face turned blank. "It's your life, buster, " he said, and reached for the brake. "I'll give you five minutesto get into coveralls and helmet and out through the airlock. "

Gordon needed less than that; he'd practiced all the way from Earth. Thetransparent plastic of the coveralls went on easily enough, and hishands found the seals quickly. He slipped his few possessions into a bagat his belt, slid the knife into a spring holster above his wrist, andpicked up the bowl-shaped helmet. It seated on a plastic seal, and thelittle air compressor at his back began to hum, ready to turn the thinwisp of Mars' atmosphere into a barely breathable pressure. He testedthe Marspeaker--an amplifier and speaker in another pouch, designed toraise the volume of his voice to a level where it would carry througheven the air of Mars. 

The driver swore at the lash of sound, and grabbed for the airlockswitch. 

 * * * * *

Gordon moved down unpaved streets that zig-zagged along, thick with thefilth of garbage and poverty--the part of Mars never seen in thenewsreels, outside the shock movies. Thin kids with big eyes and sullenmouths crowded the streets in their airsuits, yelling profanity. Thestreet was filled with people watching with a numbed hunger for any kindof excitement. 

It was late afternoon, obviously. Men were coming from the few busroutes, lugging tools and lunch baskets, slumped and beaten from laborin the atomic plants, the Martian conversion farms, and the industriesthat had come inevitably where inefficiency was better than the highprices of imports. The saloons were doing well enough, apparently, fromthe number that streamed in through their airlock entrances. But Gordonsaw one of the bartenders paying money to a thickset person with anarrogant sneer; he knew then that the few profits from the cheap beerwere never going home with the man. Storekeepers in the cheap littleshops had the same lines on their faces as they saw on those of theircustomers. 

Poverty and misery were the keynotes here, rather than the evilhalf-world the drummer had babbled about. But to Gordon's trained eyes, there was plenty of outright rottenness, too. 

He grimaced, grateful that the supercharger on his airsuit filtered outsome of the smell which the thin air carried. He'd thought he wasfamiliar with human misery from his own Earth slum background. But therewas no attempt to disguise it here. 

Ahead, Mother Corey's reared up--a huge, ugly half-cylinder of pittedmetal and native bricks, showing the patchwork of decades, beforerepairs had been abandoned. There were no windows, though once there hadbeen; and the front was covered with a big sign that spelled out_Condemned_. The airseal was filthy, and there was no bell. 

Gordon kicked against the side, waited, and kicked again. A slit openedand closed. He waited, then drew his knife and began prying at the worncement around the airseal, looking for the lock that had been there. 

The seal suddenly quivered, indicating that metal inside had beenwithdrawn. Gordon grinned tautly, stepped through, and pushed the bladeagainst the inner plastic. 

"All right, all right, " a voice whined out of the darkness. "You don'thave to puncture my seal. You're in. "

"Then call them off!"

A wheezing chuckle answered him, and a phosphor bulb glowed weakly, shedding some light on a filthy hall. "Okay, boys, " the voice said, "come on down. He's alone, anyhow. What's pushing, stranger?"

"A yellow ticket, " Gordon told him, "and a government allotment that'lllast me two weeks in the dome. I figure on making it last six here, anddon't let my being a firster give you hot palms. My brother was LannyGordon!"

It happened to be true, though Bruce Gordon hadn't seen his brother fromthe time the man had left the family, as a young punk, to the day theyfinally convicted him on his twenty-first murder. But here, if it waslike places he'd known on Earth, even second-hand contact with "muscle"was useful. 

It seemed to work. A huge man oozed out of the shadows, his gray facecontorting its doughy fat into a yellow-toothed grin, and a filthy handwaved back the others. There were a few wisps of long, gray hair on thehead and face, and they quivered as he moved forward. 

"Looking for a room?" he whined. 

"I'm looking for Mother Corey. "

"Then you're looking at him, cobber. Sleep on the floor, want a bunk, squat with four, or room and duchess to yourself?"

There was a period of haggling, followed by a wait as Mother Coreykicked four grumbling men out of a four-by-seven hole on the secondfloor. Gordon's money had carried more weight than his brother'sreputation; for that, Corey humored his guest's wish for privacy. "Allyours, cobber, while your crackle's blue. "

It was a filthy, dark place. In one corner was an unsheeted bed. Therewas a rusty bucket for water, a hole kicked through the floor for wastewater. Plumbing, and such luxuries, apparently hadn't existed foryears--except for the small cistern and worn water-recovery plant in thebasement, beside the tired-looking weeds in the hydroponic tanks thattried unsuccessfully to keep the air breathable. 

"What about a lock on the door?" Gordon asked. 

"What good would it do you? Got a different way here, we have. Onecredit a week, and you get Mother Corey's word nobody busts in. And itsticks, cobber--one way or the other. "

Gordon paid, and tossed his pouch on the filthy bed. With a little work, the place could be cleaned enough. 

He pulled the cards out of his pouch, trying to be casual. Mother Coreystood staring at the pack while Bruce Gordon changed out of his airsuit, gagging faintly as the full effluvium of the place hit him. "Where doesa man eat around here?"

Mother Corey pried his eyes off the cards and ran a thick tongue overheavy lips. "Eh? Oh. Eat. There's a place about ten blocks back. Cobber, stop teasing me! With elections coming up, and the boys loaded with votemoney back in town--with a deck of cheaters like that--you want to_eat_?"

He picked the deck up fondly, while a faraway look came into his cloudedeyes. "Same ones--same identical ones I wore out nigh twenty years ago. Smuggled two decks up here. Set to clean up--and I did, for a while. " Heshook his head sadly, and handed the deck back to Gordon. "Come on down. For the sight of these, I'll give you the lay for your pitch. And whenyour luck's made or broken, remember Mother Corey was your friend first, and your old Mother can get longer use from them than you can. "

He waddled off, telling of his plans to take Mars for a cleaning, oncelong ago. Gordon followed him, staring at the surrounding filth. 

His thoughts were churning so busily that he didn't see the blonde girluntil she had forced her way past them on the stairs. Then he turnedback, but she had vanished into one of the rooms. 

Chapter II

HONEST IZZY

A lot could be done in ten days, when a man knew what he was after. Itwas exactly ten days later. Bruce Gordon stood in the motley crowdinside the barnlike room where Fats ran a bar along one wall, and filledthe rest of the space with assorted tables--all worn. Gordon wassweating slightly as he stood at the roulette table, where both zero anddouble-zero were reserved for the house. 

The croupier was a little wizened man wanted on Earth. His eyes darteddown to the point of the knife that showed under Gordon's sleeve, and helicked his lips, showing snaggled teeth. The wheel hesitated and came toa halt, with the ball trembling in a pocket. 

"Twenty-one wins again. " He pushed chips toward Gordon, as if every oneof them came out of his own pay. "Place your bets. "

Two others around the table watched narrowly as Gordon left his chipswhere they were; they then exchanged looks and shook their heads. In aMartian roulette game, numbers with that much riding just didn't turnup. The croupier shifted his weight, then caught the wheel and spun itsavagely. 

Gordon's leg ached from his strained position, but he shifted his weightonto it more heavily, and sweat popped out on the croupier's face. Hiseyes darted down, to where the full weight of Gordon seemed to rest onthe heel that was grinding into his instep. He tried to pull his footoff the button that was concealed in the floor. 

The heel ground harder, bringing a groan from him. And the ball hoveredover Twenty-one and came to rest there once more. 

Slowly, painfully, the little man counted stacks of chips and moved themacross the table toward Gordon, his hands trembling. 

Gordon straightened from his awkward position, drawing his foot back, and reached out for the pile of chips. Then he scooped it up and nodded. "Okay. I'm not greedy. "

The strain of watching the games until he could spot the fix, and thenholding the croupier down, had left him momentarily weak, but Gordoncould still feel the tensing of the crowd. Now he let his eyes run overthem--the night citizens of Marsport, lower-dome section. Spacemen who'dmissed their ships; men who'd come here with dreams, and stayed withoutthem--the shopkeepers who couldn't meet their graft and were here to tryto win it on a last chance; street women and petty grifters. The air wasthick with their unwashed bodies--all Mars smelled, since water wasstill too rare for frequent bathing--and their cheap perfume, andclouded with cheap Marsweed cigarettes. 

Gordon swung where their eyes pointed, until he saw Fats Eller sidlingthrough the groups, then let the knife slip into the palm of his hand asthe crowd seemed to hold its breath. Fats plucked a sheaf of Martianbank notes from his pocket and tossed them to the croupier. 

"Cash in his chips. " Then his pouchy eyes turned to Gordon. "Get yourmoney, punk, and get out! And stay out!"

For a moment, as he began pocketing the bills, Gordon thought he wasgoing to get away that easily. Fats watched him dourly, then swung onhis heel, just as a shrill, strangled cry went up from someone in thecrowd. 

The deportee let his glance jerk to it, then froze. His eyes caught thesight of a hand pointing behind him, and he knew it was too crude atrick to bother with. But he paused, shocked to see the girl he'd seenon Mother Corey's stairs gazing at him in well-feigned warning. In spiteof his better judgment, she caught his eyes and drew them down overcurves and swells that would always be right for arousing a man'spassion. 

He glanced back at Fats, who had started to turn again. Gordon took astep backwards, preparing to duck. Again the girl's finger motionedbehind him; he disregarded it--and then realized it was a mistake. 

It was the faintest swish in the air that caught his ear; he brought hisshoulders up and his head down. Fast as his reaction was, it was almosttoo late. The weapon crunched against his shoulder and slammed over theback of his neck, almost knocking him out. 

His heel lashed back and caught the shin of the man behind him. Gordon'sother leg spun him around, still crouching; the knife in his handstarted coming up, sharp edge leading, and aimed for the belly of thebruiser who confronted him. The pug saw the blade and tried to check hislunge. 

Gordon felt the blade strike; but he was already pulling his swing, andit only gashed a long streak. The thug shrieked hoarsely and fell over. That left the way clear to the door; Bruce Gordon was through it andinto the night in two soaring leaps. After only a few days on Mars, hislegs were still hardened to Earth gravity, and he had more than a doubleadvantage over the others. 

Outside, it was the usual Martian night in the poorer section of thedome, which meant near-darkness. Most of the street lights had neverbeen installed--graft had eaten up the appropriations, instead--and thenearest one was around the corner, leaving the side of Fats' Place inthe shadow. Gordon checked his speed, threw himself flat, and rolledback against the building, just beyond the steps that led to the street. 

Feet pounded out of the door above as Fats and the bouncer brokethrough. Gordon's hand had already knotted a couple of coins into hiskerchief; he waited until the two turned uncertainly up the street andtossed it. It struck the wall near the corner, sailed on, and struckagain at the edge of the unpaved street with a muffled sound. 

Fats and the other swung, just in time to see a bit of dust where it hadhit. "Around the corner!" Fats yelled. "After him, and shoot!"

In the shadows, Gordon jerked sharply. It was rare enough to have a gunhere; but to use one inside the dome was unthinkable. His eyes shot up, to where the few dim lights were reflected off the great plastic sheetthat was held up by air pressure and reinforced with heavy webbing. Itwas the biggest dome ever built--large enough to cover all of Marsportbefore the slums sprawled out beyond it; it still covered half the city, and made breathing possible here without a helmet. But the dome wasn'tdesigned to stand stray bullets; and having firearms inside it--exceptfor a few chosen men--was a crime punishable by death. 

Fats had swung back, and was now herding the crowd inside his place. Hemight have been only a small gambling-house owner, but within his owncircle his words carried weight. 

Gordon got to his hands and knees and began crawling away from thecorner. He came to a dark alley, smelling of decay where garbage hadpiled up without being carted away. Beyond lay a lighted street, and asign that announced _Mooney's Amusement Palace--Drinks Free to Patrons!_He looked up and down the street, then walked briskly toward thesomewhat plusher gambling hall there. Fats couldn't touch him in acompetitor's place. 

Inside Mooney's, he headed quickly for the dice table. He lost steadilyon small bets for half an hour, admiring the skilled palming of the"odds" cubes. The loss was only a tiny dent in his new pile, but Gordonbemoaned it properly--as if he were broke--and moved over to the bar. This one had seats. The bartender had a consolation boilermaker waiting;he gulped half of it before he realized it had been needled with ether. 

Beside him, a cop was drinking the same slowly, watching anotherpoliceman at a Canfield game. He was obviously winning, and now he gotup and came over to cash in his chips. 

"You'd think they'd lose count once in a while, " he complained to hiscompanion. "But nope--fifty even a night, no more ... Well, come on, Pete. We'd better get back to Fats and tell him the swindler got away. "

Gordon followed them out and turned south, down the street toward theedge of the dome and the entrance where he'd parked his airsuit andhelmet. He kept glancing back, whenever he was in the thicker shadows, but there seemed to be no one following him. 

At the gate of the dome, he looked back again, then ducked into thelocker building. He threaded through the maze of the lockers with hisknife ready in his hand, trying not to attract suspicion. At this hour, though, most of the place was empty. The crowds of foremen anddeliverymen who'd be going in and out through the day were lacking. 

He found his suit and helmet and clamped them on quickly, transferringthe knife to its spring sheath outside the suit. He checked the tinybatteries that were recharged by generators in the soles of the bootswith every step. Then he paid his toll for the opening of the privateslit and went through, into the darkness outside the dome. 

Lights bobbed about--police in pairs, patrolling in the better streets, walking as far from the houses as they could; a few groups, depending onnumbers for safety; some of the very poor, stumbling about and hopingfor a drink somehow; and probably hoods from the gangs that ruled thenights here. 

Gordon left his torch unlighted, and moved along; there was a littleillumination from the phosphorescent markers at some of the corners, andfrom the stars. He could just make his way without marking himself witha light. 

Damn it, he should have hired a few of the younger bums from MotherCorey's. Here he couldn't hear footsteps. He located a pair ofpatrolling cops, and followed them down one street, until they swungoff. Then he was on his own again. 

"Gov'nor!" The word barely reached him, and Bruce Gordon spun around, the knife twitching into his hand. It was a thin kid of perhaps eighteenbehind him, carrying a torch that was filtered to bare visibility. Itswung up, and he saw a pock-marked face that was twisted in a smilemeant to be ingratiating. 

"You've got a pad on your tail, " the kid said, again as low as hisamplifier would permit. "Need a convoy?"

Gordon studied him briefly, and grinned. Then his grin wiped out as thekid's arm flashed to his shoulder and back, a series of quick jerks thatseemed almost a blur. Four knives stood buried in the ground at Gordon'sfeet, forming a square--and a fifth was in the kid's hand. 

"How much?" he asked, as the kid scooped up the blades and shoved themexpertly back into shoulder sheaths. The kid's hand shaped a C quickly, and Gordon slipped his arm through a self-sealing slit in the airsuitand brought out two of them. 

"Thanks, gov'nor, " the kid said, stowing them away. "You won't regretit. " Gordon started to turn. Then the kid's voice rose sharply to ayell. "Okay, honey, he's the Joe!"

Out of the darkness, ten to a dozen figures loomed up. The kid hadjumped aside with a lithe leap, and now stood between Gordon and thegroup moving in for the kill. Gordon swung to run, and found himselfsurrounded. His eyes flickered around, trying to spot something in thedarkness that would give him shelter. 

A bludgeon was suddenly hurtling toward him, and he ducked it, his bloodthick in his throat and his ears ringing with the same pressure of fearhe'd always known just before he was kayoed in the ring. Then heselected what he hoped was the thinnest section of the attackers andleaped forward. With luck, he might jump over them, using his Earthstrength. 

There was a flicker of dawnlight in the sky, now, however; and he madeout others behind, ready for just such a move. He changed his lunge inmid-stride, and brought his arm back with the knife. It met a smallround shield on the arm of the man he had chosen, and was deflected atonce. 

"Give 'em hell, gov'nor, " the kid's voice yelled, and the little figurewas beside him, a shower of blades seeming to leap from his hand in theglare of his bare torch. Shields caught them frantically, and then thekid was in with a heavy club he'd torn from someone's hand. 

Gordon had no time to consider his sudden traitor-ally. He bent to theground, seizing the first rocks he could find, and threw them. One ofthe hoods dropped his club in ducking; Gordon caught it up and swung ina single motion that stretched the other out. 

Then it was a melée. The kid's open torch, stuck on his helmet, gavethem light enough, until Gordon could switch on his own. Then the kiddropped behind him, fighting back-to-back. Here, in close quarters, theattackers were no longer using knives. One might be turned on its owner, and a slit suit meant death by asphyxiation. 

Gordon saw the blonde girl on the outskirts, her face taut and glowing. He tried to reach her with a thrown club wrested from another man, butshe leaped nimbly aside, shouting commands. 

Two burly goons were suddenly working together. Gordon swung at one, ducked a blow from the other, and then saw the first swinging again. Hetried to bring his club up--but knew it was too late. A dull weight hitthe side of his head, and he felt himself falling. 

 * * * * *

It took only minutes for dawn to become day on Mars, and the sun waslighting up the messy section of back street when Bruce Gordon's eyesopened and the pain of sight struck his aching head. He groaned, thenlooked frantically for the puff of escaping air. But his suit was stillsealed. Ahead of him, the kid lay sprawled out, blood trickling from anugly bruise along his jaw. 

Then Gordon felt something on his suit, and his eyes darted to handsjust finishing an emergency patch. His eyes darted up and met those ofthe blonde vixen!

Amazement kept him motionless for a second. There were tears in the eyesof the girl, and a sniffling sound reached him through her Marspeaker. Apparently, she hadn't noticed that he had revived, though her eyes wereon him. She finished the patch, and ran perma-sealer over it. Then shebegan putting her supplies away, tucking them into a bag that held notesthat could only have been stolen from his pockets--her share of theloot, apparently. 

He was still thinking clumsily as she got to her feet and turned toleave. She cast a glance back, hesitated, and then began to move off. 

He got his feet under him slowly, but he was reviving enough to standthe pain in his head. He came to his feet, and leaped after her. In thethin air, his lunge was silent, and he was grabbing her before she knewhe was up. 

She swung with a single gasp, and her hand darted down for her knife, sweeping it up and toward him; he barely caught the wrist coming towardhim. Then he had her firmly, bringing her arm back and up, until theknife fell from her fingers. 

She screamed and began writhing, twisting her hard young body like a boaconstrictor in his hands. But he was stronger. He bent her back over hisknee, until a mangled moan was coming from her speaker; then his footkicked out, knocking her feet out from under her. He let her hit theground, caught both her wrists in his, and brought his knee down on herthroat, applying more pressure until she lay still. Then he reached forthe pouch. 

"Damn you!" Her cry was more in anguish then it had been when he wasthreatening to break her back. "You damned firster, I'll kill you ifit's the last thing I do. And after I saved your miserable life.... "

"Thanks for that, " he grunted. "Next time don't be a fool. When you killa man for his money, he doesn't feel very grateful for your revivinghim. "

He started to count the money. About a tenth of what he had won--noteven enough to open a cheap poker den, let alone bribe his way back toEarth. 

The girl was out from under his knee at the first relaxation ofpressure. Her hand scooped up the knife, and she came charging towardhim, her mouth a taut slit across half-bared teeth. Gordon rolled out ofher swing, and brought his foot up. It caught her squarely under thechin, and she went down and out. 

He picked up the scattered money and her knife, then made sure she wasstill breathing. He ran his hands over her, looking for a hiding placefor more money; there was none. 

"Good work, gov'nor, " the kid's thin voice approved, and Gordon swung tosee the other getting up painfully. The kid grinned, rubbing his bruise. "No hard feelings, gov'nor, now! They paid me to stall you, so I did. You bonused me to protect you, and I bloody well tried. Honest Izzy, that's me. Gonna buy me a job as a cop. That's why I needed the scratch. Okay, gov'nor?"

Gordon hauled back his hand to knock the other from his feet, and thendropped it. A grin writhed onto his face, and broke into sudden grudginglaughter. 

"Okay, Izzy, " he admitted. "For this stinking planet, I guess you'resomething of a saint. Come along, and we'll both apply for thatjob--after I get my stuff. "

He might as well join the law. Security had wanted him to police theirdamned planet for them--and he might as well do it officially. 

He tossed the girl's knife down beside her, motioned to Izzy, and beganheading for Mother Corey's. 

Chapter III

THE GRAFT IS GREEN

Izzy seemed surprised when he found that Gordon was turning in to thequasi-secret entrance to Mother Corey's. "Coming here myself, " heexplained. "Mother got ahold of a load of snow, and sent me out tocontact a big pusher. Coming back, the goons picked me up and gave methe job on you. Hey, Mother!"

Bruce Gordon didn't ask how Mother Corey had acquired the dope. WhenEarth had deported all addicts two decades before, it had practicallybegged for dope smuggling. 

The gross hulk of Mother Corey appeared almost at once. "Izzy and Bruce. Didn't know you'd met, cobbers. Contact, Izzy?"

"Ninety per cent for uncut, " Izzy answered. 

They went up to Gordon's hole-in-the-wall, with Mother Corey wheezingbehind, while the rotten wood of the stairs groaned under his grotesquebulk. At his questions, Gordon told the story tersely. 

Mother Corey nodded. "Same old angles, eh? Get enough to do the job, they mug you. Stop halfway, and the halls are closed to you. Prettysoon, they'll be trick-proof, anyhow; they're changing over to electriceyes. Eh, you haven't forgotten me, cobber?"

Gordon hadn't. The old wreck had demanded five per cent of his winningsfor tipping him off. Mother Corey had too many cheap hoods among hisfriends to be fooled with. Gordon counted out the money reluctantly, while Izzy explained that they were going to be cops. 

The old man shook his head, estimating what was left to Gordon. "Enoughto buy a corporal's job, pay for your suit, and maybe get by, " hedecided. "Don't do it, cobber. You're the wrong kind. You take whatyou're doing serious. When you set out to tinhorn a living, you're acrook. Get you in a cop's outfit, and you'll turn honest. No place herefor an honest cop--not with elections coming up, cobber. Well, I guessyou gotta find out for yourself. Want a good room?"

Gordon's lips twitched. "Thanks, Mother, but I'll be staying inside thedome, I guess. "

"So'll I, " the old man gloated. "Setting in a chair all day, being anhonest citizen. Cobber, I already own a joint there--a nice one, theytell me. Lights. Two water closets. Big rooms, six-by-ten--fifty ofthem, big enough for whole families. And strictly on the level, cobber. It's no hide-out, like this. "

He rolled the money in his greasy fingers. "Now, with what I get fromthe pusher, I can buy off that hot spot on the police blotter. I can goin the dome and walk around, just like you. " His eyes watered, and atear went dripping down his nose. "I'm getting old. They'll be callingme 'Grandmother' pretty soon. So I'm turning my Chicken House over to mygranddaughter and I'm going honest. Want a room?"

Gordon grinned, and nodded. Mother Corey knew the ropes, and could betrusted. "Didn't know you had a granddaughter. "

Izzy snorted, and Mother Corey grinned wolfishly. "You met her, cobber. The blonde you shook down! Came up from Earth eight years ago, lookingfor me. I sold her to the head of the East Point gang. Since she killedhim, she's been doing pretty well on her own. Mostly. Except when shemakes a fool of herself, like she did with you. But she'll come aroundto where I'm proud of her, yet.... If you two want to carry in the snow, collect, and turn it over to Commissioner Arliss for me--I can't passthe dome till he gets it--I'll give you both rooms for six months free. Except for the lights and water, of course. "

Izzy nodded, and Gordon shrugged. On Mars, it didn't seem odd to beginapplying for a police job by carrying in narcotics. He wondered howthey'd go about contacting the commissioner. 

But that turned out to be simple enough. After collecting, Izzy led theway into a section marked "Special Taxes" and whispered a few casualwords. The man at the desk went into an office marked private, and cameback a few minutes later. 

"Your friend has no record with us, " he said in a routine voice. "I'vechecked through his tax forms, and they're all in order. We'll confirmofficially, of course. "

 * * * * *

In the Applications section of the big Municipal Building, at the centerof the dome, there was a long form to fill out at the desk; but thecaptain there had already had answers typed in. 

"Save time, boys, " he said genially. "And time's valuable, ain't it? Ah, yes. " He took the sums they had ready--there was a standard price--andstamped their forms. "And you'll want suits. Isaacs? Good, here's yourreceipt. And you, Corporal Gordon. Right. Get your suits one floor down, end of the hall. And report in eight tomorrow morning!"

It was as simple as that. Bruce Gordon was lucky enough to get a fairfit in his suit. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be inuniform. 

Izzy was more businesslike. "Hope they don't give us too bad territory, gov'nor, " he remarked. "Pickings are always a little lean on the firstfew beats, but you can work some fairly well. "

Gordon's chest fell; this was Mars!

The room at the new Mother Corey's--an unkempt old building near theedge of the dome--proved to be livable, though it was a shock to seeMother Corey himself in a decent suit, and using perfume. 

The beat was in a shabby section where clerks and skilled laborersworked. It wasn't poor enough to offer the universal desperation thatgave the gang hoodlums protective coloring, nor rich enough to havemajor rackets of its own. 

Izzy was disgusted. "Cripes! Hope they've got a few cheap pushers aroundthat don't pay protection direct to the captain. You take that store;I'll go in this one!"

The proprietor was a druggist who ran his own fountain where thesynthetics that replaced honest Earth foods were compounded into sweetand sticky messes for the neighborhood kids. He looked up as Gordon camein; then his face fell. "New cop, eh? No wonder Gable collectedyesterday, ahead of time. All right, you can look at my books. I've beenpaying fifty, but you'll have to wait until Friday. "

Gordon nodded and swung on his heel, surprised to find that his stomachwas turning. The man obviously couldn't afford fifty credits a week. Butit was the same all along the street. Even Izzy admitted finally thatthey'd have to wait. 

"That damned cop before us! He really tapped them! And we can't takeless, so I guess we gotta wait until Friday. "

 * * * * *

The next day, Bruce Gordon made his first arrest. It was near the end ofhis shift, just as darkness was falling and the few lights were goingon. He turned a corner and came to a short, heavy hoodlum backing out ofa small liquor store with a knife in throwing position. The crookgrunted as he started to turn and stumbled onto Gordon. His knifeflashed up. 

Without the need to worry about an airsuit, Gordon moved in, his armjerking forward. He clipped the crook on the inside of the elbow, whilegrabbing the wrist with his other hand. The man went sailing overGordon's head, to crash into the side of the building. He let out ayell. 

Gordon rifled the hood's pockets, and located a roll of bills stuffedin. He dragged them out, before snapping cuffs on the man. Then hepulled the crook inside the store. 

A woman stood there, moaning over a pale man on the floor; blood oozedfrom a welt on the back of his head. There was both gratitude andresentment as she looked up at Gordon. 

"You'd better call the hospital, " he told her sharply. "He may have aconcussion. I've got the man who held you up. "

"Hospital?" Her voice broke into another wail. "And who can affordhospitals? All week we work, all hours. He's old, he can't handle thecases. I do that. Me! And then you come, and you get your money. And_he_ comes for his protection. Papa is sick. Sick, do you hear? He seesa doctor, he buys medicine. Then Gable comes. This man comes. We can'tpay him! So what do we get--we get knifes in the faces, saps on thehead--a concussion, you tell me! And all the money--the money we had topay to get stocks to sell to pay off from the profits we don't make--allof it, he wants! Hospitals! You think they give away at the hospitalsfree?"

She fell to her knees, crying over the injured man. 

Gordon tossed the roll of bills onto the floor beside her; the injuryseemed only a scalp wound, and the old man was already beginning togroan. He opened his eyes and saw the bills in front of him, at whichthe woman was staring unbelievingly. His hand darted out, clutching it. "God!" he moaned softly, and his eyes turned up slowly to Gordon. 

"In there!" It was a shout from outside. Gordon had just time tostraighten up before the doorway was filled with two knife-men and aheavier one behind them. 

His hands dropped to the handcuffed man on the floor, and he caught himup with a jerk, slapping his body back against the counter. He took astep forward, jerking his hands up and putting his Earth-adaptedshoulders behind it. The hood sailed up and struck the two knife-mensquarely. 

There was a scream as their automatic attempts to save themselves buriedboth knives in the body of their friend. Then they went crashing down, and Gordon was over them. 

 * * * * *

The desk captain at the precinct house groaned as they came in, thenshook his head. "Damn it, " he said. "I suppose it can't be helped, though; you're new, Gordon. Hennessy, get the corpse to the morgue, andmark it down as a robbery attempt. I'm going to have to book you andyour men, Mr. Jurgens!"

The heavy leader of the two angry knife-men grinned. "Okay, Captain. Butit's going to slow down the work I'm doing on the Mayor's campaign forre-election! Damn that Maxie--I told him to be discreet. Hey, you knowwhat you've got, though--a real considerate man! He gave the old guy hismoney back!"

They took Bruce Gordon's testimony, and sent him home. 

Jurgens was waiting for him when he came on the beat. From his look ofhaving slept well, he must have been out almost as soon as he wasbooked. Two other men stood behind Gordon, while Jurgens explained thathe didn't like being interrupted on business calls "about the Mayor'scampaign, or anything else, " and that next time there'd be real hardfeelings. Gordon was surprised when he wasn't beaten, but not when theracketeer suggested that any money found at a crime was evidence andshould go to the police. The captain had told him the same. 

By Friday, he had learned. He made his collections early. Gable had soldhim the list of what was expected, and he used it, though he cut downthe figures in a few cases. There was no sense in killing the geese thatlaid the eggs. 

The couple at the liquor store had their payment waiting, and theyhanded it over, looking embarrassed. It wasn't until he was gone that hefound a small bottle of fairly good whiskey tucked into his pouch. Hestarted to throw it away, and then lifted it to his lips. Maybe they'dknown how he felt better than he had. Mother Corey's words about hischange of attitude came back. Damn it, he had to dig up enough money toget back to Earth. 

He collected, down to the last account. It was a nice haul; at thatrate, he'd have to stand it only for a few months. Then Gordon's lipstwisted, as he realized it wasn't all gravy. There were angles, or theprice of a corporalcy would have been higher. 

One of the older men answered his questions. "Fifty per cent of the taketo the Orphan's and Widow's fund. Better make it more than Gable turnedin, if you want to get a better beat. "

The envelopes were lying on a table marked "Voluntary Donations"; Gordonfilled his out, with a figure a bit higher than half of Gable's take, and dropped it in the box. The captain, who had been watching himcarefully, settled back and smiled. 

"Widows and Orphans sure appreciate a good man, " he said. "I was kind ofworried about you, Gordon, but you got a nice touch. One of my newboys--Isaacs, you know him--was out checking up after you, and the dopesseem to like you. "

Gordon had wondered why Izzy had been pulled off the beat. As he turnedto leave, the captain held up a hand. "Special meeting tomorrow. Wegotta see about getting out a good vote. Election only three weeksaway. "

Gordon went home. He'd learned by now that the native Martians--thosewho'd been here for at least thirty years, or had been born here--werebacking a reform candidate and new ticket. But Mayor Wayne had all ofthe rest of the town in his hand. He'd been in twice, and had lifted thegraft take by a truly remarkable figure. From where Gordon stood, itlooked like a clear victory for the reformer, Nolan. 

He went into the meeting willing to agree to anything. He applauded allthe speeches about how much Mayor Wayne had done for them, and signedthe pledge expressing his confidence, along with the implied duty he hadto make his beat vote right. Then he stopped, as the captain stood up. 

"We gotta be neutral, boys, " he boomed. "But it don't mean we can't showhow well we like the Mayor. Just remember, he got us our jobs! Now Ifigure we can all kick in a little to help his campaign. I'm going tostart it off with five thousand credits, two thousand of them rightnow. "

They fell in line, though there was no cheering. The price might havebeen fixed in advance. A thousand for a plain cop, fifteen hundred for acorporal, and so on, each contributing a third of it now. Gordongrimaced; he had six hundred left. This would take nearly all of it. 

A man named Fell shook his head, fearfully. "Can't do a thing now. Mywife had a baby and an operation, and----"

"Okay, Fell, " the captain said, without a sign of disapproval. "Freitag, what about you? Fine, fine!"

Gordon's name came, and he shook his head. "I'm new--and I'm strappednow. I'd like----"

"Quite all right, Gordon, " the captain boomed. "Harwick!"

He finished the roll, and settled back, smiling. "I guess that's all, boys. Thanks from the Mayor. And go on home.... Oh, Fell, Gordon, Lativsky--stick around. I've got some overtime for you, since you needextra money. The boys out in Ward Three are shorthanded. Afraid I'llhave to order you out there!"

 * * * * *

Ward Three was the hangout of a cheap gang of hoodlums, numbering somefour hundred, who went in for small crimes mostly. But they had recentlydeclared war on the cops. 

After eight hours of overtime, Gordon reported in with every bone sorefrom small missiles, and his suit filthy from assorted muck. He had abeautiful shiner where a stone had clipped him. 

The captain smiled. "Rough, eh? But I hear robbery went down on yourbeat last night. Fine work, Gordon. We need men like you. Hate to do it, but I'm afraid you'll have to take the next shift at Main and Broad, directing traffic. The usual man is sick, and you're the only one I cantrust with the job!"

Gordon stuck it out, somehow, but it wasn't worth it. He reported backto the precinct with the five hundred in his hand, and his pen itchingfor the donation agreement. 

The captain took it, and nodded. "I wasn't kidding about your being agood man, Gordon. Go home and get some sleep, take the next day off. After that, we've got a new job for you!"

Chapter IV

CAPTAIN MURDOCH

The new assignment was to the roughest section in all Marsport--the slumarea beyond the dome, out near the rocket field. Here all the riffraffthat had been unable to establish itself in better quarters had foundsome sort of a haven. At one time, there had been a small dome and atiny city devoted to the rocket field. But Marsport had flourishedenough to kill it off. The dome had failed from neglect, and thebuildings inside had grown shabbier. 

Bruce Gordon was trapped; he couldn't break his job with the police--ifhe did, he'd be brought back as a criminal. Some of Mars' laws datedfrom the time when law enforcement had been hampered by lack of men, rather than by the type of men. 

The Stonewall gang numbered perhaps five hundred. They hired out membersto other gangs, during the frequent wars. Between times, they picked upwhat they could by mugging and theft, with a reasonable amount of murderthrown in at a modest price. 

Even derelicts and failures had to eat; there were stores and shopsthroughout the district which eked out some kind of a marginal living. They were safe from protection racketeers there--none bothered to comeso far out. And police had been taken off the beats there after it grewunsafe even for men in pairs to patrol the area. 

The shopkeepers, and some of the less unfortunate people there, hadprotested loud enough to reach clear back to Earth. Marsport had hired aman from Earth to come in and act as chief of the section. CaptainMurdoch was an unknown factor, and now was asking for more men. Thepressure was enough to get them for him. 

Gordon reported for work with a sense of the bottom falling out, mixedwith a vague relief. 

"You're going to be busy, " Murdoch announced shortly in the dilapidatedbuilding that had been hastily converted to a precinct house. "Damn it, you're men, not sharks. I've got a free hand, and we're going to runthis the way we would on Earth. Your job is to protect the citizenshere--and that means everyone not breaking the laws--whether you feellike it or not. No graft. The first man making a shakedown will get thesame treatment we're going to use on the Stonewall boys. You'll getdouble pay here, and you can live on it!"

He opened up a box on his desk and pulled out six heavy wooden sticks, each thirty inches long and nearly two inches in diameter. There was ashaped grip on each, with a thong of leather to hold it over the wrist. 

He picked out five of the men, including Gordon "You five will come withme. I'm going to show how we operate. The rest of you can team up anyway you want tonight, pick any route that's open. Okay, men, let's go. "

Bruce Gordon grinned slowly as he swung the stick, and Murdoch's eyesfell on him. "Earth cop!"

"Two years, " Gordon admitted. 

"Then you should be ashamed to be in this mess. But whatever yourreasons, you'll be useful. Take those two and give them some lessons, while I do the same with these. "

For a second, Gordon cursed himself. Murdoch had fixed it so he'd be asquad leader, and that meant he'd be unable to step out of line. Atdouble standard pay, with normal Mars expenses, he might be able to payfor passage back to Earth in three years--if Security let him. Otherwise, it would take thirty. 

He began wondering about Security, then. Nobody had tried to get intouch with him. Were they waiting for him to get up on a soapbox?

There was a crude lighting system here, put up by the citizens. At thefront of each building, a dim phosphor bulb glowed; when darkness fell, they would have nothing else to see by. 

Murdoch bunched them together. "A good clubbing beats hanging, " he toldthem. "But it has to be _good_. Go in for business, and don't stop justbecause the other guy quits. Give them hell!"

Moving in two groups of threes, at opposite sides of the street, theybegan their beat. They were covering an area of six blocks one way, andtwo the other. 

They had traveled the six blocks and were turning down a side streetwhen they found their first case; it was still daylight. Two of theStonewall boys were working over a tall man in a newer airsuit. As thepolice swung around, one of the thugs casually ripped the airsuit open. 

A thin screech like a whistle came from Murdoch's Marspeaker, and thecaptain went forward, with Gordon at his heels. The hoodlums tossed theman aside easily, and let out a yell. From the buildings around, anassortment of toughs came at the double, swinging knives, picks, andbludgeons. 

There was no chance to save the citizen, who was dying from lack of air. Gordon felt the solid pleasure of the finely turned club in his hands. It was light enough for speed, but heavy enough to break bones where ithit. A skilled man could knock a knife, or even a heavy club, out ofanother's hand with a single flick of the wrist. And he'd had practice. 

He saw Murdoch's club dart in and take out two of the gang, one on theforward swing, one on the recover. Gordon's eyes popped at that. The manwas totally unlike a Martian captain, and a knot of homesickness forEarth ran through his stomach. 

He swallowed the sentiment; his own club was moving now. Standing besideMurdoch, they were moving forward. The other four cops had come inreluctantly. 

"Knock them out and kick them down!" Murdoch yelled. "And don't let themget away!"

Gordon was after a thug who was attempting to run away. He brought himto the ground with a single blow across the kidneys. 

It was soon over. They rounded up the men of the gang, and one of thecops started off. Murdoch called, "Where are you going?"

"To find a phone and call the wagon. "

"We're not using wagons, " Murdoch told him. "Line them up. "

When the hoods came to, they found themselves helpless, and facingpolice with clubs. If they tried to run, they were hit from behind; ifthey stood still, they were clubbed carefully. If they fought back, thepugnaciousness was knocked out of them at once. 

Murdoch indicated one who stood with his shoulders shaking and tearsrunning down his cheeks. The captain's face was as sick as Gordon felt. "Take him aside. Names. "

Gordon found a section away from the others. "I want the name of everyman in the gang you can remember, " he told the man. 

Horror shot over the other's bruised features. "Colonel, they'd kill me!I don't know. "

His screams were almost worse than the beating but names began to come. Gordon took them down, and then returned with the man to the others. 

Murdoch took his nod as evidence enough, and turned to the wretchedtoughs. "He squealed, " he announced. "If he should turn up dead, I'llknow you boys are responsible, and I'll find you. Now get out of thisdistrict, or get honest jobs! Because every time one of my men sees oneof you, this will happen again. And you can pass the word along that theStonewall gang is dead!"

He turned and moved off down the street, the others at his side. Gordonnodded. "I've heard the theory, but never saw it in practice. Supposethe whole gang jumps us at once?"

Murdoch shrugged. "Then we're taken. The old book I got the idea fromdidn't mention that. "

 * * * * *

Trouble began brewing shortly after, though. Men stood outside, studyingthe cops on their beat. Murdoch sent one of the men to pick up a secondsquad of six, and then a third. After that, the watchers began to meltaway. 

"We'd better shift to another territory, " Murdoch decided. Gordonrealized that the gang had figured that concentrating the police heremeant other territories would be safe. 

Two more groups were given the treatment. In the third one, Bruce Gordonspotted one of the men who'd been beaten before. He was a sick-lookingspectacle. 

Murdoch nodded. "Object lesson!"

The one good thing about the captain, Gordon decided, was that hebelieved in doing his own dirtiest work. When he was finished, he turnedto two of the other captives. 

"Get a stretcher, and take him wherever he belongs, " he ordered. "I'mleaving you two able to walk for that. But if _you_ get caught again, you'll get still worse. "

The squad went in, tired and sore; all had taken a severe beating in thebrawls. But there was little grumbling. Gordon saw grudging admirationin their eyes for Murdoch, who had taken more punishment than they had. 

Gordon rode back in the official car with Murdoch and both were silentmost of the way. But the captain stirred finally, sighing. "Poordevils!"

Gordon jerked up in surprise. "The gang?"

"No, the cops they're giving me. We're covered, Gordon. But theStonewall gang is backing Wayne. He's let me come in because he figuresit will get him more votes. But afterwards, he'll have me out; and thenthe boys with me will be marks for the gang when it comes back. Besides, it'll show on the books that they didn't kick into his fund. I canalways go back to Earth, and I'll try to take you along. But it's goingto be tough on them. "

Bruce Gordon grimaced. "I've got a yellow ticket, from Security. "

Murdoch blinked. He dropped his eyes slowly. "So you're _that_ Gordon?But you're still a good cop. "

They rode on further in silence, until Gordon broke the ice to ease thetension. He found himself liking the other. 

"What makes you think Wayne will be re-elected? Nobody wants him, excepta gang of crooks and those in power. "

Murdoch grinned bitterly. "Ever see a Martian election? No, you're afirster. He can't lose! And then hell is going to pop, and this wholeplanet may be blown wide open!"

It fitted with the dire predictions of Security, and with the spyingGordon was going to do--according to them. 

He discussed it with Mother Corey, who agreed that Wayne would bere-elected. 

"Can't lose, " the old man said. He was getting even fatter, now that hewas eating better food from the fair restaurant around the corner. 

"He'll win, " Mother Corey repeated. "And you'll turn honest all over, now you're in uniform. Take me, cobber. I figured on laying low for awhile, then opening up a few rooms for a good pusher or two, maybe ahigh-class duchess. Cost 'em more, but they'd be respectable. Only nowI'm respectable myself, they don't look so good. But this honesty stuff, it's like dope. You start out on a little, and you have to go all theway. "

"It didn't affect Honest Izzy, " Gordon pointed out. 

"Nope. Because Izzy is always honest, according to how he sees it. Butyou got Earth ideas of the stuff, like I had once. Too bad. " He sighedponderously. 

 * * * * *

The week moved on. The groups grew more experienced, and Murdoch wastraining a new squad every night. Gordon's own squad was equipped withshields now, and they were doing better. The number of muggings andholdups in the section was going down. They seldom saw a man after he'dbeen treated. 

One of the squads was jumped by a gang of about forty, and two of themen were killed before the nearest other squad could pull a rear attack. That day the whole force worked overtime hunting for the men who hadescaped; and by evening the Stonewall boys had received proof that itdidn't pay to go against the police in large numbers. 

After that, they began to go hunting for the members of the gang. Theyhad the names of nearly all of them, and some pretty good ideas of theirhide-outs. 

It wasn't exactly legal; but nothing was, here. If a doctor's job was toprevent illness, instead of merely curing it, then why shouldn't it be apoliceman's job to prevent crime? Here, that was best done by wiping outthe Stonewall gang to the last member. 

This could lead to abuses, as he'd seen on Earth. But there probablywouldn't be time for it if Mayor Wayne was re-elected. 

The gang had begun to break up, but the nucleus would be the last to go. The police had orders to beat any member on sight, now. Citizens wereappearing on the streets at night for the first time in years. And therewere smiles--hungry, beaten smiles, but still genuine ones--for thecops. 

Chapter V

RECALL

It was night outside, and the phosphor bulbs at the corners gloweddimly, giving him barely enough light by which to locate the way to theextemporized precinct house. Bruce Gordon reached the outskirts of themiserable business section, noticing that a couple of the shops werestill open. It had probably been years since any had dared risk it afterthe sun went down. And the slow, doubtful respect on the faces of thecitizens as they nodded to him was even more proof that Haley's systemwas working. Gordon nodded to a couple, and they grinned faintly at him. Damn it, Mars could be cleaned up.... 

He grinned at himself, then something needled at his mind, until heswung back. The man who had just passed was carrying a lunch basket, andwas wearing the coveralls of one of the crop-prospector crews; but theexpression on his face had been wrong. 

Red hair, too heavily built, a lighter section where a mustache had beenshaved and the skin not quite perfectly powdered.... Gordon movedforward quickly, until he could make out the thin scar showing throughthe make-up over the man's eyes. He'd been right--this was O'Neill, headof the Stonewall gang. 

Gordon hit the signal switch, and the Marspeaker let out a shrillwhistle. O'Neill had turned to run, and then seemed to think better ofit. His hand darted down to his belt, just as Gordon reached him. 

The heavy locust stick met the man's wrist before the weapon was halfdrawn--another gun! Guns suddenly seemed to be flourishing everywhere. The gun dropped from O'Neill's hand as the wrist snapped, and theStonewall chief let out a high-pitched cry of pain. Then another copcame around a corner at a run. 

"You can't do it to me! I'm reformed; I'm going straight! You damnedcops can't.... " O'Neill was blubbering. The small crowd that wascollecting was all to the good, Gordon knew, and he let O'Neill go on. Nothing could help break up the gangs more than having a leader breakdown in public. 

The other cop had yanked out O'Neill's wallet, and now tossed it toGordon. One look was enough--the work papers had the telltaleover-thickening of the signature that had showed up on other papers, obviously forgeries. The cops had been passing them on the hope offinding one of the leaders. 

Some turned away as Gordon and the other cop went to work, but most ofthem weren't squeamish. When it was over, the two picked up theirwhimpering captive. Gordon pocketed the revolver with his free hand. "Walk, O'Neill!" he ordered. "Your legs are still whole. Use them!"

The man staggered between them, whimpering at each step. If any membersof the gang were around, they made no attempt to rescue him. 

Jenkins, the other cop, had been holding the wallet. Now he held it outtoward Gordon. "The gee was heeled, Corporal. Must of been making a bigcontact in something. Fifty-fifty?"

"Turn it in to Murdoch, " Gordon said, and then cursed himself. Theremust have been over two thousand credits in the wallet. 

 * * * * *

The captain's face had been buried in a pile of papers, but now Murdochcame around to stare at the gang leader. He inspected the forged workpapers, and jerked his thumb toward one of the hastily built cells wherea doctor would look O'Neill over--eventually. When Gordon and Jenkinscame back, Murdoch tossed the money to them. "Split it. You guys earnedit by keeping your hands off it. Anyhow, you're as entitled to it as hewas--or the grafters back at Police Headquarters. I never saw it. Gordon, you've got a visitor!"

His voice was bitter, but he made no opening for them to question him ashe picked up the papers and began going through them again. Gordon wentdown the passage to the end of the hall, in the direction Murdoch hadindicated. Waiting for him was the lean, cynical little figure of HonestIzzy, complete with uniform and sergeant's stripes. 

"Hi, gov'nor, " the little man greeted him. "Long time no see. With youout here and me busy nights doing a bit of convoy work on the side, wemight as well not both live at Mother's. "

Bruce Gordon nodded, grinning in spite of himself. "Convoy duty, Izzy?Or dope running?"

"Whatever comes to hand, gov'nor. The Force pays for my time during theday, and I figure my time's my own at night. Of course, if I ever catchmyself doing anything shady during the day, I'll have to turn myself in. But it ain't likely. " He grinned in satisfaction. "Now that I've dug upthe scratch to buy these stripes and get made sergeant--and that takesthe real crackle--I'm figuring on taking it easy. "

"Like this social call?" Gordon asked him. 

The little man shook his head, his ancient eighteen-year-old faceturning sober. "Nope. I've been meaning to see you, so I volunteered torun out some red tape for your captain. You owe me some bills, gov'nor. Eleven hundred fifty credits. You didn't pay up your pledge to thecampaign fund, so I hadda fill in. A thousand, interest at ten per centa week, standard. Right?"

Gordon had heard of the friendly interest charged on the side here, buthe shook his head. "Wrong, Izzy. If they want to collect that drattedpledge of theirs, let them put me where I can make it. There's no graftout here. "

"Huh?" Izzy turned it over, and shook his head. Finally he shrugged. "Don't matter, gov'nor. Nothing about that in the pledge, and when yousign something, you gotta pay it. You _gotta_. "

"All right, " Gordon admitted. He was suddenly in no mood to quibble withIzzy's personal code. "So you paid it. Now show me where I signed anyagreement saying I'd pay _you_ back!"

For a second, Izzy's face went blank; then he chuckled. "Jet me! You'reright, gov'nor. I sure asked for that one. Okay; I'm bloody wellsuckered, so forget it. "

Gordon shrugged and gave up. He pulled out the bills and handed themover. "Thanks, Izzy. "

"Thanks, yourself. " The kid pocketed the money cheerfully, nodding. "Buyyou a beer. Anyhow, you won't miss it. I came out to tell you I got thesweetest beat in Marsport--over a dozen gambling joints on it--and Ineed a right gee to work it with me. So you're it!"

For a moment, Gordon wondered what Izzy had done to earn that beat, buthe could guess. The little guy knew Mars as few others did, apparently, from all sides. And if any of the other cops had private rackets oftheir own, Izzy was undoubtedly the man to find it out, and use theinformation. With a beat such as that, even going halves, and with allthe graft to the upper brackets, he'd still be able to make his pile ina matter of months. 

But he shook his head. "I'm assigned here, Izzy, at least for anotherweek, until after elections.... "

"Better take him up, Gordon, " Murdoch told him bitterly. The captainlooked completely beaten as he came into the room and dropped onto thebench. "Go on, accept, damn it. You're not assigned here any more. Noneof us are. Mayor Wayne found an old clause in the charter and got arigged decision, pulling me back under his full authority. I thought Ihad full responsibility to Earth, but he's got me. Wearing their uniformmakes me a temporary citizen! So we're being smothered back into theForce, and they'll have their patsies out here, setting things up forthe Stonewall boys to come back by election time. So grab while thegrabbing's good, because by tomorrow morning I'll have this all closeddown!"

He shook off Gordon's hand and stood up roughly, to head back up thehallway. Then he stopped and looked back. "One thing, though, I've stillgot enough authority to make you a sergeant. It's been a pleasureworking with you, Sergeant Gordon!"

He swung out of view abruptly, leaving Gordon with a heavy weight in hisstomach. Izzy whistled, and began picking up his helmet, preparing to gooutside. "So that's the dope I brought out, eh? Takes it kind of hard, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, " Gordon answered. There was no use trying to explain it to Izzy. "Yeah, we do. Come on. "

Outside, Gordon saw other cops moving from house to house, and herealized that Murdoch must be sending out warnings to the citizens thatthings would soon be rough again. 

Izzy held out a hand to Gordon. "Let's get a beer, gov'nor--on me!"

It was as good an idea as any he had, Gordon decided. He might as wellenjoy what life he still had while he could. The Stonewall gang--whatwas left of it--and all its friends would be gunning for him now. TheForce wouldn't have been fooled when Izzy paid his pledge, and they'dmark him down as disloyal--if they didn't automatically mark down allwho'd served under Murdoch. And he didn't have the ghost of an idea asto what Security wanted of him, or where they were hiding themselves. 

"Make it two beers, Izzy, " he said. "Needled!"

Chapter VI

SEALED LETTER

In the few days at the short-lived Nineteenth Precinct, Bruce Gordon hadbegun to feel like a cop again, but the feeling disappeared as hereported in at Captain Isaiah Trench's Seventh Precinct. Trench had oncebeen a colonel in the Marines, before a court-martial and sundryunpleasantnesses had driven him off Earth. His dark, scowling face andlean body still bore a military air. 

He looked Bruce Gordon over sourly. "I've been reading your record. Itstinks. Making trouble for Jurgens--could have been charged as falsearrest. No co-operation with your captain until he forced it; out in thesticks beating up helpless men. Now you come crawling back to your onlyfriend, Isaacs. Well, I'll give it a try. But step out of line and I'llhave you cleaning streets with your bare hands. All right, _Corporal_Gordon. Dismissed. Get to your beat. "

Gordon grinned wryly at the emphasis on his title. No need to ask whathad happened to Murdoch's recommendation. He joined Izzy in the lockerroom, summing up the situation. 

"Yeah. " Izzy looked worried, his thin face pinched in. "Maybe I didn'tdo you a favor, gov'nor, pulling you here. I dunno. I got some pics ofTrench from a guy I know. That's how I got my beat so fast in theSeventh. But Trench ain't married, and I guess I've used up the touch. Maybe I could try it, though. "

"Forget it, " Gordon told him. "I'll work it out somehow. "

The beat was a gold mine. It lay through the section where Gordon hadfirst tried his luck on Mars. There were a dozen or so gambling joints, half a dozen cheap saloons, and a fair number of places listed asrooming houses, though they made no bones about the fact that all theirpermanent inhabitants were female. Then the beat swung off, past a rowof small businesses and genuine rooming houses, before turning back tothe main section. 

They began in the poorer section. It wasn't the day to collect the"tips" for good service, which had been an honest attempt to promotegood police service before it became a racket. But they were meteverywhere by sullen faces. Izzy explained it. The city had passed a newpoll tax--to pay for election booths, supposedly--and had made thepolice collect it. Murdoch must have disregarded the order, but the restof the force had been busy helping the administration. 

But once they hit the main stem, things were mere routine. The gamblingjoints took it for granted that beat cops had to be paid, and consideredit part of their operating expense. The only problem was that Fats'Place was the first one on the list. Gordon didn't expect to be toowelcome there. 

There was no sign of the thug, but Fats came out of his back office justas Gordon reached the little bar. He came over, nodded, picked up a cupand dice and began shaking them. 

"High man for sixty, " he said automatically, and expertly rolledbull's-eyes for a two. "Izzy said you'd be around. Sorry my man drewthat _knife_ on you the last time, Corporal. "

Gordon rolled an eight, pocketed the bills, and shrugged. "Accidentswill happen, Fats. "

"Yeah. " The other picked up the dice and began rolling sevens absently. "How come you're walking beat, anyhow? With what you pulled here, youshould have bought a captaincy. "

Gordon told him briefly. The man chuckled grimly. "Well, that's Mars, "he said, and turned back to his private quarters. 

Mostly, it was routine work. They came on a drunk later, collapsed in analley. But the muggers had apparently given up before Izzy and Gordonarrived, since the man had his wallet clutched in his hand. Gordonreached for it, twisting his lips. 

Izzy stopped him. "It ain't honest, gov'nor. If the gees in the wagonclean him, or the desk man gets it, that's their business. But I'm goingto run a straight beat, or else!"

That was followed by a call to remove a berserk spaceman from one of theso-called rooming houses. Gordon noticed that workmen were busy settingup a heavy wooden gate in front of the entrance to the place. There werea lot of such preparations going on for the forthcoming elections. 

Then the shift was over. But Gordon wasn't too surprised when his reliefshowed up two hours late; he'd half-expected some such nastiness fromTrench. But he was surprised at the look on his tardy relief's face. 

The man seemed to avoid facing him, muttered, "Captain says report inperson at once, " and swung out of the scooter and onto his beat withoutfurther words. 

Gordon was met there by blank faces and averted looks, but someonenodded toward Trench's office, and he went inside. Trench sat chewing ona cigar. "Gordon, what does Security want with you?"

"Security? Not a damned thing, if I can help it. They kicked me offEarth on a yellow ticket, if that's what you mean. "

"Yeah. " Trench shoved a letter forward; it bore the "official business"seal of Solar Security, and was addressed to Corporal Bruce Gordon, Nineteenth Police Precinct, Marsport. Trench kept his eyes on it, hisface filled with suspicion and the vague fear most men had for Security. 

"Yeah, " he said again. "Okay, probably routine. Only next time, Gordon, put the _facts_ on your record with the Force. If you're a deportee, itshould show up. That's all!"

Bruce Gordon went out, holding the envelope. The warning in Trench'svoice wasn't for any omission on his record, he knew. He shoved theenvelope into his belt pocket and waited until he was in his own roombefore opening it. 

It was terse, and unsigned. 

 _Report expected, overdue. Failure to observe duty will result in permanent resettlement to Mercury. _

He swore, coldly and methodically, while his stomach dug knots initself. The damned, stupid, blundering fools! That was all Trench andthe police gang had to see; it was obvious that the letter had beenopened. Sure, report at once. Drop a letter in the mailbox, and the nextmorning it would be turned over to Commissioner Arliss' office. Reportor be kicked off to a planet that Security felt enough worse than Marsto use as punishment! Report _and_ find Mars a worse place than Mercurycould ever be. 

He felt sick as he stood up to find paper and pen and write a terse, factual account of his own personal doings--minus any hint of anythingwrong with the system here. Security might think it was enough for themoment, and the local men might possibly decide it a mere requiredformality. At least it would stall things off for a while.... 

But Gordon knew now that he could never hope to get back to Earthlegally. That vague promise by Security was so much hogwash; yet it wassurprising how much he had counted on it. 

He tore the envelope from Security into tiny shreds, too small forMother Corey to make sense of, and went out to mail the letter, feelingthe few bills in his pocket. As usual, less than a hundred credits. 

He passed a sound truck blatting out a campaign speech by candidateNolan, filled with too-obvious facts about the present administration, together with hints that Wayne had paid to have Nolan assassinated. Gordon saw a crowd around it and was surprised, until he recognized themas Rafters--men from the biggest of the gangs supporting Wayne. The fewcitizens on the street who drifted toward the truck took a good look atthem and moved on hastily. 

It seemed incredible that Wayne could be re-elected, though, even withthe power of the gangs. Nolan was probably a grafter, too; but he'd atleast be a change, and certainly the citizens were aching for that. 

The next day his relief was later. Gordon waited, trying to swallowtheir petty punishments, but it went against the grain. Finally, hebegan making the rounds, acting as his own night man. The owners of thejoints didn't care whether they paid the second daily dole to the sameman or another, but they wouldn't pay it again that same night. He'dmanaged to tap most of the places before his relief showed. He made nocomment, but dutifully filled out the proper portion of both takes forthe Voluntary Donation box. It wouldn't do his record any good withTrench, but it should put an end to the overtime. 

Trench, however, had other ideas. The overtime continued, but it wasdull after that--which made it even more tiring. But the time he took aspecial release out to the spaceport was the worst. Seeing the big shipreadying for take-off back to Earth.... 

Then it was the day before election. The street was already bristlingwith barricades around the entrances, and everything ran with a lastdesperate restlessness, as if there would be no tomorrow. The operatorsall swore that Wayne would be elected, but seemed to fear a miracle. Onthe poorer section of the beat, there was a spiritless hope that Nolanmight come in with his reform program. Men who would normally have beenpunctilious about their payments were avoiding Bruce Gordon, if in hopethat, by putting it off a day or so, they could run into a period whereno such payment would ever be asked--or a smaller one, at least. And hewas too tired to chase them down. His collections had been falling offalready, and he knew that he'd be on the carpet for that, if he didn'tdo better. It was a rich territory, and required careful mining; even asthe week had gone, he still had more money in his wallet than he hadexpected. 

But there had to be still more before night. 

He was lucky; he came on a pusher working one of the better houses--longafter his collections should have been over. He knew by the man's facethat no protection had been paid higher up. The pusher was well-heeled;Gordon confiscated the money. 

This time, Izzy made no protest. Lifting the roll of anyone outside theenforced part of Mars' laws was apparently honest, in his eyes. Henodded, and pointed to the man's belt. "Pick up the snow, too. "

The pusher's face paled. He must have had his total capital with him, because stark ruin shone in his eyes. "Good God, Sergeant, " he pleaded, "leave me something! I'll make it right. I'll cut you in. I gotta havesome of that for myself!"

Gordon grimaced. He couldn't work up any great sympathy for anyone whomade a living out of drugs. 

They cleaned the pusher, and left him sitting on the steps, a picture ofslumped misery. Izzy nodded approval. "Let him feel it a while. No sensejailing him yet. Bloody fool had no business starting without lining thegroove. Anyhow, we'll get a bunch of credits for the stuff when we turnit in. "

"Credits?" Gordon asked. 

"Sure. " Izzy patted the little package. "We get a quarter value. Captainprobably gets fifty per cent from one of the pushers who's lined withhim. Everybody's happy. "

"Why not push it ourselves?" Gordon asked in disgust. 

"Wouldn't be honest, gov'nor. Cops are supposed to turn it in. "

Trench was almost jovial when he weighed the package and examined it tofind how much it had been cut. He issued them slips, which they added aspart of the contributions. "Good work--you, too, Gordon. Best week inthe territory for a couple of months. I guess the citizens like you, theway they treat you. " He laughed at his stale joke, and Gordon waswilling to laugh with him. The credit on the dope had paid for most ofthe contributions. For once, he had money to show for the week. 

Then Trench motioned Bruce Gordon forward, and dismissed Izzy with a nodof his head. "Something to discuss, Gordon. Isaacs, we're holding alittle meeting, so wait around. You're a sergeant already. But, Gordon, I'm offering you a chance. There aren't enough openings for all the goodmen, but.... Oh, bother the soft soap. We're still short on electionfunds, so there's a raffle. The two men holding winning tickets getbucked up to sergeants. A hundred credits a ticket. How many?"

He frowned suddenly as Gordon counted out three bills. "You have abetter chance with more tickets. A _much_ better chance!"

The hint was hardly veiled. Gordon stuck the tickets into his wallet. Mars was a fine planet for picking up easy money--but holding it wasanother matter. 

Trench counted the money and put it away. "Thanks, Gordon. That fills_my_ quota. Look, you've been on overtime all week. Why not skip themeeting? Isaacs can brief you, later. Go out and get drunk, orsomething. "

The comparative friendliness of the peace offering was probably theultimate in graciousness from Trench. Idly, Gordon wondered what kind ofpressures the captains were under; it must be pretty stiff, judging bythe relief the man was showing at making quota. 

"Thanks, " he said, but his voice was bitter in his ears. "I'll go homeand rest. Drinking costs too much for what I make. It's a good thing youdon't have income tax here. "

"We do, " Trench said flatly; "forty per cent. Better make out a formnext week, and start paying it regularly. But you can deduct yourcontributions here. "

Gordon got out before he learned more good news. 

Chapter VII

ELECTIONEERING

As Bruce Gordon came out from the precinct house, he noticed the soundsfirst. Under the huge dome that enclosed the main part of the city, theheavier air pressure permitted normal travel of sound; and he'd becomesensitive to the voice of the city after the relative quiet of theNineteenth Precinct. But now the normal noise was different. There wasan undertone of hushed waiting, with the sharp bursts of hammering andlast-minute work standing out sharply through it. Voting booths werebeing finished here and there, and at one a small truck was deliveringballots. Voting by machine had never been established here. Wherever thebooths were being thrown up, the nearby establishments were rushinggates and barricades in front of the buildings. 

Most of the shops were already closed--even some of the saloons. To makeup for it, stands were being placed along the streets, carrying bannersthat proclaimed free beer for all loyal administration friends. The fewbars that were still open had been blessed with the sign of some mob, and obviously were well staffed with hoodlums ready to protect theproprietor. Private houses were boarded up. The scattering oflast-minute shoppers along the streets showed that most of the citizenswere laying in supplies to last until after election. 

Gordon passed the First Marsport Bank and saw that it was surrounded bybarbed wires, with other strands still being strung, and with a signproclaiming that there was high voltage in the wires. Watching theoperation was Jurgens; it was obvious that his hoodlums had been hiredfor the job. 

Toward the edge of the dome, where Mother Corey's place was, thenarrower streets were filling with the gangs, already half-drunk andmarching about with their banners and printed signs. Curiously enough, all the gangs weren't working for Wayne's re-election. The big StarPoint gang had apparently grown tired of the increasing cost ofprotection from the government, and was actively campaigning for Nolan. Their home territory reached nearly to Mother Corey's, before it raninto the no man's land separating it from the gang of Nick the Croop. The Croopsters were loyal to Wayne. 

Gordon turned into his usual short-cut, past a rambling plastics plantand through the yard where their trucks were parked. He had halfexpected to find it barricaded, but apparently the rumors that Nick theCroop owned it were true; it would be protected in other ways, with thetrucks used for street fighting, if needed. He threaded his way betweentwo of the trucks. 

Then a yell reached his ears, and something swished at him. An egg-sizedrock hit the truck behind him and bounced back, just as he spotted ahoodlum drawing back a sling for a second shot. 

Gordon was on his knees between heartbeats, darting under one of thetrucks. He rolled to his feet, letting out a yell of his own, andplunged forward. His fist hit the thug in the elbow, just as the man'shand reached for his knife. His other hand chopped around, and the edgeof his palm connected with the other's nose. Cartilage crunched, and ashrill cry of agony lanced out. 

But the hoodlum wasn't alone. Another came out from the rear of one ofthe trucks. Gordon ducked as a knife sailed for his head; they werestupid enough not to aim for his stomach, at least. He bent down tolocate some of the rubble on the ground, cursing his folly in carryinghis knife under his uniform. The new beat had given him a false sense ofsecurity. 

He found a couple of rocks and a bottle and let them fly, then bent formore. 

Something landed on his back, and fingernails were gouging into hisface, searching for his eyes!

Instinct carried him forward, jerking down sharply and twisting. Thefigure on his back sailed over his head, to land with a harsh thump onthe ground. Brassy yellow hair spilled over a girl's face, and herbreath slammed out of her throat as she hit. But the fall hadn't beenenough to do serious damage. 

Bruce Gordon jumped forward, bringing his foot up in a savage swing, butshe'd rolled, and the blow only glanced against her ribs. She jerked herhand down for a knife, and came to her knees, her lips drawn backagainst her teeth. "Get him!" she yelled. Then he recognized her--SheilaCorey. 

The two thugs had held back, but now they began edging in. Gordonslipped back behind another truck, listening for the sound of theirfeet. He'd half-expected another encounter with the Mother'sgranddaughter. 

They tried to outmaneuver him; he stepped back to his former spot, catching his breath and digging frantically for his knife. It came out, just as they realized he'd tricked them. 

Sheila was still on her knees, fumbling with something, and apparentlypaying no attention to him. But now she jerked to her feet, her handgoing back and forward. 

It was a six-inch section of pipe, with a thin wisp of smoke, and thethrow was toward Gordon's feet. The hoodlums yelled, and ducked, whileSheila broke into a run away from him. The little homemade bomb landed, bounced, and lay still, with its fuse almost burned down. 

Gordon's heart froze in his throat, but he was already in action. Hespat savagely into his hand, and jumped for the bomb. If the fuse waspowder-soaked, he had no chance. He brought his palm down against it, and heard a faint hissing. Then he held his breath, waiting. 

No explosion came. It had been a crude job, with only a wick for a fuse. 

Sheila Corey had stopped at a safe distance; now she grabbed at herhelpers, and swung them with her. The three came back, Sheila in thelead with her knife flashing. 

Gordon side-stepped her rush, and met the other two head-on, his knifeswinging back. His foot hit some of the rubble on the ground at the lastsecond, and he skidded. The leading mobster saw the chance and jumpedfor him. Gordon bent his head sharply, and dropped, falling onto hisshoulders and somersaulting over. He twisted at the last second, jerkinghis arms down to come up facing the other. 

Then a new voice cut into the fracas, and there was the sound ofsomething landing against a skull with a hollow thud. Gordon got hishead up just in time to see a man in police uniform kick aside the firsthoodlum and lunge for the other. There was a confused flurry; then thesecond went up into the air and came down in the newcomer's hands, toland with a sickening jar and lie still. Behind, Sheila Corey laycrumpled in a heap, clutching one wrist in the other hand and cryingsilently. 

Bruce Gordon came to his feet and started for her. She saw him coming, cast a single glance at the knife that had been knocked from her hands, then sprang aside and darted back through the parked trucks. In thestreet, she could lose herself in the swarm of Nick's Croopsters; Gordonturned back. 

The iron-gray hair caught his eyes first. Then, as the solidly builtfigure turned, he grunted. It was Captain Murdoch--now dressed in theuniform of a regular beat cop, without even a corporal's stripes. Andthe face was filled with lines of strain that hadn't been there before. 

Murdoch threw the second gangster up into a truck after the first oneand slammed the door shut, locking it with the metal bar which hadapparently been his weapon. Then he grinned wryly, and came back towardGordon. 

"You seem to have friends here, " he commented. "A good thing I wastrying to catch up with you. Just missed you at the Precinct House, cameafter you, and saw you turn in here. Then I heard the rumpus. A goodthing for me, too, maybe. "

Gordon blinked, accepting the other's hand. "How so? And what happened?"He indicated the bare sleeve. 

"One's the result of the other, " Murdoch told him. "They've got me sewedup, and they're throwing the book at me. The old laws make me a citizenwhile I wear the uniform--and a citizen can't quit the Force. That putsme out of Earth's jurisdiction. I can't even cable for funds, and Iguess I'm too old to start squeezing money out of citizens. I was comingto ask whether you had room in your diggings for a guest--and I'm hopingnow that my part here cinches it. "

Murdoch had tried to treat it lightly, but Gordon saw the red creepingup into the man's face. "Forget that part. There's room enough for twoin my place--and I guess Mother Corey won't mind. I'm damned glad youwere following me. "

"So'm I, Gordon. What'll we do with the prisoners?"

"Leave 'em; we couldn't get a Croopster locked up tonight for anything. "

He started ahead, leading the way through the remaining trucks and backto the street that led to Mother Corey's. Murdoch fell in step with him. "This is the first time I've had to look you up, " he said. "I've beengoing out nights to help the citizens organize against the Stonewallgang. But that's over now--they gave me hell for inciting vigilanteaction, and confined me inside the dome. The way they hate a decent cophere, you'd think honesty was contagious. "

"Yeah. " Gordon preferred to let it drop. Murdoch was being given thebusiness for going too far on the Stonewall gang, not for refusing totake normal graft. 

They came to the gray three-story building that Mother Corey now owned. Gordon stopped, realizing for the first time that there was no trace ofefforts to protect it against the coming night and day. The entrance wasunprotected. Then his eyes caught the bright chalk marks aroundit--notices to the gangs to keep hands off. Mother Corey evidently hadpull enough to get every mob in the neighborhood to affix its seal. 

As he drew near, though, two men edged across the street from a clumpwatching the beginning excitement. Then, as they identified Gordon, theymoved back again. Some of the Mother's old lodgers from the ruin outsidethe dome were inside now--obviously posted where it would do the mostgood. 

Corey stuck his head out of the door at the back of the hall as Gordonentered, and started to retire again--until he spotted Murdoch. Gordonexplained the situation hastily. 

"It's your room, cobber, " the old man wheezed. He waddled back, to comeout with a towel and key, which he handed to Murdoch. "Numberforty-two. "

His heavy hand rested on Gordon's arm, holding the younger man back. Murdoch gave Gordon a brief, tired smile, and started for the stairs. "Thanks, Gordon. I'm turning in right now. "

Mother Corey shook his head, shaking the few hairs on his head and face, and the wrinkles in his doughy skin deepened. "Hasn't changed, that one. Must be thirty years, but I'd know Asa Murdoch anywhere. Took me to thespaceport, handed me my yellow ticket, and sent me off for Mars. A nice, clean kid--just like my own boy was. But Murdoch wasn't like the rest ofthe neighborhood. He still called me 'sir, ' when my boy was walkingacross the street, so the lad wouldn't know they were sending me away. Oh well, that was a long time ago, cobber. A long time. "

He rubbed a pasty hand over his chin, shaking his head and wheezingheavily. Gordon chuckled. "Well, how--?"

Something banged heavily against the entrance seal, and there was thesound of a hot argument, followed by a commotion of some sort. Coreyseemed to prick up his ears, and began to waddle rapidly toward theentrance. 

It broke open before he could reach it, the seal snapping back to show agiant of a man outside holding the two guards from across the street, while a scar-faced, dark man shoved through briskly. Corey snapped out aquick word, and the two guards ceased struggling and started back acrossthe street. The giant pushed in after the smaller thug. 

"I'm from the Ajax Householders Protection Group, " the dark manannounced officially. "We're selling election protection. And brother, do you need it, if you're counting on those mugs. We're assessing you--"

"Not long on Mars, are you?" Mother Corey asked. The whine was entirelymissing from his voice now, though his face seemed as expressionless asever. "What does your boss Jurgens figure on doing, punk? Taking over_all_ the rackets for the whole city?"

The dark face snarled, while the giant moved a step forward. Then heshrugged. "Okay, Fatty. So Jurgens is behind it. So now you know. AndI'm doubling your assessment, right now. To you, it's--"

A heavy hand fell on the man's shoulder, and Mother Corey leaned forwardslightly. Even in Mars' gravity, his bulk made the other buckle at theknees. The hand that had been reaching for the knife yanked the weaponout and brought it up sharply. 

Gordon started to step in, then, but there was no time. Mother Corey'sfree hand came around in an open-palmed slap that lifted the collectorup from the floor and sent him reeling back against a wall. The knifefell from the crook's hand, and the dark face turned pale. He saggeddown the wall, limply. 

The giant opened his mouth, and took half a step forward; but the onlysound he made was a choking gobble. Mother Corey moved without seeminghaste, but before the other could make up his mind. There was a seriesof motions that seemed to have no pattern. The giant was spun around, somehow; one arm was jerked back behind him, then the other was forcedup to it. Mother Corey held the wrists in one hand, put his other underthe giant's crotch, and lifted. Carrying the big figure off the floor, the old man moved toward the seal. His foot found the button, snappingthe entrance open. He pitched the giant out overhanded; holding theentrance, he reached for the dark man with one hand and tossed him ontop of the giant. 

"To me, it's nothing, " he called out. "Take these two back to youngJurgens, boys, and tell him to keep his punks out of my house. "

The entrance snapped shut then, and Corey turned back to Gordon, wipingthe wisps of hair from his face. He was still wheezing asthmatically, but there seemed to be no change in the rhythm of his breathing. "As Iwas going to say, cobber, " he said, "we've got a little social gamegoing upstairs--the room with the window. Fine view of the parades. Weneed a fourth. "

Gordon started to protest that he was tired and needed his sleep; thenhe shrugged. Corey's house was one of the few that had kept somerelation to Earth styles by installing a couple of windows in the secondstory, and it would give a perfect view of the street. He followed theold man up the stairs. 

 * * * * *

Two other men were already in the surprisingly well-furnished room, atthe little table set up near the window. Bruce Gordon recognized one asRandolph, the publisher of the little opposition paper. The man's paleblondness, weak eyes, and generally rabbity expression totally beliedthe courage that had permitted him to keep going at his hopeless task oftrying to clean up Marsport. The _Crusader_ was strictly a one-manweekly, against Mayor Wayne's _Chronicle_, with its Earth-comics anddaily circulation of over a hundred thousand. Wayne apparently let thepaper stay in business to give himself a talking point about fair play;but Randolph walked with a limp from the last working over he hadreceived. 

"Hi, Gordon, " he said. His thin, high voice was cool and reserved, inkeeping with the opinion he had expressed publicly of the police as abody. But he did not protest Corey's selection of a partner. "This is EdPraeger. He's an engineer on our railroad. "

Gordon acknowledged the introduction automatically. He'd almostforgotten that Marsport was the center of a thinly populated area, stretching for a thousand miles in all directions beyond the city, connected by the winding link of the electric monorail. "So there reallyis a surrounding countryside, " he said. 

Praeger nodded. He was a big, open-faced man, just turning bald. Hishandshake was firm and friendly. "There are even cities out there, Gordon. Nothing like Marsport, but that's no loss. That's where the realpopulation of Mars is--decent people, men who are going to turn thisinto a real planet some day. "

"There are plenty like that here, too, " Randolph said. He picked up thecards. "First ace deals. Damn it, Mother, sit down-wind from me, won'tyou? Or else take a bath. "

Mother Corey chuckled, and wheezed his way up out of the chair, exchanging places with Gordon. "I got a surprise for you, cobber, " hesaid, and there was only amusement in his voice. "I got me in fiftygallons of water today, and tomorrow I do just that. Made up my mindthere was going to be a cleanup in Marsport, even if Wayne does win. Andstop examining the cards, Bruce. I don't cheat my friends. The readersare put away for old-times' sake. "

Randolph shrugged, and went on as if he hadn't interrupted himself. "Ninety per cent of Marsport is decent. They have to be. It takes atleast nine honest men to support a crook. They come up here to startover--maybe spent half their life saving up for the trip. They hear aman can make fifty credits a day in the factories, or strike it richcrop prospecting. What they don't realize is that things cost ten timesas much here, too. They plan, maybe, on getting rich and going back toEarth.... "

"Nobody goes back, " Mother Corey wheezed. "_I_ know. " His eyes rested onGordon. 

"A lot don't want to, " Praeger said. "I never meant to go back. I've gotme a farm up north. Another ten years, and I retire to it. My kids areup there now--grandkids, that is. They're Martians; maybe you won'tbelieve me, but they can breathe the air here without a helmet. "

The others nodded. Gordon had learned that a fair number ofthird-generation people got that way. Their chests were only a triflelarger, and their heartbeat only a few points higher; it was an internaladaptation, like the one that had occurred in test animals reared at asimulated forty-thousand-feet altitude on Earth, before Mars was eversettled. 

"They'll take the planet away from Earth yet, " Randolph agreed. "Marsport is strictly artificial. It's kept going only because it's theonly place where Earth will set down her ships. If Security doesn't doanything, time will. "

"Security!" Gordon muttered bitterly. Security was good at gettingpeople in trouble, but he had seen no other sign of it. 

Randolph frowned over his cards. "Yeah, I know. The government set themup, gave them a mixture of powers, and has been trying to keep them fromworking ever since. But somehow they did clean up Venus; and every crookhere is scared to death of the name. How come a muckraking newspapermanlike you never turned up anything on them, Gordon?"

Gordon shrugged. It was the first reference he'd heard to hisbackground, and he preferred to let it drop. 

But Mother Corey cut in, his voice older and hoarser, and the skin onhis jowls even grayer than usual. "Don't sell them short, cobber. Idid--once.... You forget them, here, after a while. But they'rearound.... "

Bruce Gordon felt something run down his armpit, and a chill creep uphis back.... 

Out on the street, a sudden whooping began, and he glanced down. Theparade was on, the Croopsters in full swing, already mostly drunk. Themain body went down the street, waving fluorescent signs, whileside-guards preceded them, armed with axes, knocking aside the flimsierbarricades as they went. He watched a group break into a small grocerystore to come out with bundles. They dragged out the storekeeper, hiswife, and young daughter, and pressed them into the middle of theparade. 

"If Security's so damned powerful, why doesn't it stop that?" he askedbitterly. 

Randolph grinned at him. "They might do it, Gordon. They just might. Butare you sure you want it stopped?"

"All right, " Mother Corey said suddenly. "This is a social game, cobbers. "

Outside, the parade picked up enthusiasm as smaller gangs joined behindthe main one. There were a fair number of plain citizens who had beenimpressed into it, too, judging by the appearance of little frightenedgroups in the middle of the mobsters. 

Gordon couldn't understand why the police hadn't at least been kept onduty, until Honest Izzy came into the room. The little man found a chairand bought chips silently; he looked tired. 

"Vacation?" Mother Corey asked. 

Izzy nodded. "Trench took forever giving it to us, Mother. But it's thesame old deal; all the police gees get tomorrow off--you, too, gov'nor. No cops to influence the vote, that's the word. We even gotta wearcivvies when we go out to vote for Wayne. "

Gordon looked down at the rioters, who were now only keeping up apretense of a parade. It would be worse tomorrow, he supposed; and therewould be no cops. The image of the old woman and her husband in thelittle liquor store where he'd had his first experience came back tohim. He wondered how well barricaded they were. 

He felt the curious eyes of Mother Corey dancing from him to Izzy andback, and heard the old man's chuckle. "Put a uniform on some men andthey begin to believe they're cops, eh, cobber?"

He shoved up from the table abruptly and headed for his room, swearingto himself. 

Chapter VIII

VOTE EARLY AND OFTEN

Izzy was up first the next morning, urging them to hurry before thingsbegan to hum. From somewhere, he dug up a suit of clothes that Murdochcould wear. He found the gun that Gordon had confiscated from O'Neilland filled it from a box of ammunition he'd apparently purchased. 

"I picked up some special permits, " he said. "I knew you had thiscannon, gov'nor, and I figured it'd come in handy. Wouldn't be caughtdead with one myself. Knives, that's my specialty. Come on, Cap'n, wegotta get out the vote. "

Murdoch shook his head. "In the first place, I'm not registered. "

Izzy grinned. "Every cop's registered in his own precinct; Wayne got thehonor system fixed for us. Show your papers and go into any booth inyour territory. That's all. And you'd better be seen voting often, too, Cap'n. What's your precinct?"

"Eleventh, but I'm not voting. I'd like to come along with you toobserve, but I wouldn't make any choice between Wayne and Nolan. "

Downstairs, the rear room was locked, with one of Mother Corey's guardsat the door. From inside came the rare sound of water splashing, mixedwith a wheezing, off-key caterwauling. Mother Corey was apparentlymaking good on his promise to take a bath. As they reached the hall, oneof Trench's lieutenants came through the entrance, waving his badge atthe protesting man outside. 

He spotted the three, and jerked his thumb. "Come on, you. We're late. And I ain't staying on the streets when it gets going. "

A small police car was waiting outside, and they headed for it. BruceGordon looked at the debacle left behind the drunken, looting mob. Mostof the barricades were down. Here and there, a few citizens were rushingabout trying to restore them, keeping wary eyes on the mobsters who hadpassed out on the streets. 

Suddenly a siren blasted out in sharp bursts, and the lieutenant jumped. "Come on, you gees. I gotta be back in half an hour. "

They piled inside, and the little electric car took off at its topspeed. But now the quietness had been broken. There were trucks comingout of the plastics plant, and mobsters were gathering up their drunks, and chasing the citizens back into their houses. Some of them werewearing the forbidden guns, but it wouldn't matter on a day when nopolice were on duty. 

In the Ninth Precinct, the Planters were the biggest gang, and all theothers were temporarily enrolled under them. Here, there were less signsof trouble. The joints had been better barricaded, and the looting hadbeen kept to a minimum. 

The three got off. A scooter pulled up alongside them almost at once, with a gun-carrying mobster riding it. "You mugs get the hell outof--Oh, cops! Okay, better pin these on. "

He handed out gaudy arm bands, and the three fastened them in place. Nearly everyone else already had them showing. The Planters were movingefficiently. They were grouped around the booths, and they had begun toline up their men, putting them in position to begin voting at once. 

Then the siren hooted again, a long, steady blast. The bunting in frontof the booths was pulled off, and the lines began to move. Izzy led theway to the one at the rich end of their beat, and moved toward the headof the line. "Cops, " he said to the six mobsters who surrounded thebooth. "We got territory to cover. "

A thumb indicated that they could go in. Murdoch remained outside, andone of the thugs reached for him. Izzy cut him off. "Just a friend onthe way to his own route. Eleventh Precinct. "

There were scowls, but they let it go. Then Gordon was in the littlebooth. It seemed to be in order. There were the books of registration, with a checker for Wayne, one for Nolan, and a third, supposedlyneutral, behind the plank that served as a desk. The Nolan man wasprotesting. 

"He's been dead for ten years. I know him. He's my uncle. "

"There's a Mike Thaler registered, and this guy says he's Thaler, " theWayne man said decisively. "He votes. "

One of the Planters passed his gun to the inspector for the Wayne side. The Nolan man gulped, and nodded. "Heh-heh, yes, just a mix-up. He'sregistered, so he votes. "

The next man Gordon recognized as being from one of the small shops onhis beat. The fellow's eyes were desperate, but he was forcing himselfto go through with it. "Murtagh, " he said, and his voice broke on thesecond syllable. "Owen Murtagh. "

"Murtang.... No registration!" The Wayne checker shrugged. "Next!"

"It's Murtagh. M-U-R-T-A-G-H. Owen Murtagh, of 738 Morrisy--"

"Protest!" The Wayne man cut off the frantic wriggling of the Nolanchecker's finger toward the line in the book. "When a man can't get thename straight the first time, it's suspicious. "

The supposedly neutral checker nodded. "Better check the name off, unless the real Murtagh shows up. Any objections, Yeoman?"

The Nolan man had no objections--outwardly. He was sweating, and thesurprise in his eyes indicated that this was all new to him. 

Bruce Gordon came next, showing his badge. He was passed with a nod, andheaded for the little closed-off polling place. But the Wayne mantouched his arm and indicated a ballot. There were two piles, and thispile was already filled out for Wayne. "Saves trouble, unless you wantto do it yourself, " he suggested. 

Gordon shrugged, and shoved it into the slot. He went outside and waitedfor Izzy to follow. It was raw beyond anything he'd expected--but atleast it saved any doubt about the votes. 

The procedure was the same at the next booth, though they had moretrouble. The Nolan man there was a fool--neither green nor agreeable. Heprotested vigorously, in spite of a suspicious bruise along his temple, and finally made some of the protests stick. 

Gordon began to wonder how it could be anything but a clear unanimousvote, at that rate. Izzy shook his head. "Wayne'll win, but not thateasy. The sticks don't have strong mobs, and they'll pile up a heavyNolan vote. And you'll see things hum soon!"

Gordon had voted three times under the "honor system, " before he saw. They were just nearing a polling place when a heavy truck came careeningaround a corner. Men began piling out of the back before it stopped--menarmed with clubs and stones. They were in the middle of the Planters atonce, striking without science, but with ferocity. The line waiting tovote broke up, but the citizens had apparently organized with care. Agood number of the men in the line were with the attackers. 

There was the sound of a shot, and a horrified cry. For a second, thecitizens broke; then a wave of fury seemed to wash over them at theneedless risk to the safety of all. The horror of rupturing the dome wasstrongly ingrained in every citizen of Marsport. They drew back, thenmade a concerted rush. There was a trample of bodies, but no more shots. 

In a minute, the citizens' group was inside, ripping the fixed ballotsto shreds, filling out and dropping their own. They ignored theregistration clerks. 

A whistle had been shrilling for minutes. Now another group came ontothe scene, and the Planters' men began getting out rapidly. Some of thecitizens looked up and yelled, but it was too late. From the approachingcars, pipes projected forward. Streams of liquid jetted out, and theiragonized cries followed. 

Even where he stood, Gordon could smell the fumes of ammonia. Izzy'sface tensed, and he swore. "Inside the dome! They're poisoning the air. "

But the trick worked. In no time, men in crude masks were clearing outthe booth, driving the last struggling citizens away, and getting readyfor business as usual. 

Murdoch turned on his heel. "I've had enough. I've made up my mind, " hesaid. "The cable offices must be open for the doctored reports on theelection to Earth. Where's the nearest?"

Izzy frowned, but supplied the information. Bruce Gordon pulled Murdochaside. "Come off the head-cop role; it won't work. They must have hadreports on elections before this. "

"Damn the trouble. It's never been this raw before. Look at Izzy's face, Gordon. Even he's shocked. Something has to be done about this, beforeworse happens. I've still got connections back there--"

"Okay, " Gordon said bitterly. He'd liked Asa Murdoch, had begun torespect him. It hurt to see that what he'd considered hardheadedness wasjust another case of a fool fighting dragons with a paper sword. 

"Okay, it's your death certificate, " he said, and turned back towardIzzy. "Go send your sob stories, Murdoch. "

They taught a bunch of pretty maxims in school--even slum kids learnedthat honesty was the best policy, while their honest parents rotted inunheated holes, and the racketeers rode around in fancy cars. It had gothim once. He'd refused to take a dive as a boxer; he'd tried to playhonest cards; he'd tried honesty on his beat back on Earth. He'd triedto help the suckers in his column, and here he was. 

And Gordon had been proud to serve under Murdoch. 

"Come on, Izzy, " he said. "Let's vote!"

Izzy shook his head. "It ain't right, gov'nor. "

"Let him do what he damn pleases, " Gordon told him. 

Izzy's small face puckered up in lines of worry. "No, I don't mean him. I mean this business of using ammonia. I know some of the gees trying tovote. They been paying me off--and that's a retainer, you might say. Nowthis gang tries to poison them. I'm still running an honest beat, and Ibloody well can't vote for that! Uniform or no uniform, I'm walking beattoday. And the first gee that gives trouble to the men who pay me gets aknife where he eats. When I get paid for a job, I do the job. "

Gordon watched him head down the block, and started after the littleman. Then he grimaced. Rule books! Even Izzy had one. 

He went down the row, voting regularly. The Planters had things inorder. The mess had already been cleaned up when he arrived at thecheaper end of the beat. It was the last place where he'd be expected todo his duty by Wayne's administration; he waited in line. 

Then a voice hit at his ears, and he looked up to see Sheila Corey onlytwo places in front of him. "Mrs. Mary Edelstein, " she was saying. TheWayne man nodded, and there was no protest. She picked up a Wayneballot, and dropped it in the box. 

Then her eyes fell on Gordon. She hesitated for a second, bit her lips, and finally moved out into the crowd. 

He could see no sign of her as he stepped out a minute later, but theback of his neck prickled. 

He started out of the crowd, trying to act normal, but glancing down tomake sure the gun was in its proper position. Satisfied, he wheeledsuddenly and spotted her behind him, before she could slip out of sight. 

Then a shout went up, yanking his eyes around with the rest of thosestanding near. The eyes had centered on the alleys along the street, andmen were beginning to run wildly, while others were jerking out theirweapons. He saw a big gray car coming up the street; on its side waspainted the colors of the Planters. Now it swerved, hitting a sirenbutton. 

But it was too late. Trucks shot out of the little alleys, jammingforward through the people; there must have been fifty of them. One hitthe big gray car, tossing it aside. It was Trench himself who leapedout, together with the driver. The trucks paid no attention, but boredown on the crowd. From one of them, a machine gun opened fire. 

Gordon dropped and began crawling in the only direction that was open, straight toward the alleys from which the trucks had come. A few othershad tried that, but most were darting back as they saw the colors ofNolan's Star Point gang on the trucks. 

Other guns began firing; men were leaping from the trucks and pouringinto the mob of Planters, forcing their way toward the booth in thecenter of the mess. 

It was a beautifully timed surprise attack, and a well-armed one, eventhough guns were supposed to be so rare here. Gordon stumbled intosomeone ahead of him, and saw it was Trench. He looked up, and straightinto the swinging muzzle of the machine gun that had started thecommotion. 

Trench was reaching for his revolver, but he was going to be too late. Gordon brought his up the extra half inch, aiming by the feel, andpulled the trigger. The man behind the machine gun dropped. 

Trench had his gun out now, and was firing, after a single surprisedglance at Gordon. He waved back toward the crowd. 

But Gordon had spotted the open trunk of the gray car. He shook his headand tried to indicate it. Trench jerked his thumb and leaped to hisfeet, rushing back. 

Gordon saw another truck go by, and felt a bullet miss him by inches. Then his legs were under him, and he was sliding into the big luggagecompartment, where the metal would shield him. 

Something soft under his feet threw him down. He felt a body under him, and coldness washed over him before he could get his eyes down. The coldwent away, to be replaced by shock. Between his spread knees layMurdoch, bound and gagged, his face a bloody mess. 

Gordon reached for the gag, but the other held up his hands and pointedto the gun. It made sense. The knots were tight, but Gordon managed toget his knife under the rope around Murdoch's wrists and slice throughit. The older man's hands went out for the gun; his eyes swung towardthe street, while Gordon attacked the rope around his ankles. 

The Star Point men were winning, though it was tough going. They hadfought their way almost to the booth, but there a V of Planters' carshad been gotten into position somehow, and gunfire was coming frombehind them. As he watched, a huge man reached over one of the cars, picked up a Star Point man, and lifted him behind the barricade. 

The gag had just come out when the Star Point man jumped into viewagain, waving a rag over his head and yelling. Captain Trench followedhim out, and began pointing toward the gray car. 

"They want me, " Murdoch gasped thickly. "Get out, Gordon, before theygang up on us!"

Gordon jerked his eyes back toward the alley on the other side. It wentat an angle and would offer some protection. 

He looked back, just as bullets began to land against the metal of thecar. Murdoch held up one finger and put himself into a position to makea run for it. Then he brought the finger down sharply, and the twoleaped out. 

Trench's ex-Marine bellow carried over the fighting. "Get the old man!"

Bruce Gordon had no time to look back. He hit the alley in fiveheart-ripping leaps and was around the bend. Then he swung, just asMurdoch made it. Bullets spatted against the walls, and he saw bloodpumping from under Murdoch's right shoulder. 

"Keep going!" Murdoch ordered. 

A fresh cry from the street cut into his order, however. Gordon risked aquick look, then stepped farther out to make sure. 

The surprise raid by the Star Pointers hadn't been quite as much of asurprise as expected. Coming down the street, with no regard for mentrying to get out of their way, the trucks of the Croopsters werebattering aside the few who could not reach safety. There were nomachine guns this time. 

They smacked into the tangle of Star Point trucks, and came to agrinding halt, men piling out ready for battle. Gordon nodded. In a fewminutes, Wayne's supporters would have the booth again; there'd be adelay before any organized search could be made for the fugitives. Helooked down at Murdoch's shoulder. 

"Come on, " he said finally. "Or should I carry you?"

Murdoch shook his head. "I'll walk. Get me to a place where we cantalk--and be damned to this. Gordon, I've got to talk--but I don't haveto live. I mean that!"

Gordon started off, disregarding the words; a place of safety had tocome first. He picked his way down alleys and small streets. The olderman kept trying to stop to speak, but Gordon gave him no opportunity. There was one chance.... 

It was farther than he'd thought, and Gordon began to suspect he'dmissed the way, until he saw the drugstore. Now it all fell intoplace--the first beat he'd had with Izzy. 

He ducked down back alleys until he reached the right section. Hescanned the street, jumped to the door of the little liquor store andbegan banging on it. There was no answer, though he was sure the oldcouple lived just over the store. 

He began banging again. Finally, a feeble voice sounded from inside. "Who is it?"

"A man in distress!" he yelled back. There was no way to identifyhimself; he could only hope she would look. 

The entrance seal opened briefly; then it flashed open all the way. Hemotioned to Murdoch, and jumped to help the failing man to the entrance. The old lady looked, then moved quickly to the other side. 

"_Ach, Gott_, " she breathed. Her hands trembled as she relocked theseal. Then she brushed the thin hair off her face, and pointed. Gordonfollowed her up the stairs, carrying Murdoch on his back. She opened adoor, passed through a tiny kitchen, and threw open another door to abedroom. 

The old man lay on the bed, and this time there was no question ofconcussion. The woman nodded. "Yes. Pappa is dead, God forbid it. He_would_ try to vote. I told him and told him--and then ... With my ownhands, I carried him here. "

Gordon felt sick. He started to turn, but she shook her head quickly. "No. Pappa is dead. He needs no beds now, and your friend is suffering;put him here. "

She lifted the frail body of the old man and lowered him onto the floorwith a strength that seemed impossible. Then her hands were gentle asshe helped lower Murdoch where the corpse had been. "I'll get alcoholfrom below--and bandages and hot water. "

Asa Murdoch opened his eyes, breathing stertoriously. His face wasblanched, his clothes a mess. But he protested as Gordon tried to stripthem. "Let them go, kid. There's no way to save me now. And listen!"

"I'm listening!"

"With your _mind_, Gordon, not your ears. You've heard a lot aboutSecurity. Well, I'm Security. Top level--policy for Mars. We never got atop man here without his being discovered and killed--That's why we'vehad to work under all the cover--and against our own government. Nobodyknew I was here--Trench was our man--Sold us out! We've got juniormen--down to your level, clerks, such things. We've got a dozen plans. But we're not ready for an emergency, and it's here--now!

"Gordon, you're a self-made louse, but you're a man underneath itsomewhere. That's why we rate you higher than you think you are. That'swhy I'm going to trust you--because I have to. "

He swallowed, and the thin hand of the woman lifted brandy to his lips. "Pappa, " she said slowly. "He was a clerk once for Security. But nobodycame, nobody called.... "

She went back to trying to bandage the bleeding bluish hole in hischest. Murdoch nodded faintly. 

"Probably what happened to a lot--men like Trench, supposed to build anorganization, just leaving the loose ends hanging. " He groaned; sweatpopped out on his forehead, but his eyes never left Gordon's. "Hell'sgoing to pop. The government's just waiting to step in; Earth _wants_ totake over. "

"It should, " Gordon said. 

"No! We've studied these things. Mars won't give up--and Earth wants aplum, not responsibility. You'll have civil war and the whole planetarydevelopment ruined. Security's the only hope, Gordon--the only chanceMars had, has, or will have! Believe me, I know. Security has to benotified. There's a code message I had ready--a message to afriend--even you can send it. And they'll be watching. I've got thebasic plans in the book here. "

He slumped back. Gordon frowned, then found the book and pulled it outas gently as he could. It was a small black memo book, covered withpages of shorthand. The back was an address book, filled withnames--many crossed out. A sheet of paper in normal writing fell out. 

"The message ... " Murdoch took another swallow of brandy. "Take it. You're head of Security on Mars now. It's all authorized in the plansthere. You'll need the brains and knowledge of the others--but theycan't act. You can--we know about you. "

The old woman sighed. She put down the hot water and picked up thebottle of brandy, starting down the stairs. 

"Gordon!" Murdoch said faintly. 

He turned to put his head down. From the stairs, a sudden cry and thumpsounded, and something hit the floor. Gordon jumped toward the sound, tofind the old lady bending over the inert figure of Sheila Corey. 

"I heard someone, " the woman said. She stared at the brandy bottlesickly. "_Gott in Himmel_, look at me. Am I a killer, too, that I shouldstrike a young and beautiful girl. She comes into my house, and I sneakbehind her ... It is an evil time, young man. Here, you carry herinside. I'll get some twine to tie her up. The idea, spying on you!"

Gordon picked the girl up roughly. That capped it, he thought. There wasno way of knowing how much she'd heard, or whether she'd tipped othersoff. He dropped her near the bed, and went over to Murdoch. The man wasdying now. 

"So Security wants me to contact the others in the book and organizethings?"

"Yes. " Murdoch swallowed. "Not a good chance, then--but a chance. Stilltime--I think. Gordon?"

"What else can I do?" Bruce Gordon asked. 

He knew it was no answer, but Asa Murdoch apparently accepted it as apromise. The gray-speckled head relaxed and rolled sideways on thebloody pillow. 

"Dead, " Gordon said to the woman, as she came up with the twine. "Dead, fighting wind-mills. And maybe winning. I don't know. "

He turned toward Sheila--a split second too late. The girl came up fromthe floor with a single push of her arm. She pivoted on her heel, hitthe door, and her heels were clattering on the stairs. Before Gordoncould reach the entrance, she was whipping around into an alley. 

He watched her go, sick inside, and the last he saw was the hand sheheld up, waving the little black book at him!

He turned back into the liquor shop; the woman seemed to read his face. "I should have watched her. It is a bad day for me, young man. I failedPappa; I failed the poor man who died--and now I have failed you. It isbetter... "

He caught her as she fell toward him. She relaxed after a second. "Upstairs, please, " she whispered, "beside Pappa. There was nothingelse. And these Martian poisons--they are so sure, they don't hurt. Fiveminutes more, I think. Stay with me, I'll tell you how Pappa and I gotmarried. I want somebody should know how it was with us once, together. "

He stayed, then picked the two bodies up and moved them from the flooronto the bed where he had first seen the old man. He moved Murdoch'sbody aside, and covered the two gently. Finally, he went down thestairs, carrying Murdoch with him. The man's weight was a stiff load, even on Mars; but, somehow, he couldn't leave his body with the oldcouple. 

He stopped finally ten blocks of narrow alleys away, and put Murdochdown. 

Now he had no witnesses, except Sheila Corey. He had no book, no cluesas to whom to see and what to do. 

He heard the sound of a mobile amplifier, and strained his ears towardit. He got enough to know that Wayne had won a thumping victory, betterthan three to two. 

Isaiah Trench was still captain of the Seventh Precinct. 

Chapter IX

CONTRABAND

Elections were over, but the few dim lights along the street showed onlyboarded-up and darkened buildings. There were sounds of stirring, but noone was trusting that the election-day brawls were completely ended yet. 

Gordon hesitated, then swung glumly toward a corner where he could finda police call box. He heard a tiny patrol car turn the corner and duckedback into another alley to wait for it to go by. But they weren'tlooking for him. Their spotlight caught a running boy, clutching a fewthin copies of the _Crusader_ under a scrawny arm. 

After the cops had dumped the unconscious kid into the back of the smallsquad car, and gone looking for more game, Gordon went over to look atthe tattered scraps left of the opposition paper. 

Randolph wasn't preaching this time, but was content to report the factshe'd seen. There had been at least ninety known killings; mobs hadfought citizens outside the main market for three hours. 

Yet in spite of all the ballot-stuffing and intimidations, Wayne hadbarely squeaked through, by a four per cent majority. It was obviousthat the current administration could never win another election. 

Bruce Gordon lifted the cradled phone from the box. "Gordon reporting, "he announced. 

A startled grunt came from the instrument, followed by the clicks ofhasty switching. In less than fifteen seconds, Trench's voice barked outof the phone. "Gordon? Where the hell you been?"

"Up an alley between McCutcheon and Miles, " Gordon told him. "With acorpse. Murdoch's corpse. Better send out the wagon. "

Trench hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Okay, _I'll_ be out inten minutes. "

Gordon clumped back to the alley and bent for a final inspection ofMurdoch's body, to make sure nothing would prove the flaws in his weaklybuilt story. 

Isaiah Trench was better than his word. He swung his gray car up to thealley in seven minutes. 

The door slammed behind him, a beam snapped out from his flashlight intothe alley, and then he was beside Murdoch's body. He threw the light toGordon and stooped to run expert hands over the corpse and through thepockets. 

Finally, he stood up, frowning. "He's dead, all right. I don't get it. If you hadn't reported in ... Gordon, did he try to make you think hewas--"

"Security?" Gordon filled in. "Yeah. Claimed he was head of it here, andwanted me to send a message to Earth for him. "

Trench nodded, a touch of relief on his face. "Crazy!"

Gordon grimaced faintly. 

"Crazy, " Trench repeated. "He must have been to spin that story ... Bythe way, thanks for killing that sniper. You're a good shot. I'd be deadif you weren't, I guess. "

Gordon made no comment, and Trench said, "I could start a nastyinvestigation, I guess. But I heard him raving, too. Give me a hand, andI'll take care of all this ... Want me to drop you off?"

They wangled the body into the trunk of the car. Then it was good torelax while Trench drove along the rubble-piled and nearly desertedstreets. Gordon heard a sigh from beside him; Trench must have beenunder tension, too. 

They didn't speak until Trench stopped in front of Mother Corey's place. Then the captain turned and stuck out his hand. "Congratulations, by theway. I forgot to tell you, but you won the lottery. You're a sergeantfrom now on. "

 * * * * *

Inside, a thick effluvium hit his nose, and Gordon turned to see MotherCorey's huge bulk waddling down the hall. The old man nodded. "Wethought you'd gone on the lam, cobber. But I guess, since Trench broughtyou back, you've cooled. Good, good. As a respectable man now, Icouldn't have stashed you from the cops--though I might have beentempted--mighty tempted. " His face was melancholy. "Tell me, lad, didthey get Murdoch?"

Bruce Gordon nodded, and the old man sighed. Something suspiciously likea tear glistened in his eyes. 

"I thought you were taking a bath, " Gordon commented. 

The old man chuckled. "Fate's against me, cobber. With all the shooting, some punk put a bullet clean through the wall and the plastic of thetub. Fifty gallons of water, all wasted!"

He turned back toward the end of the hall, sighing again. Gordon went upthe stairs, noticing that Izzy's door was open. The little man wasstretched out on the bunk in his clothes, filthy; one side of his faceswollen. 

"Hi, gov'nor, " he called out, his voice still cheerful. "I had oddsyou'd beat the ticket, though the Mother and me were worried there for awhile. How'd you grease the fix?"

Gordon sketched it in, without mentioning Security. "What happened toyou, Izzy?"

"Price of being honest. But the gees who paid me protection didn't gethurt, gov'nor. " He winced, then grinned. "So they pay double tomorrow. Honesty pays, gov'nor, if you squeeze it once in a while ... Funny, youmaking sergeant; I thought two other gees won the lottery. "

So the promotion _had_ come from Trench! It bothered him. When a turkeysees corn on the menu, it's time to wonder about Thanksgiving. 

 * * * * *

Collections were good all week--probably as a result of Izzy's actions. Even after he arranged to pay his income tax, and turned over his"donation" to the fund, Gordon was well ahead for the first time sincehe'd landed here. 

He had become almost superstitious about the way he was always left withno more than a hundred credits in his pockets. This time, he strippedhimself to that sum at once, depositing the rest in the First MarsportBank. Maybe it would break the jinx. 

They were one of the few teams in the Seventh Precinct to make fullquota. Trench was lavish in his praise. He was playing more than fairwith Bruce Gordon now, but there was a basic suspicion in his eyes. 

The next day, he drafted Izzy and Gordon for a trip outside the dome. "It's easy enough, and you'll get plenty of credit in the fund for it. Ineed two men who can keep their mouths shut. "

They idled around the station through the morning. In the lateafternoon, they left in a big truck capable of hauling what would havebeen fifty tons on Earth. Trench drove. Outside the dome, the electricmotor carried them along at a steady twenty miles an hour, almostsilently. 

It was Gordon's first look at the real Mars. He saw small villages wherecrop prospectors and hydroponic farmers lived, with a few smallindustrial sections scattered over the desert. As they moved out, he sawthe slow change from the beaten appearance of Marsport to something thatseemed no worse than would be found among the share-croppers back onEarth. It was obvious that Marsport was the poison center here. 

Some of the younger children were running around without helmets, confirming Praeger's claim that third-generation Martians somehowlearned to adapt to the atmosphere. 

Darkness fell sharply, as it always did in Mars' thin air, but they wenton, heading out into the dunes of the desert. When they finally stopped, they were beside a small, battered space ship. Boxes were piled allaround it, and others were being tossed out. Trent leaped from thetruck, motioning them to follow, and they began loading the crateshastily. It took about an hour of hard work to load the last of them, and Trench was working harder than they were. Finished, he went up toone of the men from the ship, handed over an envelope, and came back tostart the truck back toward Marsport. As the dunes dwindled behind them, Gordon could see the brief flare of the little rocket taking off. 

They drove back through the night as rapidly as the truck could manage. Finally, they rolled into City Hall, down a ramp, and onto an elevatorthat took them three levels down. Trench climbed out and nodded insatisfaction. "That's it. Take tomorrow off, if you want, and I'll fixcredit for you. But just remember you haven't seen anything. You don'tknow any more than our old friend Murdoch!"

He led them to another elevator, then swung back to the truck. 

"Guns, " Gordon said slowly. "Guns and contraband ammunition for theadministration from Earth. And they must have paid half the graftthey've taken for that. What the hell do they want it for?"

Izzy jerked a shoulder upwards and a twist ran across his pock-markedface. "War, what else? Gov'nor, Earth must be boiling about theelection. Maybe Security's getting set to spring. "

The idea of Marsport rebelling against Earth seemed ridiculous. Evenwith guns, they wouldn't have a chance if Earth sent a force of anystrength to back Security. But it was the only explanation. 

Gordon took the next day off to look for Sheila Corey, but nobody wouldadmit having seen her. 

He had seen crowds beginning to assemble all afternoon, but had paid noattention to them. Now he found the way back to Corey's blocked by amob. Then he saw that the object of it all was the First Marsport Bank. It was only toward that that the shaking fists were raised. Gordonmanaged to get onto a pile of rubble where he could see over the crowd. The doors of the bank were locked shut, but men were attacking it withan improvised battering ram. As he watched, a pompous little man came tothe upper window over the door and began motioning for attention. Thecrowd quieted almost at once, except for a single yell. "When do we getour money?"

"Please. Please. " The voice reached back thinly as the bank presidentgot his silence. "Please. It won't do you any good. Not a bit. We'rebroke. Not a cent left! And don't go blaming me. _I_ didn't start therush. Your friends did that. They took all the money, and now we'recleaned out. You can't--"

A rope rose from the crowd and settled around him. In a second, he waspulled down, and the crowd surged forward. 

Gordon dropped from the rubble, staring at the bank. He'd played it safethis time--he'd put his money away, to make sure he'd have it!

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and he turned to see Mother Corey. "That's the way a panic is, cobber, " the man said. "There's a run, theneverything is ruined. I tried to get you when I first heard the rumor, but you were gone. And when this starts, a man has to get there first. "He patted his side, where a bulge showed. "And I just made it, too. "

The mob was beginning to break up now, but it was still in an ugly mood. "But what started it?"

"Rumors that Mayor Wayne got a big loan from the bank--and why not, seeing it was his bank! Nobody had to guess that he'd never pay it back, so--"

Gordon found Izzy organizing the bouncers from the joints and some ofthe citizens into a squad. Every joint was closed down tightly already. Gordon began organizing his own squad. 

Izzy slipped over as he began to get them organized. "If we hold pastmidnight, we'll be set, gov'nor, " he said. "They go crazy for a while, but give 'em a few hours and they stop most of it. I figure you knowwhere all the scratch went?"

"Sure--guns from Earth! The damned fools!"

"Yeah. But not fools. Just bloody well-informed, gov'nor. Earth'ssending a fleet--got official word of it. No way of telling how big, butit's coming. "

It gave Gordon something to think about while they patrolled the beat. But he had enough for a time without that. The mobs left the sectionalone, apparently scared off by the organized group ready and waitingfor them. But every street and alley had to be kept under constantsurveillance to drive out the angry, desperate men who were trying toget something to hang onto before everything collapsed. He saw storesbeing broken into, beyond his beat; and brawls as one drunken, crazedcrowd met another. But he kept to his own territory, knowing that therewas nothing he could do beyond it. 

By midnight, as Izzy had promised, the people had begun to quiet down, however. The anger and hysteria were giving way to a sullen, beatenhopelessness. 

Honest Izzy finally seemed satisfied to turn things over to the regularnight men. Gordon waited around a while longer, but finally headed backto Mother Corey's place. 

Mother Corey put a cup of steaming coffee into his hands. "You lookworse than I do, cobber. Worse than even that granddaughter of mine. Shewas looking for you!"

"Sheila?" Gordon jerked the word out. 

"Yeah. She left a note for you. I put it up in your room. " Mother Coreychuckled. "Why don't you two get married and make your fighting legal?"

"Thanks for the coffee, " Gordon threw back at him. He was alreadymounting the stairs. 

He tossed his door open and found the letter on his bed. 

"I'd rather go to Wayne, " it said, "but I need money. If you want therest of this, you've got until three tonight to make an offer. If youcan find me, maybe I'll listen. "

The torn-off front cover of the notebook accompanied the letter. But itwas a quarter after three already, he was practically broke--and he hadno idea where she could be found. 

Chapter X

MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE

Bruce Gordon jerked the door open to yell for Izzy while he tucked thebit of notebook cover into his pocket. Then he stopped as somethingnibbled at his mind; the odor Gordon had smelled before registered. Heyanked out the bit of notebook and sniffed. It hadn't been close enoughfor any length of time to be contaminated by Mother Corey, so the smellcould only come from one place. 

He checked the batteries on his suit and put it on quickly. There was nopoint in wearing the helmet inside the dome, but it was better thantrying to rent one at the lockers. He buckled it to a strap. The knifeslid into its sheath, and the gun holster snapped onto the suit. As afinal thought, he picked up the stout locust stick he'd used underMurdoch. 

There were no cabs outside tonight, of course. The streets were almostdeserted, except for some prowler or desperation-driven drug addict. Heproceeded cautiously, however, realizing that it would be just likeSheila to ambush him. But he reached the exit from the dome with notrouble. 

"Special pass to leave at this hour, " the guard there reminded him. "Ofcourse, if it's urgent, pal... "

Gordon was in no mood to try bribes. He let his hand drop to the gun. "Police Sergeant Gordon, on official business, " he said curtly. "Get thehell out of my way. "

The guard thought it over, and reached for the release. Gordon swungback as he passed through. "And you'd better be ready to open when Icome back. "

He was in comparative darkness almost at once, and tonight there was nosign of the lights of patrolling cops. Then three specks of glaring bluelight suddenly appeared in the sky, jerking his eyes up. They weredropping rapidly. 

Rockets that flamed bright blue--military rockets! Earth was finallytaking a hand!

He crouched in a hollow that had once been some kind of a basement untilthe ships had landed and cut off their jets. Then he stood up, blinkinghis eyes until they could again make out the pattern of the dim bulbs. He'd seen enough by the rocket glare to know that he was headed right. And finally the ugly half-cylinder of patched brick and metal that wasthe old Mother Corey's Chicken Coop showed up against the faint light. 

He moved in cautiously, as silently as he could, and located thesemi-secret entrance to the building without meeting anyone. Once in thetunnel that led to the building, he felt a little safer. 

He removed his helmet, and strapped it to the back of his suit, out ofthe way. The old hall was in worse shape than before. Mother Corey hadrun a somewhat orderly place, with constant vigilance; Bruce Gordoncould never have come into the hallway without being seen in the olddays. 

Then a pounding sound came from the second floor, and Gordon drew backinto the denser shadows, staring upwards. A heavy voice picked up theexchange of shouts. 

"You, Sheila, you come outa there! You come right out or I'm gonna blastthat there door down. You open up. "

Gordon was already moving up the stairs when a second voice reached him, and this one was familiar. "Jurgens don't want _you_; all he wants isthis place--we got use for it. It don't belong to you, anyhow! Come outnow, and we'll let you go peaceful. Or stay in there and we'll blast youout--in pieces. "

It was the voice of Jurgens' henchman who had called on Mother Coreybefore elections. The thick voice must belong to the big ape who'd beenwith him. 

"Come on out, " the little man cried again. "You don't have a chance. We've already chased all your boarders out!"

Gordon tried to remember which steps had creaked the worst, but hewasn't too worried, if there were only two of them. Then his headprojected above the top step, and he hesitated. Only the rat and the apewere standing near a heavy, closed door. But four others were loungingin the background. He lifted his foot to put it back down to a lowerstep, just as Sheila's muffled voice shrilled out a fog of profanity. Hegrinned, and then saw that he'd lifted his foot to a higher step. 

There was a sharp yell from one of the men in the background and a knifesailed for him, but the aim was poor. Gordon's gun came out. Two of themen were dropping before the others could reach for their own weapons, and while the rat-faced man was just turning. The third dropped withoutfiring, and the fourth's shot went wild. Gordon was firing rapidly, butnot with such a stupid attempt at speed that he couldn't aim each shot. And at that distance, it was hard to miss. 

Rat-face jerked back behind the big hulk of his partner, trying to pulla gun that seemed to be stuck; a scared man's ability to get his gunstuck in a simple holster was always amazing. The big guy simply lunged, with his hands out. 

Gordon side-stepped and caught one of the arms, swinging the huge bodyover one hip. It sailed over the broken railing, to land on the floorbelow and crash through the rotten planking. He heard the man hit thebasement, even while he was swinging the club in his hand toward therat-faced man. 

There was a thin, high-pitched scream as a collarbone broke. He slumpedonto the floor, and began to try hitching his way down the steps. Gordonpicked up the gun that had fallen out of the holster as the man fell andput it into his pouch. He considered the two, and decided they would beno menace. 

"Okay, Sheila, " he called out, trying to muffle his voice. "We got themall. "

"Pie-Face?" Her voice was doubtful. 

He considered what a man out here who went under that name might belike. "Sure, baby. Open up!"

"Wait a minute. I've got this nailed shut. " There was the sound of aneffort of some kind going on as she talked. "Though I ought to let youstay out there and rot. Damn it ... Uh!"

The door heaved open then, and she appeared in it; then she saw him, andher jaw dropped open slackly. "You!"

"Me, " he agreed. "And lucky for you, Cuddles. "

Her hand streaked to a gun in her belt. "Kill him!"

This time, he didn't wait to be attacked. He went for the door, knockingher aside. His knee caught the outside of her hip as she spun; she fellover, dropping the gun. 

The two men in the room were both holding knives, but in the ridiculousoverhand position that seems to be an ingrained stupidity of the humanrace, until it's taught better. A single flip of his locust club againsttheir wrists accounted for both of the knives. He grabbed them by thehair of their heads, then, and brought the two skulls together savagely. 

Sheila lay stretched out on the floor, where her head had apparentlystruck against the leg of a bed. Gordon shoved the bodies of the two menaside and looked down at the wreck of a man who lay on the dirtyblanket. "Hello, O'Neill, " he said. 

The former leader of the Stonewall gang stared up at the club swingingfrom Gordon's wrist. "You ain't gonna beat me this time? I'm a sick man. Sick. Can't hurt nobody. Don't beat me again. "

Gordon's stomach knotted sickly. Doing something under the pressure ofnecessity was one thing; but to see the sorry results of it later wasanother. "All right, " he said. "Just stay there until I get away fromthis rat's nest and I won't hit you. I won't even touch you. "

He was sure enough that it was no act on O'Neill's part; he wasn't sosure about Sheila. He checked the two men on the floor, who were stillout cold. Then he stepped through the door carefully, to make sure thatthe big bruiser hadn't come back. 

His ears barely detected the sound Sheila made as she reached for theknife of one of the men. Then it came--the faintest catch of breath. Gordon threw himself flat to the floor. She let out a scream as he sawher momentum carry her over him; she was at the edge of the rail, andstarting to fall. 

He caught her feet in his hands and yanked her back. There was nothingphony this time as she hit the floor. 

"Just a matter of co-ordination, Cuddles, " he told her. "Little girlsshouldn't play with knives; they'll grow up to be old maids that way. "

Fury blackened her face, but she still couldn't function. He picked herup and tossed her back into the room. From the broken mattress on thebed, he dug out a coil of wire and bound her hands and feet with it. 

"Can't say I think much of your choice of companions these days, " hecommented, looking toward the bed where O'Neill was cowering. "It looksas if your grandfather picks them better for you. "

"You filthy-minded hog! D'you think I'd--I'd--One room in the place witha decent door, and you can't see why I'd choose that room to keepJurgens' devils back. You--You--"

He'd been searching the room, but there was no sign of the notebookthere. He checked again to see that the wire was tight, and then pickedup the two henchmen who were showing some signs of reviving. 

"I'll watch them, " a voice said from the door. Gordon snapped his headup to see Izzy standing there. He realized he'd been a lot less cautiousthan he'd thought. 

Izzy grinned at his confusion. "I got enough out of the Mother to casethe pitch, " he said. "I knew I was right when I spotted the apemancarrying a guy with a bad shoulder away from here. Jurgens' punks, eh?"

"Thanks for coming. What's it going to cost me?"

"Wouldn't be honest to charge unless you asked me to convoy you, gov'nor. And if you're looking for the vixen's room, it's where youbunked before. I got around after I spotted you here. "

Sheila Corey forced herself to a sitting position and spat at Izzy. "Traitor! Crooked little traitor!"

"Shut up, Sheila, " Izzy said. "Your retainer ran out. "

Surprisingly, she did shut up. Gordon went to the little space--and sawthat Izzy was right; there was a nearly used-up lipstick, a comb, and acracked mirror. There was also a small cloth bag containing a few scrapsof clothes. 

He turned the room upside down, but there was no sign of the notebook orpapers from it. 

He located her helmet and carried it down with him. "You're goingbye-bye, Cuddles, " he told her. "I'm going to put this on you and thenunfasten your arms and legs. But if you start to so much as wiggle yourbig toe, you won't sit down for a month. "

She pursed her lips hotly, but made no reply. He screwed the helmet on, and unfastened her arms. For a second, she tensed, while he waited, grinning down at her. Then she slumped back and lay quiet as heunfastened her legs. 

He tossed her over his shoulder, and started down the rickety stairs. 

There was a little light in the sky. Five minutes later, it was fulldaylight, which should have been a signal for the workers to start fortheir jobs. But today they were drifting out unhappily, as if alreadysure there would be no jobs by nightfall. 

A few stared at Gordon and his burden, but most of them didn't even lookup. The two men trudged along silently. 

"Prisoner, " he announced crisply to the guard, but there was no protestthis time. They went through, and he was lucky enough to locate abroken-down tricycle cab. 

Mother Corey let them in, without flickering an eyelash as he saw hisgranddaughter. Bruce Gordon dropped her onto her legs. "Behaveyourself, " he warned her as he took off his helmet, and then unfastenedhers. 

Mother Corey chuckled. "Very touching, cobber. You have a way withwomen, it seems. Too bad she had to wear a helmet, or you might havedragged her here by her hair. Ah, well, let's not talk about it here. Myroom is more comfortable--and private. "

Inside, Sheila sat woodenly on the little sofa, pretending to see noneof them. Mother Corey looked from one to the other, and then back toGordon. "Well? You must have had some reason for bringing her here, cobber. "

"I want her out of my hair, Mother, " Gordon tried to explain. "I canlock her up--carrying a gun without a permit is reason enough. But I'drather you kept her here, if you'll take the responsibility. After all, she's your granddaughter. "

"So she is. That's why I wash my hands of her. I couldn't control myselfat her age, couldn't control my son, and I don't intend to handle afemale of my line. It looks as if you'll have to arrest her. "

"Okay. Suppose I rent a room and put a good lock on it. You've got theone that connects with mine vacant. "

"I run a respectable house now, Gordon, " Mother Corey stated flatly. "What you do outside my place is your own business. But no women, exceptmarried ones. Can't trust 'em. "

Gordon stared at the old man, but he apparently meant just what he said. "All right, Mother, " he said finally. "How in hell do I marry herwithout any rigmarole?"

Izzy's face seemed to drop toward the floor. Sheila came up off thecouch with a choking cry and leaped for the door. Mother Corey's immensearm moved out casually, sweeping her back onto the couch. 

"Very convenient, " the old man said. "The two of you simply fill out aform--I've got a few left from the last time--and get Izzy and me towitness it. Drop it in the mail, and you're married. "

"If you think I'd marry you, you filthy--" Sheila began. 

Mother Corey listened attentively. "Rich, but not very imaginative, " hesaid thoughtfully. "But she'll learn. Izzy, I have a feeling we shouldlet them settle their differences. "

As the door shut behind them, Gordon yanked Sheila back to the couch. "Shut up!" he told her. "This isn't a game. Hell's popping here--youknow that better than most people. And I'm up to my neck in it. If I'vegot to marry you to keep you out of my hair, I will. "

Her face was pasty-white, but she bent her head, and fluttered hereyelashes up at him. "So romantic, " she sighed. "You sweep me off myfeet. You--Why, you--"

"Me or Trench! I can take you to him and tell him you're mixed up inSecurity, and that you either have papers on you or out at the ChickenCoop to prove it. He won't believe _you_ if I take you in. Well?"

She looked at him a long time in silence, and there was surprise in hereyes. "You'd do it! You really would.... All right; I'll sign yourdamned papers!"

Ten minutes later, he stood in what was now a connecting double room, watching Mother Corey nail up the hall door to the room that was to behers. There were no windows here, and his own room had an excellent lockon it already--one he'd put on himself. Izzy came back as Mother Coreyfinished the door and began knocking a small panel out of the connectingdoor. The old man was surprisingly adept with his hands as he fittedhinges and a catch to the panel, and re-installed it so that Sheilacould swing it open. 

"They're married, " Izzy said. "It's in the mail to the register, alongwith the twenty credits. Gov'nor, we're about due to report in. "

Gordon nodded. "Be with you in a minute, " he said as he paid MotherCorey for the materials and work. He jerked his head and the two menwent out, leaving him alone with Sheila. 

"I'll bring you some food tonight. And you may not have a private bath, but it beats the Chicken Coop. Here. " He handed her the key to theconnecting door. "It's the only key there is. "

Chapter XI

THE SKY'S THE LIMIT

All that day, the three rocket ships sat out on the field. Nobody wentup to them, and nobody came from them; surprisingly, Wayne had found thecourage to ignore them. But rumors were circulating wildly. Bruce Gordonfelt his nerves creeping out of his skin and beginning to stand on endto test each breeze for danger. 

With the credit they'd accumulated in the fund, nearly all theircollection was theirs. Gordon went out to do some shopping. He stoppedwhen his money was down to a hundred credits, hardly realizing what hewas doing. When he went out, the street was going crazy. 

Izzy had been waiting, and filled him in. At exactly sundown, the rocketships had thrown down ramps, and a stream of jeeps had ridden down themand toward the south entrance to the dome. They had presented some sortof paper and forced the guard to let them through. There were about twohundred men, some of them armed. They had driven straight to the huge, barnlike Employment Bureau, had chased out the few people remainingthere, and had simply taken over. Now there was a sign in front whichsimply said MARSPORT LEGAL POLICE FORCE HEADQUARTERS. Then thejeeps had driven back to the rockets, gone on board, and the ships hadtaken off. 

Gordon glanced at his watch, finding it hard to believe it could havebeen done so quickly. But it was two hours after sundown. 

Now a car with a loudspeaker on top rolled into view--a completelyarmored car. It stopped, and the speaker began operating. 

"Citizens of Marsport! In order to protect your interests from theproven rapacity of the administration here, Earth has revoked theindependent charter of Marsport. The past elections are hereby declarednull and void. Your home world has appointed Marcus Gannett as mayor, with Philip Crane as chief of police. Other members of the council willbe by appointment until legal elections can be held safely. TheMunicipal Police Force is disbanded, and the Legal Police Force is nowbeing organized. 

"All police and officers who remain loyal to the legal government willbe accepted at their present grade or higher. To those who now leave theillegal Municipal Force and accept their duty with the Legal Force, there will be no question of past conduct. Nor will they sufferfinancially from the change!

"Banks will be reopened as rapidly as the Legal Government can extendits control, and all deposits previously made will be honored in full. "

That brought a cheer from the crowd, as the sound truck moved on. Gordonsaw two of the police officers nearby fingering their badgesthoughtfully. 

Then another truck rolled into view, and the Mayor's canned voice cameover it, panting as if he'd had to rush to make the recording. He begandirectly:

"Martians! Earth has declared war on us. She has denied us our right torule ourselves--a right guaranteed in our charter. We admit there havebeen abuses; all young civilizations make mistakes. But we've developedand grown. 

"This is an old pattern, fellow Martians! England tried it on hercolonies three hundred years ago. And the people rose up and demandedtheir right to rule themselves. They had troubles with theirgovernments, too--and they had panics. But they won their freedom, andit made them great--so great that now that _one_ nation--not all Earth, but that single nation!--is trying to do to us what she wouldn't permitto herself. 

"Well, we don't have an army. But neither do they. They know the peopleof this world wouldn't stand for the landing of foreign--that's right, _foreign_--troops. So they're trying to steal our police force from usand use it for their war. 

"Fellow Martians, they aren't going to bribe us into that! Mars has hadenough. I declare us to be in a state of revolution. And since they havechosen the weapons, I declare our loyal and functioning Municipal PoliceForce to be _our_ army. Any man who deserts will be considered atraitor. But any man who sticks will be rewarded more than he everexpected. We're going to protect our freedom. 

"Let them open their banks--our banks--again. And when they haveestablished your accounts, go in and collect the money! If they give itto you, Mars is that much richer. If they don't, you'll know they'relying. 

"Let them bribe us if they like. We're going to win this war. "

Gordon felt the crowd's reaction twist again, and he had to admit thatWayne had played his cards well. 

But it didn't make the question of where he belonged, or what he shoulddo, any easier. He waited until the crowd had thinned out a little andbegan heading toward Corey's, with Izzy moving along silently besidehim, carrying half the packages. 

He remembered the promise of forgiveness for all sins on joining the newLegal Force; but he'd read enough history to know that it was fine--aslong as the struggle continued. Afterwards, promises grew dim.... 

He had no use for the present administration, but Earth had no right totake over without a formal investigation, and a chance for the people tostate their choice. 

Then he grimaced at himself. He was in no position to move according toright and wrong. The only question that counted was how he had the bestchance to ride out the storm, and to get back to Earth and a normallife. 

He was still in a brown study as he took the bundles from Izzy anddropped them on his bed. Izzy went out, and Gordon stood staring at thewall. Trench? Or the new Commissioner Crane? If Earth should win--andthey had most of the power, after all--and Bruce Gordon had foughtagainst Security, the mines of Mercury were waiting. 

He picked up the stuff from his bed and started to sweep it aside beforehe lay down. Then he remembered at last; he knocked on the panel, untilit finally opened a crack. 

"Here, " he told her. "Food, and some other stuff. There are some refusebags, too. Yell when you want them removed. "

She took the bundles woodenly until she came to a plastic can. Then shegasped. "Water! Two gallons!"

"There are heat tablets, and a skin tub. " The salesgirl had explainedhow one gallon was enough in the plastic bag that served as a tub; hehad his doubts. "Detergent. The whole works. "

She hauled the stuff in and started to close the panel. Then shehesitated. "I suppose I should thank you, but I don't like to be told Istink so much you can't stand me in the next room!"

"Hell, I've gotten so I can stand your grandfather, " he answered. "Itwasn't that. " The panel slammed shut. 

 * * * * *

He still hadn't solved his problem in the morning; out of habit, he puton his uniform and went across to Izzy's room. But Izzy was alreadygone. 

Gordon fished into the pocket of his uniform for paper and a pencil toleave a note in case Izzy came back. His fingers found the half notebookcover instead. He drew it out, scowling at it, and started to crumpleit. Then he stopped, staring at the piece of imitation leather and paperthat wouldn't bend. 

His fingers were still stiff as he began tearing off the thin coveringwith his knife; the paper backing peeled away easily. 

Under it lay a thin metal plate that glowed faintly even in the dimlight of Izzy's room! Gordon nearly dropped it. He'd seen such anidentification plate once before. 

The printing on it leaped at him: "This will identify the bearer, BRUCEIRVING GORDON, as a PRIME agent of the Office of Solar Security, empowered to make and execute any and all directives under the powers ofthis office. " The printing in capitals was obviously done by hand, butwith the same catalytic "ink" as the rest of the badge. Murdoch musthave prepared it, hidden it in the notebook, then died before the secretcould be revealed. 

A knock sounded from across the hall. Gordon thrust the damning badge asdeep into his pouch as he could cram it and looked out. It was MotherCorey. 

"You've got a visitor--outside, " he announced. "Trench. And I don't likethe stench of that kind of cop in my place. Get him away, cobber, gethim away!"

Gordon found Trench pacing up and down in front of the house, scowlingup at it. But the ex-Marine smiled as he saw Bruce Gordon in uniform. "Good. At least some men are loyal. Had breakfast, Gordon?"

Gordon shook his head, and realized suddenly that the decision seemed tohave been taken out of his hands. They crossed the street and went downhalf a block. "All right, " he said, when the coffee began waking him. "What's the angle?"

Trench dropped the eyes that had been boring into him. "I'll have totrust you, Gordon. I've never been sure. But either you're loyal now orI can't depend on anyone being loyal. "

During the night, it seemed, the Legal Force had been recruiting. Wayne, Arliss, and the rest of the administration had counted on self-interestholding most of the cops loyal to them. They'd been wrong. Legal forcesalready controlled about half the city. 

"So?" Gordon asked. He could have told Trench that the fund wasgood-enough reason for most police deserting. 

Trench put his coffee down and yelled for more. It was obvious he'dspent the night without sleep. "So we're going to need men with guts. Gordon, you had training under Murdoch--who knew his business. And youaren't a coward, as most of these fat fools are. I've got a proposition, straight from Wayne. "

"I'm listening. "

"Here. " Trench threw across a platinum badge. "Take that--captain atlarge--and conscript any of the Municipal Force you want, up to ahundred. Pick out any place you want, train them to handle those damnedLegals the way Murdoch handled the Stonewall boys. In return, the sky'sthe limit. Name your own salary, once you've done the job. And nokickbacks, either!"

Gordon picked up the badge slowly and buckled it on, while a grim, satisfied smile spread over Trench's features. The problem seemed tohave been solved. Gordon should have been satisfied, but he felt likeJudas picking up the thirty pieces of silver. He tried to swallow themwith the dregs of his coffee, and they stuck in his throat. 

Comes the revolution and we'll all eat strawberries and scream!

A hubbub sounded outside, and Trench grimaced as a police whistlesounded, and a Municipal cop ran by. "We're in enemy territory, " hesaid. "The Legals got this precinct last night. Captain Hendrix and someof his men wanted to come back with full battle equipment and chase themout. I had a hell of a time getting them to take it easy. I suppose thatwas some damned fool who tried to go back to his beat. "

"Then you'd better look again, " Gordon told him. He'd gone to the doorand was peering out. Up the narrow little street was rolling a group ofabout seventy Municipal police and half a dozen small trucks. The menwere wearing guns. And up the street a man in bright green uniform waspounding his fist up and down in emphasis as he called in over theprecinct box. 

"The idiot!" Trench grabbed Gordon and spun out, running toward theadvancing men. "We've got to stop this. Get my car--up the street--callArliss on the phone--under the dash. Or Wayne. I'll bring Hendrix. "

Trench's system made some sense, and this business of marching as to warmade none at all. Gordon grabbed the phone from under the dash. A sleepyvoice answered to say that Commissioner Arliss and Mayor Wayne weresleeping. They'd had a hard night, and... 

"Damn it, there's a rebellion going on!" Gordon told the man. Rebellion, rebellion! He'd meant to say revolution, but... 

Trench was arguing frantically with the pompous figure of CaptainHendrix. From the other end of the street, a group of small carsappeared; and men began piling out, all in shiny green. 

"Who's this?" the phone asked. When Gordon identified himself, there wasa snort of disgust. "Yes, yes, congratulations. Trench was quite right;you're fully authorized. Did you call me out of bed just to check onthat, young man?"

"No, I--" Then he hung up. Hendrix had dropped to his knees and firedbefore Trench could knock the gun from his hands. 

There was no answering fire. The Legals simply came boiling down thestreet, equipped with long pikes with lead-weighted ends. And Hendrixcame charging up, his men straggling behind him. Gordon was squarely inthe middle. He considered staying in Trench's car and letting it rollpast him. But he'd taken the damned badge. 

"Hell, " he said in disgust. He climbed out, just as the two groups met. It all had a curious feeling of unreality. 

Then a man jumped for him, swinging a pike, and the feeling was suddenlygone. His hand snapped down sharply for a rock on the street. The pikewhistled over his head, barely missing, and he was up, squashing the bigstone into the face of the other. He jerked the pike away, kicked theman in the neck as he fell, and unsheathed his knife with the otherhand. 

Trench was a few feet away. The man might be a louse, but he was also afighting machine of first order, still. He'd already captured one of thepikes. Now he grinned tightly at Gordon and began moving toward him. Gordon nodded--in a brawl such as this, two working together had adistinct advantage. 

Then a yell sounded as more Legals poured down the street. One of themwas obviously Izzy, wearing the same green as the others!

Gordon felt something hit his back, and instinctively fell, soaking upthe blow. He managed to bend his neck and roll, coming to his feet. Hisknife slashed upwards, and the Legal fell--almost on top of the Securitybadge that had dropped from Gordon's pouch. 

He jerked himself down and scooped it up, his eyes darting for Trench. He stuffed it back, ducking a blow. Then his glance fell on the entranceto Mother Corey's house--with Sheila Corey coming out of the seal!

Gordon threw himself back; he had to get to her. 

He hadn't been watching as closely as he should. He saw the pike comingdown and tried to duck... 

He was vaguely conscious later of looking up, to see Sheila dragging himinto some entrance, while Trench ran toward them. Sheila and Trenchtogether--and the Security badge was still in his pouch!

Chapter XII

WIFE OR PRISONER?

Something cold and damp against his forehead brought Gordon part way outof his unconsciousness finally. There was the softness of a bed underhim and the bitter aftertaste of Migrainol on his tongue. He tried tomove, but nothing happened. The drug killed pain, but only at theexpense of a temporary paralysis of all voluntary motion. 

There was a sudden withdrawal of the cooling touch on his forehead, andthen hasty steps that went away from him, and the sound of a doorclosing. 

Steps sounded from outside; his door opened, and there was the sound oftwo men crossing the room, one with the heavy shuffle of Mother Corey. 

"No wonder the boys couldn't find where you'd stashed him, Mother. Mustbe a bloody big false section you've got in that trick mattress ofyours!"

"Big enough for him and for Trench, Izzy, " Mother Corey's wheezing voiceagreed. "Had to be big to fit me. "

"You mean you hid Trench out, too?" Izzy asked. 

There was a thick chuckle and the sound of hands being rubbed together. "A respectable landlord has to protect himself, Izzy. For hiding and aconvoy back, our Captain Trench gave me a paper with immunity from theMunicipal Force. Used that, with a bit of my old reputation, to get yourMayor Gannett to give me the same from the Legals. Gannett didn't wantMother Corey to think the Municipals were kinder than the Legals, soyou're in the only neutral territory in Marsport. Not that you deserveit. "

"Lay off, Mother, " Izzy said sharply. "I told you I had to do it. I takecare of the side that pays my cut, and the bloody administration pulledthe plug on my beat twice. Only honest thing to do was to join theLegals. "

"And get your rating upped to a lieutenant, " Mother Corey observed. "Without telling cobber Gordon!"

"Like I say, honesty pays, Mother--when you know how to collect. Hell, Ifigured Bruce would do the same. He's a right gee. "

Mother Corey chuckled. "Yeah, when he forgets he's a machine. How abouta game of shanks?"

The steps moved away; the door closed again. Bruce Gordon got both eyesopen and managed to sit up. The effects of the drug were almost gone, but it took a straining of every nerve to reach his uniform pouch. Hisfingers, clumsy and uncertain, groped back and forth for a badge thatwasn't there!

He heard the door open softly, but made no effort to look up. Thereaction from his effort had drained him. 

Fingers touched his head carefully, brushing the hair back delicatelyfrom the side of his skull. Then there was the biting sting ofantiseptic, sharp enough to bring a groan from his lips. Sheila's hairfell over her face as she bent to replace his bandages. 

Her eyes wandered toward his, and the scissors and bandages on her laphit the floor as she jumped to her feet. She turned toward her room, then hesitated as he grinned crookedly at her. "Hi, Cuddles, " he saidflatly. 

She bit her lips and turned back, while a slow flush ran over her face. Her voice was uncertain. "Hello, Bruce. You okay?"

"How long have I been like this?"

"Fifteen hours, I guess. It's almost midnight. " She bent over to pick upthe bandages and to finish with his head. "Are you hungry? There's somecanned soup--I took the money from your pocket. Or coffee... "

"Coffee. " He forced himself up again; Sheila propped the flimsy pillowbehind him, then went into her room to come back with a plastic cupfilled with brown liquid that passed for coffee here. It was loaded withcaffeine, at least. 

"Why'd you come back?" he asked suddenly. "You were anxious enough topick the lock and get out. "

"I didn't pick it--you forgot to lock it. "

He couldn't remember what he'd done after he found the badge. "Okay, mymistake. But why the change of heart?"

"Because I needed a meal ticket!" she said harshly. "When I saw thatLegal cop ready to take you, I had to go running out to save you. Because I don't have the iron guts to starve like a Martian!"

It rocked him back on his mental heels. He'd thought that she had beenattacking him on the street; but it made more sense this way, at that. 

"You're a fool!" he told her bitterly. "You bought a punched mealticket. Right now, I probably have six death warrants out on me, andabout as much chance of making a living as--"

"I'll stick to my chances. I don't have any others now. " She grimaced. "You get things done. Now that you've got a wife to support, you'llsupport her. Just remember, it was your idea. "

He'd had a lot of ideas, it seemed. "I've got a wife who's holding ontoa notebook that belongs to me, then. Where is it?"

She shook her head. "I'm keeping the notebook for insurance. Blackmail, Bruce. You should understand that! And you won't find it, so don'tbother looking... " She went into the other room and shut the door. There was the sound of the lock being worked, and then silence. 

He stared at the door foolishly, swearing at all women; then grimacedand turned back to the chair where his uniform still lay. He could stayhere fighting with her, or he could face his troubles on the outside. The whole thing hinged on Trench; unless Trench had shown the badge toothers, his problem boiled down to a single man. 

Gordon found one tablet of painkiller left in the bottle and swallowedit with the dregs of the coffee. He made sure his knife was in itssheath and that the gun at his side was loaded. He found his policeclub, checked the loop at its end, and slipped it onto his wrist. 

At the door to the hall, he hesitated, staring at Sheila's room. Wife orprisoner? He turned it over in his mind, knowing that her words couldn'tchange the facts. But in the end, he dropped the key and half his moneybeside her door, along with a spare knife and one of his guns. 

He went by Izzy's room without stopping; technically, the boy was anenemy to all Municipals. This might be neutral territory, but there wasno use pressing it. Gordon went down the stairs and out through the sealonto the street entrance, still in the shadows. 

His eyes covered the street in two quick scans. Far up, a Legal cop waspassing beyond the range of the single dim light. At the other end, apair of figures skulked along, trying the door of each house theypassed. With the cops busy fighting each other, this was better pickingsthan outside the dome. 

He saw the Legal cop move out of sight and stepped onto the street, trying to look like another petty crook on the prowl. He headed for thenearest alley, which led through the truckyard of Nick the Croop. 

The entrance was in nearly complete darkness. Gordon loosened his knifeand tightened his grip on the locust stick. 

Suddenly a whisper of sound caught his ears. He stopped, not tooquickly, and listened, but everything was still. A hundred feet fartheron, and within twenty yards of the trucks, a swishing rustle reached hisears and light slashed hotly into his eyes. Hands grabbed at his arms, and a club swung down toward his knife. But the warning had been enough. Gordon's arms jerked upwards to avoid the reaching hands. His bootlifted, and the flashlight spun aside, broken and dark. With acontinuous motion, he switched the knife to his left hand in a thumb-upposition and brought it back. There was a grunt of pain; he steppedbackwards and twisted. His hands caught the man behind, lifted across ahip, and heaved, just before the front man reached him. 

The two ambushers were down in a tangled mess. There was just enoughlight to make out faint outlines, and Gordon brought his locust clubdown twice, with the hollow thud of wood on skulls. 

His head was swimming in a hot maelstrom of pain, but it was quieting ashis breathing returned to normal. As long as his opponents were sloweror less ruthless, he could take care of himself. 

The trouble, though, was that Isaiah Trench was neither slow norsqueamish. 

Gordon gathered the two hoodlums under his arms and dragged them withhim. He came out in the truckyard and began searching. Nick the Croophad ridden his reputation long enough to be careless, and the thirdtruck had its key still in the lock. He threw the two into the back andstruck a cautious light. 

One of them was Jurgens' apelike follower, his stupid face relaxed andvacant. The other was probably also one of Jurgens' growing mob ofprotection racketeers. Gordon yanked out the man's wallet, but there wasno identification; it held only a small sheaf of bills. 

He stripped out the money--and finally put half of it back into thewallet and dropped it beside the hoodlum. Even in jail, a man had tohave smokes. 

He stuck to the alleys, not using the headlights, after he had lockedthe two in and started the electric motor. He had no clear idea of howthe battles were going, but it looked as if the Seventh Precinct wasstill in Municipal hands. 

There was no one at the side entrance to Seventh Precinct Headquartersand only two corporals on duty inside; the rest were probably outfighting the Legals, or worrying about it. One of the corporals startedto stand up and halt him, but wavered at the sight of the captain's starthat was still pinned to his uniform. 

"Special prisoners, " Gordon told him sharply. "I've got to getinformation to Trench--and in private!"

The corporal stuttered. Gordon knocked him out of the way with hiselbow, reached for the door to Trench's private office, and yanked itopen. He stepped through, drawing it shut behind him, while his eyeschecked the position of his gun at his hip. Then he looked up. 

There was no sign of Trench. In his place, and in the uniform of aMunicipal captain, sat the heavy figure of Jurgens. "Outside!" hesnapped. Then his eyes narrowed, and a stiff smile came onto his lips ashe laid the pen down. "Oh, it's you, Gordon?"

"Where's Captain Trench?"

The heavy features didn't change as Jurgens chuckled. "CommissionerTrench, Gordon. It seems Arliss decided to get rid of Mayor Wayne, butdidn't count on Wayne's spies being better than his. So Trench gotpromoted--and I got his job for loyal service in helping the Forcerecruit. My boys always wanted to be cops, you know. "

Gordon tried to grin in return as he moved closer, slipping the heavylocust club off his wrist. 

"I sent Ape and Mullins out to get in touch with you, " Jurgens said. "But I guess they didn't reach you before you left. "

Gordon shook his head slightly, while the nerves bunched and tingled inhis neck. "They hadn't arrived when I left the house, " he saidtruthfully enough. 

Jurgens reached out for tobacco and filled a pipe. He fumbled in hispockets, as if looking for a light. "Too bad. I knew you weren't in topshape, so I figured a convoy might be handy. Well, no matter. Trenchleft some instructions about you, and--"

His voice was perfectly normal, but Gordon saw the hand move suddenlytoward the drawer that was half-open. And the cigarette lighter wasattached to the other side of the desk. 

The locust stick left Gordon's hand with a snap. It cut through the aira scant eight feet, jerked to a stop against Jurgens' forehead andclattered onto the top of the desk, while Jurgens folded over, his mouthstill open, his hand slumping out of the drawer. The club rolled towardGordon, who caught it before it could reach the floor. 

But Jurgens was only momentarily out. As Gordon slipped the loop overhis wrist again, one of the new captain's hands groped, seeking a buttonon the edge of the desk. 

The two corporals were at the door when Gordon threw it open, but theydrew back at the sight of his drawn gun. Feet were pounding below as hefound the entrance that led to the truck. He hit the seat and rammeddown the throttle with his foot before he could get his hands on thewheel. 

It was a full minute before sirens sounded behind him, and Nick theCroop had fast trucks. He spotted the squad car far behind, duckedthrough a maze of alleys, and lost it for another few precious minutes. Then a barricade lay ahead. 

The truck faltered as it hit the nearly finished obstacle, and Gordonfelt his stomach squashing down onto the wheel. He kept his foot to thefloor, strewing bits of the barricade behind him, until he was beyondthe range of the Legal guns that were firing suddenly. Then he stoppedand got out carefully, with his hands up. 

"Captain Bruce Gordon, with two prisoners--bodyguards of CaptainJurgens, " he reported to the three men in bright new Legal uniform whowere approaching warily. "How do I sign up with you?"

Chapter XIII

ARREST MAYOR WAYNE!

The Legal forces were shorthanded and eager for recruits. They hadstruck quickly, according to plans made by experts on Earth, and nowcontrolled about half of Marsport. But it was a sprawling crescentaround the central section, harder to handle than the Municipalterritory. Bruce Gordon was sworn in at once. 

Then he cooled his heels while the florid, paunchy ex-politicianCommissioner Crane worried about his rating and repeated how corruptMars was and how the collection system was over--absolutely over. In theend, he was given a captain's pay and the rank of sergeant. As a favor, he was allowed to share a beat with Honest Izzy under Captain Hendrix, who had simply switched sides after losing the morning's battle. 

Gordon's credits were changed to Legal scrip, and he was issued atrim-fitting green uniform. Then a surprisingly competent doctorexamined his wound, rebandaged it, and sent him home for the day. Thechange was finished--and he felt like a grown man playing with dolls. 

He walked back, watching the dull-looking people closing off theirhomes, as they had done at elections. Here and there, houses had beenbroken into during the night. There were occasional buzzes of angryconversation that cut off as he approached. 

Marsport had learned to hate all cops, and a change of uniform hadn'taltered that; instead, the people seemed to resent the loss of thefamiliar symbol of hatred. 

He found Izzy and Randolph at the restaurant across from Mother Corey's. Izzy grinned suddenly at the sight of the uniform. "I knew it, gov'nor--knew it the minute I heard Jurgens was a cop. Did you make 'emgive you my beat?"

He seemed genuinely pleased as Gordon nodded, and then dropped it, topoint to Randolph. "Guess what, gov'nor. The Legals bought Randy's_Crusader_. Traded him an old job press and a bag of scratch for hisreputation. "

"You'll be late, Izzy, " Randolph said quietly. Gordon suddenly realizedthat Randolph, like everyone else, seemed to be Izzy's friend. Hewatched the little man leave, and reached out for the menu. Randolphpicked it out of his hand. "You've got a wife home, muckraker. You don'thave to eat this filth. "

Gordon got up, grimacing at the obvious dismissal. But the publishermotioned him back again. 

"Yeah, the Legals want the _Crusader_ for their propaganda, " he saidwearily. "New slogans and new uniforms, and none of them mean anything. Here!" He drew a small golden band from his little finger. "My mother'swedding ring. Give it to her--and if you tell her it came from me, I'llrip out your guts!"

He got up suddenly and hobbled out, his pinched face working. Gordonturned the ring over, puzzled. Finally he got up and headed for hisroom, a little surprised to find the door unlocked. Sheila opened hereyes at his uniform, but made no comment. "Food ready in ten minutes, "she told him. 

She'd already been shopping, and had installed the tiny cookingequipment used in half Marsport. There was also a small iron lyingbeside a pile of his laundered clothes. He dropped onto the bed wearily, then jerked upright as she came over to remove his boots. But there wasno mockery on her face--and oddly, it felt good to him. Maybe her ideaof married life was different from his. 

She was sanding the dishes and putting them away when he finallyremembered the ring. He studied it again, then got up and dropped itbeside her. He was surprised as she fumbled it on to see that itfitted--and more surprised at the sudden realization that she wasentitled to it. 

She studied it under the glare of the single bulb, and then turned toher room. She was back a few seconds later with a small purse. "I got aduplicate key. Yours is in there, " she said thickly. "And--somethingelse. I guess I was going to give it to you anyway. I was afraid someoneelse might find it--"

He cut her off brusquely, his eyes riveted on the Security badge he'dbeen sure Trench had taken. "Yeah, I know. Your meal ticket was indanger. Okay, you've done your nightly duty. Now get the hell out of myroom, will you?"

 * * * * *

The week went on mechanically, while he gradually adjusted to the newangles of being a Legal. The banks were open, and deposits honored, aspromised. But it was in the printing-press scrip of Legal currency, useful only through Mayor Gannett's trick Exchanges. Water went up fromfourteen credits to eighty credits for a gallon of pure distilled. Otherthings were worse. Resentment flared, but the scrip was the only moneyavailable, and it still bound the people to the new regime. 

Supplies were scarce, salt and sugar almost unavailable. Earth had cutoff all shipping until the affair was settled, and nobody in theoutlands would deal in scrip. 

He came home the third evening to find that Sheila had managed to findspace for her bunk in his room, cut off by a heavy screen, and hadclosed the other room to save the rent. It led to some relaxationbetween them, and they began talking impersonally. 

Gordon watched for a sign that Trench had passed on his evidence of themurder of Murdoch, but there was none. The pressure of the beat took hismind from it. Looting had stepped up. 

Izzy had co-operated--reluctantly, until Gordon was able to convince himthat it was the people who paid his salary. Then he nodded. "It's ahelluva roundabout way of doing things, gov'nor, but if the gees pay forprotection any old way, then they're gonna get it!"

They got it. Hoodlums began moving elsewhere, toward easier pickings. 

Gordon turned his entire pay over to Sheila; at current prices, it wouldbarely keep them in food for a week. "I told you you had a punched mealticket, " he said bitterly. 

"We'll live, " she answered him. "I got a job today--barmaid, on yourbeat, where being your wife helps. "

He could think of nothing to say to it; but after supper, he went toIzzy's room to arrange for a raid on Municipal territory. Such smallraids were nominally on the excuse of extending the boundaries, butactually they were out-and-out looting. 

He came back to find her cleaning up, and shoved her away. "Go to bed. You look beat. I'll sand these. "

She started to protest, then let him take over. 

They never made the looting raid. The next morning, they arrived at thePrecinct house to find men milling around the bulletin board, buzzingover an announcement there. Apparently, Chief Justice Arliss had brokenwith the Wayne administration, and the mimeographed form was a legalruling that Wayne was no longer Mayor, since the charter had beenvoided. He was charged with inciting a riot, and a warrant had beenissued for his arrest. 

Hendrix appeared finally. "All right, men, " he shouted. "You all see it. We're going to arrest Wayne. By jingo, they can't say we ain't legalnow! Every odd-numbered shield goes from every precinct. Gordon, Isaacs--you two been talking big about law and order. Here's thewarrant. Take it and arrest Wayne!"

It took nearly an hour to get the plans settled, but finally they headedfor the trucks that had been arriving. Most of them belonged to Nick theCroop, who had apparently decided the Legals would win. 

Gordon and Izzy found the lead truck and led the way. They neared thebar where Sheila was working, and Bruce Gordon swore. She was runningtoward the center of the street, frantically trying to flag him down, and he barely managed to swerve around her. "Damned fool!" he muttered. 

Izzy's pock-marked face soured for a second as he stared at Gordon. "Theprincess? She sure is. "

The crew at the barricade had been alerted, and now began clearing itaside hastily, while others kept up a covering fire against the fewMunicipals. The trucks wheeled through, and Gordon dropped back to letscout trucks go ahead and pick off any rash enough to head for the callboxes. They couldn't prevent advance warning, but they could delay andminimize it. 

They were near the big Municipal building when they came to the firstreal opposition, and it was obviously hastily assembled. The scouts tookcare of most of the trouble, though a few shots pinged against the truckGordon was driving. 

"Rifles!" Izzy commented in disgust. "They'll ruin the dome yet. Whycan't they stick to knives?"

He was studying a map of the big building, picking their best entrance. Ahead, trucks formed a sort of V formation as they reached the groundsaround it and began bulling their way through the groups that weretrying to organize a defense. Gordon found his way cleared and shotthrough, emerging behind the defense and driving at full speed towardthe entrance Izzy pointed out. 

"Cut speed! Left sharp!" Izzy shouted. "Now, in there!"

They sliced into a small tunnel, scraping their sides where it wasbarely big enough for the truck. Then they reached a dead end, with justroom for them to squeeze through the door of the truck and into anentrance marked with a big notice of privacy. 

There was a guard beside an elevator, but Izzy's knife took care of him. They ducked around the elevator, unsure of whether it could be remotelycontrolled, and up a narrow flight of stairs, down a hallway, and upanother flight. A Municipal corporal at the top grabbed for a warningwhistle, but Gordon clipped him with a hasty rabbit punch and shoved himdown the stairs. Then they were in front of an ornate door, with theirweapons ready. 

Izzy yanked the door open and dropped flat behind it. Bullets from asubmachine gun clipped out, peppering the entrance and the door, andricocheting down the hall. The yammering stopped, finally, and Izzystuck his head and one arm out with a snap of his knife. Gordon leapedin, to see a Municipal dropping the machine gun. 

There were about thirty cops inside, gathered around Mayor Wayne, withTrench standing at one side. The fools had obviously expected themachine gun to do all the work. 

Izzy leaped for the machine gun and yanked it from dead hands, while thecops slowly began raising their arms. Wayne sat petrified, staringunbelievingly, and Gordon drew out the warrant. "Wayne, you're underarrest!"

Trench moved forward, his hands in the air, but with no mark of surpriseor fear on his face. "So the bad pennies turn up. You damned fools, youshould have stuck. I had big plans for you, Gordon. I've still got them, if you don't insist... "

His hands whipped down savagely toward his hips and came up sharply!Gordon spun, and the gun leaped in his hands, while the submachine gunjerked forward and clicked on an empty chamber. Trench was tumblingforward to avoid the shot, but he twitched as a bullet creased hisshoulder. Then he was upright, waving empty hands at them, with the thinsmile on his face deepening. He'd had no guns. 

Gordon jerked around, but Wayne was already disappearing through a heavydoor. And the cops were reaching for their guns. Gordon estimated thechances of escape and then leaped forward into their group, with Izzy athis side, seeking close quarters where guns wouldn't work. 

Gun butts, elbows, fists, and clubs were pounding at him, while his ownclub lashed out savagely. In ten seconds, things began to haze over, buthis arms went on mechanically, seeking the most damage they could work. 

Then a heavy bellow sounded, and a seeming mountain of flesh thunderedacross the huge room. There was no shuffle to Mother Corey now. The hugelegs pumped steadily, and the great arms were reaching out to flailaside clubs and knives. Men began spewing out of the brawl like strawfrom a thresher as the old man grabbed arms, legs, or whatever washandy. He had one cop in his left arm, using him as a flail against theothers. 

The Municipals broke. And at the first sign, Mother Corey leapedforward, dropping his flail and gathering Izzy and Gordon under hisarms. He hit the heavy door with his shoulder and crashed throughwithout breaking stride. Stairs lay there, and he took them three at atime. 

He dropped them finally as they came to a side entrance. There was asporadic firing going on there, and a knot of Municipals were clusteredaround a few Legals, busy with knives and clubs. Corey broke into a runagain, driving straight into them and through, with Gordon and Izzy onhis heels. The surprise element was enough to give them a few seconds. 

Then they were around a small side building, out of danger. Sheila washolding the door of a large three-wheeler open. They ducked into it, while she grabbed the wheel. 

They edged forward until they could make out the shape of the fightgoing on. The Legals had never quite reached the front of the building, obviously, and were now cut into sections. Corey tapped her shoulder, pointing out the rout, and she gunned the car. 

They were through too fast to draw fire from the busy groups ofbattle-crazed men, leaping across the square and into the first sidestreet they could find. Then she slowed, and headed for the main streetback to Legal territory. 

"Lucky we found a good car to steal, " Mother Corey wheezed. He waspuffing now, mopping rivulets of perspiration from his face. "I'mgetting old, cobbers. Once I broke every strong-man record onEarth--still stand, too. But not now. Senile!"

"You didn't have to come, " Izzy said. 

"When my own granddaughter comes crying for help? When she finallyadmits she _needs_ her old grandfather?"

Gordon was staring back at the straggling of trucks he could seebeginning to break away. The raid was over, and the Legals had lost. Trench had tricked him. 

Izzy grunted suddenly. "Gov'nor, if you're right, and the plain gees paymy salary, who's paying me to start fighting other cops? Or is it maybethat somebody isn't being exactly honest with the scratch they lift fromthe gees?"

"We still have to eat, " Gordon said bitterly. "And to eat, we'll go ondoing what we're told. "

Chapter XIV

FULL CIRCLE

Hendrix had been wounded lightly, and was out when Gordon and Izzyreported. But the next day, they were switched to a new beat wheretrouble had been thickest and given twelve-hour duty--without specialovertime. 

Izzy considered it slowly and shook his head. "That does it, gov'nor. Itain't honest, treating us this way. If the crackle comes from thepeople, and these gees give everybody a skull cracking, then they'recrooks. It ain't honest, and I'm too sick to work. And if that bloodydoctor won't agree... "

He turned toward the dispensary. Gordon hesitated, and then swung offwoodenly to take up his new beat. Apparently, his reputation had goneahead of him, since most of the hoodlums had decided pickings would beeasier on some beat where the cops had their own secret rackets toattend to, instead of head busting. But once they learned he wasalone... 

But the second day, two of the citizens fell into step behind him almostat once, armed with heavy clubs. Periodically during the shift, replacements took their place, making sure that he was never by himself. It surprised him even more when he saw that a couple of the men had comeover from his old beat. Something began to burn inside him, but he heldhimself in, confining his talk to vague comments on the rumors goingaround. 

There were enough of them, mostly based on truth. Part of Jurgens' oldcrowd had broken away from him and established a corner on most of thedrugs available; they had secretly traded a supply to Wayne, who hadbecome an addict, for a stock of weapons. 

Gordon remembered the contraband shipment of guns, and compared it tothe increase he'd noticed in weapons, and to the impossible prices thepushers were demanding. It made sense. 

All kinds of supplies were low, and the outlands beyond Marsport had cutoff all shipments. Scrip was useless to them, and the Legals wereraiding all cargoes destined for Wayne's section. And the Municipals hadimposed new taxes again. 

He came back from what should have been his day off to find Izzy inuniform, waiting grimly. Behind the screen, there was a rustling ofclothes, and a dress came sailing from behind it. While he stared, Sheila came out, finishing the zipping of her airsuit. She moved to asmall bag and began drawing out the gun she had used and a knife. Hecaught her shoulders and shoved her back, pulling the weapons from her. 

"Get out of my way, you damned Legal machine!" she spat. 

"Easy, princess, " Izzy said. "He hasn't seen it yet, I guess. Here, gov'nor!"

He picked up a copy of Randolph's new little _Truth_ and pointed to theheadline: SECURITY DENOUNCES RAPE OF MARSPORT!

The story was somewhat cooler than that, but not much. Randolph simplyquoted what was supposed to be an official cable from Security on Earth, denouncing both governments and demanding that both immediatelysurrender. It listed the crimes of Wayne, then tore into the Legals as abunch of dupes, sent by North America to foment trouble while theylooted the city, and to give the Earth government an excuse for seizingmilitary control of Marsport officially. Citizens were instructed not toco-operate; all members of either government were indicted for hightreason to Security!

He crushed the paper slowly, tearing it to bits with his clenched hands;he'd swallowed the implication that the Legals _were_ Security... 

Then it hit him slowly, and he looked up. "Where's Randolph?"

"At his plant. At least he left for it, according to Sheila. "

Gordon picked up Sheila's gun and buckled it on beside his own. Shegrabbed at it, but he shoved her back again. "You're staying here, Cuddles. You're supposed to be a woman now, remember!"

She was swearing hotly as they left, but made no attempt to follow. Gordon broke into a slow trot behind Izzy, until they could spot one ofthe few remaining cabs. He stopped it with his whistle, and dumped thepassenger out unceremoniously, while Izzy gave the address. 

"The damned fool opened up on the border--figured he'd circulate to bothsections, " Izzy said. "We'd better get out a block up and walk. And Ihope we ain't _too_ bloody late!"

The building was a wreck, outside; inside it was worse. Men in theMunicipal uniform were working over the small job press and dumping thehand-set type from the boxes. On the floor, a single Legal cop lay underthe wreckage, apparently having gotten there first and been taken careof by the later Municipals. Randolph had been sitting in a chair betweentwo of the cops, but now he leaped up and tried to flee through the backdoor. 

Izzy started forward, but Gordon pulled him back, as the cops reachedfor their weapons. The gun in his hand picked them out at quarters tooclose for a miss, starting with the cop who had jumped to catchRandolph. Izzy had ducked around the side, and now came back, leadingthe little man. 

Randolph paid no attention to the dead men, nor to the bruises on hisown body. He moved forward to the press, staring at it, and there weretears in his eyes as he ran his hands over the broken metal. Then helooked up at them. "Arrest or rescue?" he asked. 

"Arrest!" a voice from the door said harshly, and Bruce Gordon swung tosee six Legals filing in, headed by Hendrix himself. The captain noddedat Gordon. "Good work, Sergeant. By jinx, when I heard the Municipalswere coming, I was scared they'd get him for sure. Crane wants to watchthis guy shot in person!"

He grabbed Randolph by the arm. 

"You're overlooking something, Hendrix, " Gordon cut in. He had movedback toward the wall, to face the group. "If you ever look at my record, you'll find I'm an ex-newspaperman myself. This is a rescue. Tie themup, Izzy. "

Hendrix was faster than Gordon had thought. He had his gun almost upbefore Gordon could fire. A bluish hole appeared on the man's forehead;he dropped slowly. The others made no trouble as Izzy bound them withbaling wire. 

"And I hope nobody finds them, " he commented. "All right, Randy, I guesswe're a bunch of refugees heading for the outside, and bloody lucky atthat. Proves a man shouldn't have friends. "

Randolph's face was still greenish-white, but he straightened andmanaged a feeble smile. "Not to me, Izzy. Right now I can appreciatefriends. But you two better get going. I've got some unfinished businessto tend to. " He moved to one corner and began dragging out an olddouble-cylinder mimeograph. "Either of you know where I can buy stencilsand ink and find some kind of a truck to haul this paper along?"

Izzy stopped and stared at the rabbity, pale little man. Then he let outa sudden yelp of laughter. "Okay, Randy, we'll find them. Gov'nor, you'dbetter tell my mother I'll be using the old sheets. Go on. You've gotthe princess to worry about. We'll be along later. "

He grabbed Randolph's hand and ducked out the back before Gordon couldprotest. 

Izzy could only have meant that they were going to hole up in MotherCorey's old Chicken Coop. Bruce Gordon had now managed to make a fullcircle, back to his beginnings on Mars. He'd started at the Coop with adeck of cards; now he was returning with a club. 

He had counted on at least some regret from Mother Corey, however. Butthe old man only nodded after hearing that Randolph was safe. "Fanatics, crusaders and damned fools!" he said. He shook his head sadly and wentshuffling back to his room, where two of his part-time henchmen weresitting. 

Sheila had been sitting on the bunk, still in her airsuit. Now shejerked upright, then sank back with a slow flush. Her hands weretrembling as she reached for a cup of coffee and handed it to him, listening to his quick report of Randolph's safety and the fact that hewas going back outside the dome. 

"I'm all packed, " she said. "And I packed your things, too. "

He shot his eyes around the room, realizing that it was practicallybare, except for a few of her dresses. She followed his gaze, and shookher head. "I won't need them out there, " she said. Her voice caught onthat. "They'll be safe here. "

"So will you, now that you've made up with the Mother, " he told her. "Your meal ticket's ruined, Cuddles, and you made it clear a littlewhile ago just where you stand. Remind me to tell you sometime how muchfun it's been. "

"Your mother was good with a soldering iron, wasn't she? You even lookhuman. " She bent to pick up a shoulder pack and a bag, and her face wasnormal when she stood up again. "You might guess that the cops would behappy to get hold of your wife now, though. Come on, it's a long walk. "

He left the car beyond the gate, and they pushed through the locker roomtoward the smaller exit, stopping to fasten down their helmets. Theguard halted them, but without any suspicion. 

"Going hunting for those damned kids, eh?" he said. He stared at Sheila. "Lucky devil! All I got for a guide was an old bum. Okay, luck, Sergeant!"

It made no sense to Gordon, but he wasn't going to argue. They wentthrough and out into the waste and slums beyond the domes, heading outuntil there were only the few phosphor bulbs to guide their way. 

Gordon was moving cautiously, using his helmet light only occasionally, gun ready in his hand. But it was Sheila who caught the faint sound. Heheard her cry out, and turned to see her crash into the stomach of a manwith a half-raised stick. He went down with almost no resistance. Sheilashot the beam of her light on the thin, drawn face. "Rusty!"

"Hi, princess. " He got up slowly, trying to grin. "Didn't know who itwas. Sorry. Ever get that louse you were out for?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I got him. That's him--my husband! What's wrong withyou, Rusty? You've lost fifty pounds, and--"

"Things are a mite tough out here, princess. No deliveries. Closed mybar, been living sort of hand to mouth, but not much mouth. " His eyesbulged greedily as she dug into a bag and began to drag out thesandwiches she must have packed for the trip. But he shook his head. "Iain't so bad off. I ate something yesterday. But if you can sparesomething for the Kid--Hey, Kid!"

A thin boy of about sixteen crept out from behind some rubble, staringuncertainly. Then, at the sight of the food, he made a lunge, grabbedit, and hardly waited to get it through the slits of his suit beforegulping it down. Rusty sat down, his lined old face breaking into afaint grin. He hesitated, but finally took some of the food. 

"Shouldn't oughta. You'll need it. Umm. " He swallowed slowly, as iftasting the food all the way down. "Kid can't talk. Cop caught himpeddling one of Randolph's pamphlets, cut out part of his tongue. Buthe's all right now. Come on, Kid, hurry it up. We gotta convoy thesepeople. "

They were following a kind of road when headlights bore down on them. Gordon's hand was on his gun as they leaped for shelter, but there wasno hostile move from the big truck. He studied it, trying to decide whata truck would be doing here. Then a Marspeaker-amplified voice shoutedfrom it. "Any muckrakers there?"

"One, " Gordon shouted back, and ran toward it, motioning the others tofollow. He'd always objected to the nickname, but it made a good code. Randolph's frail hand came down to help them up, but a bigger paw didthe actual lifting. 

"Why didn't you two wait?" Mother Corey asked, his voice booming out ofhis Marspeaker. "I figured Izzy'd stop by first. Here, sit over there. Not much room, with my stuff and Randolph's, but it beats walking. "

"What in hell brings you back?" Gordon asked. 

The huge man shrugged ponderously. "A man gets tired of beingrespectable, cobber. And I'm getting old and sentimental about theChicken Coop. " He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "But not so oldthat I can't handle a couple of guards that are stubborn about trucks, eh, Izzy?"

"Messy, but nice, " Izzy agreed from the pile above them. "Tell thosetrained apes of yours to cut the lights, will you, Mother? Somebody mustbe using the Coop. "

They stopped the truck before reaching the old wreck. In the few dimlights, the old building still gave off an air of mold and decay. Gordonshuddered faintly, then followed Izzy and the Mother into thesemi-secret entrance. 

Izzy went ahead, almost silent, with a thin strand of wire between hishands, his elbows weaving back and forth slowly to guide him. He wasapparently as familiar with the garrote as the knife. But they found noguard. Izzy pressed the seal release and slid in cautiously, while theothers followed. 

In the beam of Gordon's torch, a single figure lay sprawled out on thefloor halfway to the rickety stairs to the main house. Mother Coreygrunted, and moved quickly to the coughing, battered old air machine. His fingers closed a valve equipped with a combination lock. 

"They're all dead, cobbers, " he wheezed. "Dead because a crook had totry his hand on a lock. Years ago, I had a flask of poison gas attached, in case a gang should ever squeeze me out. "

In the filthy rooms above, Gordon found the corpses--about fifteen ofthem, and some former members of the Jurgens organization. He found theapelike bodyguard stretched out on a bunk, a vacant smile on his face. 

A yell from the basement called him back down to where Izzy was busilygoing through piles of crates and boxes stacked along one wall. He waspointing to a lead-foil-covered box. "Dope! And all that other stuff'sammunition!"

He shivered, staring at the fortune in his hands. Then he grimaced andshoved the open can back in its case. He threw it back and beganstacking ammunition cases in front of the dope. Gordon went out to getthe others and start moving in the supplies and transferring the corpsesto the truck for disposal. Randolph scurried off to start setting up hismakeshift plant in the basement. 

Mother Corey was staring about when they returned. "Filthy, " he wailed. "A pigpen. They've ruined the Coop, cobber. Smell that air--even _I_ cansmell it!" He sniffed dolefully. 

Mother Corey sighed again. "Well, it'll give the boys something to do, "he decided. "When a man gets old, he likes a little comfort, cobber. Nice things around him... "

Gordon found what had been his old room and dumped his few things intoit. Sheila watched him uncertainly, and then took possession of the nextroom. She came back a few minutes later, staring at the ages-old filth. "I'll be cleaning for a week, " she said. "What are you going to do now, Bruce?"

He shook his head, and started back down the stairs. He hurried downinto the basement where Randolph was arranging his mimeograph. 

The printer listened only to the first sentence, and shook his headimpatiently. "I was afraid you'd think of that, Gordon. Look, you neverwere a reporter--you ran a column. I've read the stuff you wrote. Youkilled and maimed with words. But you never dug up news that would helppeople, or tell them what they didn't suspect all along. And that's whatI've got to have. "

"Thanks!" Gordon said curtly. "Too bad Security didn't think I was aslousy a reporter as you do!"

"Okay. I'll give you a job, for one week. See what outer Marsport islike. Find what can be done, if anything, and do it if you can. Thencome back and give me six columns on it. I'll pay Mother Corey for yourfood--and for your wife's--and if I can find one column's worth of newsin it, maybe I'll give you a second week. I can't see a man's wifestarve because he doesn't know how to make an honest living!"

 * * * * *

Rusty and one of Mother Corey's men were on guard, and the others hadturned in. Gordon went up the stairs and threw himself onto the bed indisgust. 

"Bruce!" Sheila stood outlined in the doorway against the dim glow of aphosphor bulb. Her robe was partly open, and hunger burned in him; then, before he could lift himself, she bent over and began unfastening hisboots. "You all right, Bruce? I heard you tossing around. "

"I'm fine, " he told her mechanically. "Just making plans for tomorrow. "

He watched her turn back slowly, then lay quietly, trying not to disturbher again. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he'd find some kind of ananswer; and it wouldn't be Randolph's charity. 

Chapter XV

MURDOCH'S MANTLE

There were three men, each with a white circle painted on chest and leftarm, talking to Mother Corey when Bruce Gordon came down the ricketysteps. He stopped for a second, but there was no sign of trouble. Thenthe words of the thin man below reached him. 

"So we figured when we found the stiffs maybe you'd come back, Mother. Damn good thing we were right. We can sure use that ammunition youfound. Now, where's this Gordon fellow?"

"Here!" Gordon told the man. He'd recognized him finally as Schulberg, the little grocer from the Nineteenth Precinct. 

The man swung suspiciously, then grinned weakly. There was hunger andstrain on his face, but an odd authority and pride now. "I'll bedoggoned. Whyn't you say he was with Murdoch?"

"They want someone to locate Ed Praeger and see about getting some foodshipped in from outside, cobber, " Mother Corey told him. "They got somemoney scraped together, but the hicks are doing no business withMarsport. You know Ed--just tell him I sent you. I'd go myself, but I'mgetting too old to go chasing men out there. "

"What's in it?" Gordon asked, reaching for his helmet. 

There was a surprised exchange of glances from the others, but MotherCorey chuckled. "Heart like a steel trap, cobber, " he said, almostapprovingly. "Well, you'll be earning your keep here--yours and thatgranddaughter's, too. Here--you'll need directions for finding Praeger. "

He handed the paper with his scrawled notes on it over to Gordon andwent shuffling back. Gordon stuck it into his pouch, and followed thethree. Outside, they had a truck waiting; Rusty and Corey's two henchmenwere busy loading it with ammunition from the cellar. 

Schulberg motioned him into the cab of the truck, and the other twoclimbed into the closed rear section. "All right, " Gordon said, "whatgoes on?"

The other began explaining as he picked a way through the ruin andrubble. Murdoch had done better than Gordon had suspected; he'd laid outa program for a citizens' vigilante committee, and had drilled enough inthe ruthless use of the club to keep the gangs down. Once the policewere all busy inside the dome with their private war, the committee hadbeen the only means of keeping order in the whole territory beyond. Itwas now extended to cover about half the area, as a voluntary policeorganization. 

He pointed outside. It was changed; there were fewer people outside. Gordon had never seen group starvation before.... 

They passed a crowd around a crude gallows, and Schulberg stopped. A manwas already dead and dangling. "Should turn 'em over to us cops, "Schulberg said. "What's he hanged for?"

"Hoarding, " a voice answered, and others supplied the few details. Thedead man had been caught with a half bag of flour and part of a case ofbeans. Schulberg found a scrap of something and penciled the crime onit, together with a circle signature, and pinned it to the body. 

"All food should be turned in, " he explained to Gordon as they climbedback into the truck. "We figure community kitchens can stretch things abit more. And we give a half extra ration to the guys who can findanything useful to do. We got enough so most people won't starve todeath for another week, I guess. But you'd better get Praeger to sendsomething, Gordon. Here, here's the scratch we scraped up. "

He passed over a bag filled with a collection of small bills and coins. "We can trust you, I guess, " he said dully. "Remember you with Murdoch, anyhow. And you can tell Praeger we got plenty of men looking for work, in case he can use 'em. "

He pulled up to shout a report through the big Marspeaker as they passedthe old building Murdoch had used as a precinct house. It now had acrude sign proclaiming it voluntary police HQ and outland governmentcenter. Then he went on until they came to a spur of the little electricmonorail system, with three abandoned service engines parked at the end. 

"Extra air inside, and the best we could do for food. Was gonna trymyself, but I don't know Praeger, " Schulberg said. He handed over a key, and nodded toward the first service engine. "Good luck, Gordon--and damnit, we're--we gotta eat, don't we? You tell him that! It ain't much--butget what you can!"

He swung the truck, and was gone. Gordon climbed into the enclosed caband pulled back questioningly on the only lever he could see. The enginebacked briefly; he reversed the control. Then it moved forward, pickingup speed. Apparently there was still power flowing in from the automaticatomic generators. 

He got off to puzzle out a switch, using Mother Corey's scrawledinstructions. 

He had vaguely expected to see more of Mars, but for eight hours therewas only the bare flatness and dunes of unending sandy surface andscraggly, useless native plants, opened out to the sun. Marsport hadbeen located where the only vein of uranium had been found on Mars, andthe growing section was closer to the equator. 

Then he came to villages. Again there was the sight of children runningaround without helmets. He stopped once for directions, and a man staredat him suspiciously and finally threw a switch reluctantly. 

He was finally forced to stop again, sure that he was near, now. Thistime, it was in what seemed to be a major shipping center in the heartof the lines that ran helter-skelter from village to village. Anothersuspicious-eyed man studied him. "You won't find Praeger on hisfarm--couldn't reach it in that, anyhow, " he said finally. Then heturned up his Marspeaker. "Ed! Hey, Ed!"

Down the street, the seal of a building opened, and the big, blufffigure of Praeger came out. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Gordon; thenhe grinned and waved his visitor forward. 

Inside, there was evidence of food, and a rather pretty girl brought outanother platter and set it before Gordon. He ate while they exchangeduncertain, rambling information; finally, he got down to his errand. 

Praeger seemed to read his mind. "I can get the stuff sent, Gordon. I'mhead of the shipping committee for this quadrant. But why in hell shouldI? The last time, every car was looted in Outer Marsport. If they won'tlet us get the oil and chemicals we need, why should we feed them?"

"Ever see starvation?" Gordon asked, wishing again someone else who'dfelt it could carry the message. He told about a man who'd committedsuicide for his kids, not stopping as Praeger's face sickened slowly. "Hell, who wouldn't loot your trains if that's going on?"

"All right, if Mother Corey'll back up this volunteer police group. I'vegot kids of my own.... Look, you want food, we want to ship. Get yourcops to give us an escort for every shipment through to the dome, andwe'll drop off one car out of four for the outlands. "

Gordon sat back weakly. "Done!" he said. "Provided the first shipmentcarries the most we can get for the credits I brought. "

"It will--we've got some stuff that's about to spoil, and we can let youhave a whole train of it. " He took the sack of credits and tossed ittoward a drawer, uncounted. "A damned good thing Security's sending aship. Credits won't be worth much until they get this mess straightenedout. "

Gordon felt the hair at the base of his neck tingle. "What makes youthink Security can do anything? They haven't shown a hand yet. "

"They will, " Praeger said. "You guys in Marsport feed yourselves so manylies you begin to believe them. But Security took Venus--and I'm notworried here, in the long run. Don't ask me how. "

His voice was a mixture of bitterness and an odd certainty. "They setSecurity up as a nice little debating society, Gordon, to make it easyfor North America to grab the planets by doing it through that Agency. Only they got better men on it than they wanted. So far, Security hasplayed one nation against another enough to keep any from daring toswipe power on the planets. And this latest trick folded up, too. NorthAmerica figured on Marsport folding up once they got a police warstarted, with a bunch of chiseling profiteers as their front; theyexpected the citizens to yell uncle all the way back to Earth. But outhere, nobody thinks of Earth as a place to yell to for help, so theymissed. And now Security's got Pan-Asia and United Africa balancedagainst North America, so the swipe won't work. We got the dope from oursouthern receiver. North America's called it all a mistaken emergencymeasure and turned it back to Security. "

"Along with how many war rockets?" Gordon asked. 

"None. They never gave any real power, never will. The only strengthSecurity's ever had comes from the fact that it always wins, somehow. Forget the crooks and crooked cops, man! Ask the people who've beengetting kicked around about Security, and you'll find that even most ofMarsport doesn't hate it! It's the only hope we've got of not having allthe planets turned into colonial empires! You staying over, or want meto give you an engineer and drag car so you can ride back in comfort?"

Gordon stared at the room, where almost everything was a product of theplanet, at Praeger, and at the girl. Here was the real Mars--the men wholiked it here, who were sure of their future. "I'll take the drag car. "

 * * * * *

He found Randolph waiting in a scooter outside the precinct house afterhe'd reported his results. He climbed in woodenly, leaving his helmet onas he saw the broken window. "A good job, " the little man said. "Andnews for the paper, if I ever publish it again. I came over because Iwasn't much use at the Coop, and everyone else was busy. "

"Doing what?" Gordon asked. 

Randolph grinned crookedly. "Running Outer Marsport. The Mother's theonly man everybody knows, I guess--and his word has never been brokenthat anyone can remember. So he's helping Schulberg make agreements withthe sections the volunteers don't handle. Place is lousy with peoplenow. Heard about Mayor Wayne?"

Gordon shook his head, not caring, but the man went on. "He must havehad his supply of drugs lifted somehow. He holed up one day, until itreally hit him that he couldn't get any more. Then he went gunning forTrench, with some idea Trench had swiped the stuff--so Trench is nowrunning the Municipals. And I hear the gangs are just about in controlof both sections, lately. "

 * * * * *

The Chicken Coop was filled, as Randolph had said, but he slipped in andup the stairs, leaving the news to the publisher. The place had beencleaned up more than he had expected, and there must have been newplants installed beside the blower, since the air was somewhat fresher. 

He found his own room, and turned in automatically... 

"Bruce?" A dim light snapped on, and he stared down at Sheila. Then heblinked. His bunk had been changed to a wider one, and she lay under thethin covering on one side. Down the center, crude stitches of heavy cordshowed where she had sewed the blanket to the mattress to divide it intotwo sections. And in one corner, a couple of blanket sections formed arough screen. 

She caught his stare and reddened slowly. "I had to, Bruce. The Coop isfull, and they needed rooms--and I couldn't tell them that--that--"

"Forget it, " he told her. He dropped to his own side, with barely enoughroom to slide between the bed and the wall, and began dragging off hisboots and uniform. She started up to help him, then jerked back, andturned her head away. "Forget all you're thinking, Cuddles. I'm stillnot bothering unwilling women--and I'll even close my eyes when youdress. "

She sighed, and relaxed. There was a faint touch of humor in her voicethen. "They called it bundling once, I think. I--Bruce, I know you don'tlike me, so I guess it isn't too hard for you. But--sometimes ... Oh, damn it! Sometimes you're--nice!"

"Nice people don't get to Mars. They stay on Earth, being careful not tofind out what it's like up here, " he told her bitterly. For a second hehesitated, and then the account of the newsboy and his would-be killerscame rushing out. 

She dropped a hand onto his, nodding. "I know. The Kid--Rusty'sfriend--wrote down what they did to him. "

Gordon grunted. He'd almost forgotten about the tongueless Kid. For asecond, his thoughts churned on. Then he got up and began putting on hisuniform again. Sheila frowned, staring at him, and began sliding fromher side, reaching for her robe. She followed him down the creakingstairs, and to the room where Schulberg, Mother Corey, and a few otherswere still arguing some detail. 

They looked up, and he moved forward, dragging a badge from his pouch. He slapped it down on the table in front of them. "I'm declaring myselfin!" he told them coldly. "You know enough about Security badges to knowthey can't be forged. That one has my name on it, and rating as a Prime. Do you want to shoot me, or will you follow orders?"

Randolph picked it up, and fumbled in his pocket, drawing out a tinybadge and comparing them. He nodded. "I lost connection years ago, Gordon. But this makes you my boss. "

"Then give it all the publicity you can, and tell them Security has justdeclared war on the whole damned dome section! Mother, I want all thedope we found!" With that--about the only supply of any size left--hecould command unquestioning loyalty from every addict who hadn't alreadydied from lack of it. Mother Corey nodded, instant understanding runningover his puttylike face. 

Schulberg shrugged. "After your deal with Praeger, we'd probably followyou anyhow. I don't cotton to Security, Gordon--but those devils inthere are making our kids starve!"

Mother Corey heaved his bulk up slowly, wheezing, and indicated hischair at the head of the table. But Gordon shook his head. He'd made hisdecision. His head was emptied for the moment, and he wanted nothingmore than a chance to hit the bed and forget the whole business untilmorning. 

Sheila was staring at him as he shucked off his outer clothesmechanically and crawled under the blanket. She let the robe fall to thefloor and slid into the bed without taking her eyes off him. "Is it trueabout Security sending a ship?" she asked at last. He nodded, and herbreath caught. "What happens when they arrive, Bruce?"

She was shivering. He rolled over and patted her shoulder. "Who knows?Who cares? I'll see that they know you weren't guilty, though. Stopworrying about it. "

She threw herself sideways, as far from him as she could get. Her voicewas thick, muffled in the blanket. "Damn you, Bruce Gordon. I _should_have killed you!"

Chapter XVI

GET THE DOME!

To Gordon's surprise, the publicity Randolph wrote about his being aSecurity Prime seemed to bring the other sections of Outer Marsportunder the volunteer police control even faster. But he was too busy toworry about it. He left general co-ordination in the hands of MotherCorey, while Izzy and Schulberg ran the expanding of the police force. 

Praeger arrived with the first load of food, and came storming up tohim. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Security Prime! I'm grade threemyself. "

"And I suppose that would have meant you'd have shipped in all the foodwe needed free?" Gordon asked. 

The other stopped to think it over. Then he laughed roughly. "Nope. You're right. The growers would starve next year if they gave it allaway now. Well, we'll get in enough food this way to keep you going fora while--couple of weeks, at least. "

It sounded good, and might have worked if there had been the normal foodreserve, or if the other three quadrants had been willing to do as much. But while the immediate pressure of starvation was lifted, Gordon's ownstomach told him that it wasn't an adequate diet. Signs of scurvy andpellagra were increasing. 

Bruce Gordon whipped himself into forgetting some of that. His army wasgrowing. Or rather, his mob. There was no sense in trying to get morethan the vaguest organization. 

It was the eighth day when he led them out in the early dawn. He hadissued extra dope and managed a slight increase in the ration, so theymade a brave showing--until they reached the dome. 

There were no rifles opposed to him, as he had expected, and the guardat the gate was no heavier. But the warning had somehow been given, andboth forces were ready. 

Stretching north from the gate were the Municipals with members of someof the gangs; the other gangmen were with the Legals to the south. Andthey stood within inches of the dome, holding axes and knives. 

A big Marspeaker ran out from the gate, and the voice of Gannett cameover it. "Go back! If just one of you gets within ten feet of the domeor entrance, we're going to rip the dome! We'll destroy Marsport beforewe'll give in to a doped-up crowd of riffraff! You've got five minutesto get out of sight, before we come out with rifles and knock you off!Now beat it!"

Gordon got out of the car the Kid was driving and started toward theentrance, just as the moaning wail of the crowd behind him built up. 

"You fools!" he yelled. "They're bluffing. They wouldn't dare destroythe dome! Come on!"

But already the men were evaporating. He stared at the rout, andsuddenly stopped fighting the hands holding him. Beside him, the Kid wascrying, making horrible sounds of it. He turned slowly back to the car, and felt it get under way. His final sight was that of the Legals andMunicipals wildly scrambling for cover from each other. 

Mother Corey met him, dragging him back to a small room where he dug upan impossibly precious bottle of brandy. "Drink it all, cobber. So oneof your Security badges had the wrong man attached to it, and word gotback. Couldn't be helped. You just ran into the sacred law ofMarsport--the one they teach kids. Be bad, and the dome'll collapse. Thedome made Marsport, and it's taboo!"

Gordon nodded. Maybe the old man was right. "If the dome gives them aperfect cover, why let me make a jackass of myself, Mother?" he askednumbly. 

Corey shook his head, setting the heavy folds of flesh to bouncing. "Gave them something to live for here, cobber. And when you get overthis, you're gonna announce new plans to try again. Yes, you are! Butright now, you get yourself drunk!"

He left Gordon and the bottle. After a while, the bottle was gone. Hefelt number, but no better, by the time Izzy came in. 

"Trench is outside in a heavy-armored car, Bruce. Says he wants to seeyou. Something to discuss--a proposition!"

Gordon stood up, wobbling a little, trying to think. Then he swore, andheaded for his room. "Tell him to go to hell!"

He saw Izzy and Sheila leave, wondering vaguely where she had been. Through the opening in the seal, he spotted them moving toward the bigcar outside. Then he shrugged. He finally made the stairs and reachedhis bed before he passed out. 

Sheila was standing over him when he finally woke. She dumped a headachepowder into her palm and held it out, handing him a small glass ofwater. He swallowed the fast-acting drug, and sat up, trying toremember. Then he wished he couldn't. 

"What did Trench want?" he asked thickly. 

"He wanted to show you a badge--a Security badge made out for him, " sheanswered. "At least he said he wanted to show you something, and it wasabout that size. He wouldn't talk with us much. But I remember his namein the book--"

Gordon shook his head and sat up. The book, he thought, trying to focushis thoughts. The book with all the names... 

"All right, Cuddles, " he said finally. "You got your meal ticket, andyou've outgrown it in this mess. Now I want that damned book! I've beenoperating in the dark. It's time I found out how to get in touch withsome of those people. Where is it?"

She shook her head. "It isn't. Bruce--I don't have it. That time I gaveyou the note, you didn't come when I said, and I thought you wouldn't. Then Jurgens' men broke in, and I thought they'd get it, so--so I burnedit. I lied to you about using it to make you keep me. "

"You burned it!" He turned it over, staring at her. "Okay, Cuddles, youburned it. You were trying to kill me then, so you burned it to keepJurgens from getting it and putting the finger on me! Where is it, Sheila? On you?"

She backed away, biting her lips. "No, Bruce. I burned it. I don't knowwhy. I just did! No!"

She turned toward the door as he pushed up from the bed, but his armcaught her wrist, dragging her back. She whimpered once, then shriekedfaintly as his hand caught the buttons on the dress, jerking them off. Then suddenly she was a writhing, biting, scratching fury. He tightenedhis hand and lifted her to the bed, dropping a knee onto her throat andbeginning to squeeze, while he jerked the dress and thin slip off. 

She sat up as he released his knee, her hoarse voice squeezed frombetween her writhing lips. "Are you satisfied now, you mechanical beast!Do you still think I have it on me?"

He grinned, twisting the corners of his mouth. "You don't. Don't youknow a _wife_ shouldn't keep secrets from her _husband_? A warm-blooded, affectionate husband, to boot. " He bent down, knocking aside herflailing arms, and pulled her closer to him. "Better tell your husbandwhere the book is, Cuddles!"

She cursed and he drew her closer. He bent down, forcing her head backand setting his lips on hers. 

From somewhere, wetness touched his cheek; he lifted his head and lookeddown. The wetness came from tears that spilled out of her eyes and ranoff onto the mattress. She was making no sound, and there was noresistance, but the tears ran out, one drop seeming to trip overanother. 

"All right, Sheila, " he said. His voice was cracked in his ears. "Another week of being a failure on this planet of failures, and Imight. Go ahead and tell me I'm the same as your first husband. If Ican't even keep my word to you, I can at least get out and stay out. " Heshook his head, waiting for her denunciation. "For your amusement, I'mgoing to miss having you around!"

He stood up. Something touched his hand, and he looked down to see herfingers. 

"Bruce, " she said faintly, "you meant it! You don't hate me any more. "She rubbed her wrist across her eyes, and the ghost of a smile touchedher lips. "I don't think you're a failure. And maybe--maybe I'm not. Maybe I don't have to be a failure as a woman--a wife, Bruce. I don'twant you to go!"

 * * * * *

Two worlds. One huddled under its dome, forever afraid of losing thatprotection and having to face the life the other led; and yet driven towork together or to perish together. The sacred dome!

And suddenly he was shaking her. "The dome! It has to be the answer!Cuddles, you broke the chain enough for me to think again! We've beenblind--the whole damned planet has been blind. "

She blinked and then frowned. "Bruce--"

"I'm all right! I'm just half sane instead of all insane for a change. "He got up, pacing the floor as he talked. 

"Look, most of the people here are Martians. They've left Earth behind, and they're meeting this planet on its own terms. And they're adapting. Third-generation children--not all, but a lot of them--are breathing theair we'd die on, and they're doing fine at it. Probablysecond-generation ones can keep going after we'd pass out. It's just astrue out here as it is on the frontier. But Marsport has that sacreddome over it. It's still trying to be Earth. And it can't do it. It'snever had a chance to adjust here, and it's afraid to try. "

"Maybe, " she agreed doubtfully. "But what about this part of Marsport?"

"Obvious. Here, they grow up under the shadow of it. They live in ahalf-world, and they have to live on the crumbs the dome tosses them. Sheila, if something happened to that dome--"

"We'd be killed, " she said. "How do we do it?"

He frowned, and then grinned slowly. "Maybe not!"

They spent the rest of the night discussing it. Sometime during thediscussion, she made coffee, and first Randolph, then the Kid came infor briefing. Randolph was a natural addition, and the Kid had beenalternately following Gordon and Sheila around since he'd first heardthey were fighting against the men who'd robbed him of his right tospeak. In the end, as the night spread into day, there were more peoplethan they felt safe with, and less than they needed. 

But later, as he stood beside the dome when night had fallen again, Gordon wasn't so sure. It was huge. The fabric of it was thin, and eventhe webbing straps that gave it added strength were frail things. But itwas strong enough to hold up the pressure of over ten pounds per squareinch, and the webbing was anchored in a metal sleeve that went too highfor cutting. They could rip it, but not ruin it completely; and it hadto be done so that no repair could ever be made. 

Under it, and anchoring it, was a concrete wall all around the city. 

Izzy came back from a careful exploration. "We can work enough powderunder those webbing supports, and lay the fuse wire beside the plasticring that keeps it airtight, " he reported. "But God help us, gov'nor, ifany gee spots us. "

They worked through the night, while Rusty went back to requisition moreexplosives from the dwindling supply, and while the Kid and Izzy tooktime off to break into a closed converter plant and find wire enough toconnect the charges. But dawn caught them with less done than they hadhoped. Gordon went to connect a wire and switch from the battery andcoil they had installed, but jerked backwards as he saw a suspiciousguard staring at him. 

"Let him think we're just scouting, " Randolph advised. 

There were suspicious looks as the group came back to the Coop, butMother Corey waddled over to meet them. "Did you find them, cobber?" heasked quickly, and one of his eyelids flickered. 

Izzy answered before Gordon could rise to it. "Not yet, Mother. May haveto go back tonight. "

Gordon left them discussing the mythical search for certain suppliesthat Mother Corey had apparently used as an alibi for their absence fromthe building. Sheila started to make coffee, but he shook his head andheaded for the bed. She yawned and nodded, fingering the stitches thatstill ran down the blanket to divide it. Then she grimaced faintly anddropped down beside him on top of the blanket. Her head hit his arm, andshe seemed to be asleep almost at once. 

He awoke to find Izzy shaking his shoulder. He looked down for Sheila, but she was gone. Izzy followed his eyes, and shook his head. 

"The princess took off in a car three hours ago, " he said. "She said itwas something that had to be done, gov'nor, so I figured you'd knowabout it. "

Gordon shrugged, and let it pass. He found the rest of the group ready, with Mother Corey wishing them better luck tonight. The Mother obviouslyknew something; but he kept his suspicions to himself, and gave them acover from the others. 

There was no sign of Sheila near the dome. But inside, there were guardspacing along it. Gordon spotted them first, and drew the others back. Ifthey'd found the carefully worked-in powder... 

The Kid ducked down and out of the car, worming his way around thebuilding that concealed them. He waited for the guard to vanish, andthen went crawling forward. Gordon swore, but there was no sense in twoof them risking themselves, only to attract more attention. And at lastthe Kid came back. He ducked into the truck, nodding. 

"Wire and explosive still there?" Gordon asked. 

The Kid made the sound he used for assent. 

It made no sense; there was no reason for the sudden vigilance insidethe dome. 

"We might be able to run the wire in, " Izzy said doubtfully. 

Gordon grunted. "And tip them off to where it is, probably. No, we'llhave to do it under some kind of covering, the way I had it planned inthe first place, only with one more damned complication. We'll pullanother false raid on the dome. As soon as we get chased off, I'llmanage to set it off while they're relaxing and laughing at us. "

"It smells!" Izzy told him. "Who elected you chief martyr around here?You'll be blown up, gov'nor--and if you ain't, they'll rip you toribbons for knocking off the dome. "

Then he stopped suddenly, staring. Bruce Gordon leaned forward, withIzzy's hands grabbing for him. But he'd seen it, too. 

Standing next to the dome was Trench, talking to one of the guards. Andbeside him stood Sheila, with one hand resting on the man's elbow!

He could feel the thickness of the silence and misery in the truck, buthe pushed it away, with all the other things. "Get us back, Izzy, " heordered. "We've got to round up whatever group we can and get them backhere on the double. They must be counting on our original time, sothey're in no hurry to remove the powder and wiring. But we can't counton any more time. "

"You're going through with it?" Randolph asked doubtfully. 

"In one hour. And you might pass the word along that we're doing it tosave the dome. Tell the men we just found out that Trench is losing andintends to blow it up instead of letting the Legals win. "

Rumor would travel fast enough, he hoped. And it should give him a fewextra seconds before his forces cracked. 

He lifted the switch in his hands and stared at it. It wasn't necessarynow. All he had to do was to reach the battery and drop any metal acrossthe two terminals there--if they could get back before Trench--andSheila--could remove the battery. 

It was a period of complete fog to him, but it wasn't until his motleyarmy reached the dome, straggling up in trucks and on foot, that hesnapped into focus again. There was no sign of Sheila this time, and hedidn't look for her. His whole mind was concentrated down to a singlepoint: Get the dome!

This time, there was no scattering of Municipals and Legals. TheMunicipal forces were rushing up toward the dome, and surprised Legalswere frantically arriving in trucks. There was the beginning of apitched battle right at the spot where Gordon needed his own cover. 

It made no sense to him, and he didn't care. He marched his men up, withthe thin wailing of a banshee in his ears. 

"Dome warning!" Izzy shouted in his ear. "Hear that siren, gov'nor?Means they're scared we may do it. Give me that damned switch!"

He grabbed for it, but Gordon held firmly to the copper strap. And nowthe men inside caught sight of the approaching force. For a second, consternation seemed to reign. 

Then a huge truck with a speaker on top drove into the struggling group, and the thin whisper of unintelligible words reached Gordon. The wholedevelopment made no more sense than any part of it to him, but he sawthe Municipals and Legals suddenly begin to turn as a single man to facethe outside menace that had crept up on them while they were boilinginto a fight. 

And suddenly the Marspeaker over the entrance blasted into life. "Getback! The dome is mined! Any man comes near it, it'll blow! Get back!The dome is mined!"

By Gordon's side, a sudden gargling sound came from the Kid. His handsnaked out, caught the strap from Gordon's hand, and jerked it free. Then he was running frantically forward. 

Rifles lifted inside, and shots rang out, clipping bullets through thedome. In one place it began to tear, and there was a sudden savage roarfrom the men around Gordon. He had started forward after the Kid, butIzzy was in front of him, holding him back. 

The Kid stumbled and slid across the ground, while blood spurted outfrom a gash across his head, and the helmet fell into pieces. Then, witha jerk, he was up. His hand reached out, the strap hit the terminals... 

And where the dome had been, a clap of thunder seemed to take visibleform. The webbing straps broke, and the dome jerked upwards, twistingoutwards, and then falling into ribbons. The shock wave hit Gordon, knocking him from his feet into the crowd around him. 

He struggled to his feet to see helmeted men pouring out of the housesaround, and other men pouring forward from his own group. The few ofeither police force still standing and helmeted broke into a wild run, but they had no chance! The mob had decided that they had mined andexploded the dome. 

He turned back toward the Coop, sick with the death of the Kid and theviolence. For once, he'd had more than his fill of it. 

Then a small truck drew up, and an arm went out to draw him inside thecab. He stared into the face of Isaiah Trench. And driving the truck wasSheila. 

"Your wife took a helluva chance, Gordon, " Trench said heavily. "And Itook quite a chance, too, to set this up so nobody could ever believeyou were behind it. Getting that fight started in time, after you firstshowed up--oh, sure, we spotted you--was the toughest job I ever did!But I guess Sheila had the roughest end, not even knowing for sure whereI stood. "

Gordon stared at them slowly, not quite believing it, even though it wasno crazier than anything else during the past few hours. 

Trench shrugged. "I was railroaded here by Security, told to be good andthey'd let me go home. A lot of men got that treatment. So when Waynewas still talking about building a perfect Marsport, I joined up. Hetreated me right, and I took orders. But a man gets sick of working withpunks and cheap hoods; he gets sicker of killing off a planet he'slearned to like. I learned to take orders, though--and I took them untilWayne tried to put a bullet through me. That ended that, and I came outto join up with you. You were soused, I hear--but your wife guessedenough to take the chance of coming to me, when she thought you weregoing to get yourself killed. Well, I guess you get out here. "

He indicated the Coop. Gordon got down, followed by Sheila as Trenchtook the wheel. "What happens to you now?" Gordon asked. "They'll beblaming you for the end of the dome. "

"Let them. I planned on that. Too bad Trench got torn to bits by themob, isn't it? And it's a good thing I've always kept myself a placeunder a safe incognito out in the sticks. Got a wife and two kids outthere that even Wayne didn't know about. " He stuck out a hand. "You'relike Security, Gordon. You do all the wrong things, but you get theright results. Goodbye!"

Sheila watched him go, shaking her head. "He likes you, Bruce. But hecan't say it. Men!"

"Women!" Gordon answered. 

Then he stiffened. Coming down through the thin air of Mars was thebright blue exhaust of a rocket. The real Security was arriving!

Chapter XVII

SECURITY PAYOFF

It was three days before Bruce Gordon made up his mind to hunt upSecurity; another four days passed after they had sent him back to waituntil they received orders from Headquarters for him. There was a mancoming from Earth on a second ship who would see him. They gave him achauffeur back to the Chicken Coop, and politely indicated that it wouldbe better if he stayed within reach. 

The dome had been down a full week when he watched the last ofRandolph's equipment packed onto a truck and hauled away. The littlepublisher was back at the _Crusader_ again. Rusty was busy opening hisbar, and the others were all busy. Only Gordon and Sheila were left. 

He heard her coming down the old stairs, and ducked out through theprivate exit, snapping his helmet in place as he went through the seal. She must have sensed his desire to be left alone, since she made noattempt to follow. She'd asked no questions and hadn't even tried toconvince him that he'd be sent back to Earth now. 

He muttered to himself as he headed over the rubble toward thepreviously domed section. 

Out at the spaceport, ships were dropping down from Deimos with thesupplies that had been held up so long, and a long line of trucks wentsnaking by. Credit had been established again, and the businesses wereopen. 

For the time being, the hoods and punks were having a tough time of it, with working papers demanded as constant identification. And while itlasted, at least, Marsport was beginning to have its face lifted. Wreckswere being broken up, with salvageable material used for newer homes. Gordon came to a row of temporary bubbles, individual dwellings builtlike the dome, but opaque for privacy. 

As Gordon drew closer to the old foundation of the dome, the feelingaround began to clarify into something halfway between what he had seenon the real frontier and what he had known as a kid in Earth's slums. 

They had been lucky. The dome had exploded outwards, with only bits ofit falling back; and the buildings had come through the outwardexplosion of the pressure with little damage. Gordon grinned wryly. Schulberg's volunteers were official, now. Izzy was acting as chief ofpolice, Schulberg was head of the reconstruction corps, and Mother Coreywas temporary Mayor of all Marsport. The old charter for Marsport fromNorth America was dead, and the whole city was now under Securitycharter, like the rest of the planet. But the dozen Security men hadleft most of the control in the Mother's hands, and the old man was upto his fat jowls in business. 

Gordon moved automatically toward the Seventh Ward. Fats' Place wasstill open, though the crooked tables had been removed. Gordon droppedto a stool, slipping off his helmet. He reached automatically for theglass of ether-needled beer. This time, it even tasted good to him. 

"On the house, copper, " Fats' voice said. The man dropped to anotherstool, rolling dice casually between his thumbs. "And bring out a steak, there! You look as if you could stand it--and Fats don't forget oldfriends!"

"Friends and other things, " Gordon said, remembering his first visithere. "Maybe you should have got me that night, Fats. "

The other shrugged. "That's Mars. " He rolled the dice out, then pickedthem up again. "Guess I'll have to stick to selling meals, mostly--for awhile, at least. Somebody told me you'd joined Security and got bangedup trying to keep Trench from blowing up the dome. Thought you'd be inthe chips!"

"That's Mars, " Gordon echoed the other's comment. "Why don't you pulloff the planet, Fats? You could go back to Earth, I'd guess. "

The other nodded. "Yeah. I went back, about ten years ago. Spent fourweeks down there. I dunno. Guess a man gets used to anything ... Hell, maybe I can hire some bums to sit around and whoop it up when the shipscome in, and bill this as a real old Martian den of sin! Get a barkerout at the port, run special busses, charge the suckers a mint for acheap thrill. "

Gordon grinned wryly; Fats would probably make more than ever. 

He finished the meal, accepted a pack of the Earth cigarettes that soldat a luxury price here, and went out into the thin air of Mars. It wasalmost good to get out into the filth of the slums, and be heading backto the still-standing monument of the old Chicken Coop. He headed forthe private entrance out of habit, and then shrugged as he realized itwas a needless precaution now. He moved up the front steps and throughthe battered seal. 

Then he stopped. Security had finally gotten around to him, it seemed. Inside the hallway, the Security man who'd first sent him to Mars waswaiting. 

There was a grin on the other's face. "Hello, Gordon. Finally got ourorders for you. It's Mercury!"

Bruce Gordon nodded slowly. "All right. I suppose you know I ruined thedome, was supposed to have killed Murdoch, pretended I was a Securityagent... "

"You _were_ one, " the man said. He grinned again. "We know aboutMurdoch, and we know where Trench is--but he's a good citizen now, so hecan stay there. We're not throwing the book at you, Bruce. Damn it, wesent you here to get results, and you got them. We sent twenty othersthe same way--and they failed. You were a bit drastic--that I have toadmit--but we're one step closer to keeping nationalism off the planets, and that's all we care about. "

"I wonder if it's worth it, " Gordon said slowly. 

The other shook his head. "We can't know in our lifetime. All we can dois to hope. We'll probably get this Mother Corey and Isaacs electedproperly; and for a while, things will improve. But there'll be pushersas long as weak men turn to drugs, and graft as long as voters allow thething to get out of their hands. Let's say you've shifted some of themisery around a bit, and given them a chance to do better. It's up tothem to take it or lose it. "

"So I get sent to Mercury?"

"You can't stay here. They'll find out too much eventually. " He paused, estimating Gordon. "You _can_ go back to Earth, Bruce, but you won'tlike it now. You're a fighter. And there's hell brewing onMercury--worse than here. We've got permission to send you there, ifyou'll go. With a yellow ticket, again--but without any razzle-dazzlethis time. The only thing you'll get out of it is a chance to fight fora better chance for others some day--and a promise that there'll bemore, until you get old enough to sit at a desk on Earth and fightagainst every bickering nation there to keep the planets clean. There'sa rocket waiting to transship you to the Moon on the way to Mercuryright now. "

Gordon sighed. "All right. But I wish you'd tell my wife sometimethat--well, that I didn't just run out on her. She's had bad luck withmen. "

"She already knows, " the Security man said. "I've been waiting for youquite a while, you know. And I've paid her the pay we owe you from thetime you began using your badge. She's out shopping!"

The car pulled up to the waiting rocket, and the Security man helped himup the steps with a perfunctory wish for good luck. Then Bruce Gordonstopped as great arms surrounded him. 

Mother Corey was immaculate, though not much prettier. But his old eyeswere glinting. "Did you think we'd let you go without seeing you off, cobber?" he asked. "And after I took a _bath_ to celebrate? I--I--Oh, drat it, I'm getting old. Izzy, you tell him. "

He grabbed Gordon's hand and waddled down the landing plank. Izzy shookhis head. 

"I can't say it, either, gov'nor--but some day, I'm going to have one ofthose badges myself. Like I always said, honesty sure pays, even if itkills you. Here!"

He followed Mother Corey, leaving behind his favorite knife and abrand-new deck of reader cards, marked exactly as the ones Gordon hadfirst used. 

Gordon dropped into his seat, while the sounds outside indicatedtake-off time. He had less than a hundred credits, a knife, a deck ofphony cards, and a yellow ticket. Mars was leaving him what he'dbrought.... 

She dropped into the seat very quietly, but her blouse touched his arm. In her hand was a punched ticket with the orange of Mars on top and theblack of Mercury on the bottom. 

"Hello, Bruce, " Sheila said softly. "I've been shopping and I spent themoney the man gave me. This is all I have left. Do you think it's worthit? Or should I take it back?"

He turned it over in his hands slowly, and the smile came back to hisface gradually. 

"You got a bargain, Cuddles, " he said. "A lot better than the mealticket you bought. Let's keep it. "