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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20212-8.txt b/20212-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11d5d64 --- /dev/null +++ b/20212-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5763 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Police Your Planet, by Lester del Rey + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Police Your Planet + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Release Date: December 29, 2006 [EBook #20212] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLICE YOUR PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + 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 the +electric bus that shuttled between the rocket field and Marsport. Ten +men, the driver--and Bruce Gordon. + +He sat apart from the others, as he had kept to himself on the ten-day +trip between Earth and Mars, with the yellow stub of his ticket still +stuck defiantly in the band of his hat, proclaiming that Earth had paid +his passage without his permission being asked. His big, lean body was +slumped slightly in the seat. There was no expression on his face. + +He listened to the driver explaining to a couple of firsters that they +were actually on what appeared to be one of the mysterious canals when +viewed from Earth. Every book on Mars gave the fact that the canals were +either an illusion or something which could not be detected on the +surface of the planet. + +He glanced back toward the rocket that still pointed skyward back on the +field, and then forward toward the city of Marsport, sprawling out in a +mess of slums beyond the edges of the dome that had been built to hold +air over the central part. And at last he stirred and reached for the +yellow stub. + +He grimaced at the ONE WAY stamped on it, then tore it into +bits and let the pieces scatter over the floor. He counted them as they +fell; thirty pieces, one for each year of his life. Little ones for the +two years he'd wasted as a cop. Shreds for the four years as a kid in +the ring before that--he'd never made the top. Bigger bits for two years +also wasted in trying his hand at professional gambling; and the six +final pieces that spelled his rise from a special reporter helping out +with a police shake-up coverage, through a regular leg-man turning up +rackets, and on up like a meteor until.... He'd made his big scoop, all +right. He'd dug up enough about the Mercury scandals to double +circulation. + +And the government had explained what a fool he'd been for printing half +of a story that was never supposed to be printed until all could be +revealed. They'd given Bruce Gordon his final assignment. + +He shrugged. He'd bought a suit of airtight coveralls and a helmet at +the 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 never +been exported to Mars. With them and the knife he'd selected, he might +get by. + +The Solar Security office had given him the knife practice, to make sure +he could use it, just as they'd made sure he hadn't taken extra money +with him beyond the regulation amount. + +"You're a traitor, and we'd like nothing better than seeing your guts +spilled," the Security man had told him. "That paper you swiped was +marked 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 bound +for Mars, rather than the Mercury mines. If..." + +It was a big _if_, and a vague one. They needed men on Mars who could +act as links in their information bureau, and be ready to work on their +side when the expected trouble came. They wanted men who could serve +them loyally, even without orders. If he did them enough service, they +might let him back to Earth. If he caused trouble enough, they could +still 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 yellow +scandal 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 settled +faster than it was ready to receive. Temporary buildings had been thrown +up, and then had remained, decaying into deathtraps. It wasn't a pretty +view that visitors got as they first reached Mars. But nobody except the +romantic fools had ever thought frontiers were pretty. + +The drummer who had watched Gordon tear up his yellow stub moved forward +now. "First time?" he asked. + +Gordon nodded, mentally cataloguing the drummer as the cockroach type, +midway between the small-businessman slug and the petty-crook spider +types that weren't worth bothering with. But the other took it as +interest. + +"Been here dozens of times, myself. Risking your life just to go into +Marsport. Why Congress doesn't clean it up, _I'll_ never know!" + +Gordon's mind switched to the readers in his bag. The cards were +plastic, and should be good for a week or so of use before they showed +wear. During that time, by playing it carefully, he should have his +stake. Then, if the gaming tables here were as crudely run as an +oldtimer 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's +something! Even the cops are afraid to go in there. See it? There, to +your left!" + +The name was vaguely familiar as one of the sore spots of Marsport. +Bruce Gordon looked, and spotted the ragged building, half a mile +outside the dome. It had been a rocket-maintenance hangar once, then had +been turned into temporary dwelling for the first deportees, when Earth +began flooding Mars. Now, seeming to stand by habit alone, it radiated +desolation and decay. + +He stood up, grabbing for his bag, and spinning the drummer aside. He +jerked forward, and caught the driver's shoulder. "Getting off!" + +The driver shrugged his hand away. "Don't be crazy, mister! They--" He +turned, 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 minutes +to get into coveralls and helmet and out through the airlock." + +Gordon needed less than that; he'd practiced all the way from Earth. The +transparent plastic of the coveralls went on easily enough, and his +hands found the seals quickly. He slipped his few possessions into a bag +at his belt, slid the knife into a spring holster above his wrist, and +picked up the bowl-shaped helmet. It seated on a plastic seal, and the +little air compressor at his back began to hum, ready to turn the thin +wisp of Mars' atmosphere into a barely breathable pressure. He tested +the Marspeaker--an amplifier and speaker in another pouch, designed to +raise the volume of his voice to a level where it would carry through +even the air of Mars. + +The driver swore at the lash of sound, and grabbed for the airlock +switch. + + * * * * * + +Gordon moved down unpaved streets that zig-zagged along, thick with the +filth of garbage and poverty--the part of Mars never seen in the +newsreels, outside the shock movies. Thin kids with big eyes and sullen +mouths crowded the streets in their airsuits, yelling profanity. The +street was filled with people watching with a numbed hunger for any kind +of excitement. + +It was late afternoon, obviously. Men were coming from the few bus +routes, lugging tools and lunch baskets, slumped and beaten from labor +in the atomic plants, the Martian conversion farms, and the industries +that had come inevitably where inefficiency was better than the high +prices of imports. The saloons were doing well enough, apparently, from +the number that streamed in through their airlock entrances. But Gordon +saw one of the bartenders paying money to a thickset person with an +arrogant sneer; he knew then that the few profits from the cheap beer +were never going home with the man. Storekeepers in the cheap little +shops had the same lines on their faces as they saw on those of their +customers. + +Poverty and misery were the keynotes here, rather than the evil +half-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 out +some of the smell which the thin air carried. He'd thought he was +familiar with human misery from his own Earth slum background. But there +was no attempt to disguise it here. + +Ahead, Mother Corey's reared up--a huge, ugly half-cylinder of pitted +metal and native bricks, showing the patchwork of decades, before +repairs had been abandoned. There were no windows, though once there had +been; 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 opened +and closed. He waited, then drew his knife and began prying at the worn +cement around the airseal, looking for the lock that had been there. + +The seal suddenly quivered, indicating that metal inside had been +withdrawn. Gordon grinned tautly, stepped through, and pushed the blade +against the inner plastic. + +"All right, all right," a voice whined out of the darkness. "You don't +have 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'll +last me two weeks in the dome. I figure on making it last six here, and +don't let my being a firster give you hot palms. My brother was Lanny +Gordon!" + +It happened to be true, though Bruce Gordon hadn't seen his brother from +the time the man had left the family, as a young punk, to the day they +finally convicted him on his twenty-first murder. But here, if it was +like 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 face +contorting its doughy fat into a yellow-toothed grin, and a filthy hand +waved back the others. There were a few wisps of long, gray hair on the +head 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 Corey +kicked four grumbling men out of a four-by-seven hole on the second +floor. Gordon's money had carried more weight than his brother's +reputation; for that, Corey humored his guest's wish for privacy. "All +yours, cobber, while your crackle's blue." + +It was a filthy, dark place. In one corner was an unsheeted bed. There +was a rusty bucket for water, a hole kicked through the floor for waste +water. Plumbing, and such luxuries, apparently hadn't existed for +years--except for the small cistern and worn water-recovery plant in the +basement, beside the tired-looking weeds in the hydroponic tanks that +tried 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. One +credit a week, and you get Mother Corey's word nobody busts in. And it +sticks, 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 Corey +stood staring at the pack while Bruce Gordon changed out of his airsuit, +gagging faintly as the full effluvium of the place hit him. "Where does +a man eat around here?" + +Mother Corey pried his eyes off the cards and ran a thick tongue over +heavy 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 vote +money 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 clouded +eyes. "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." He +shook 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 when +your 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, once +long ago. Gordon followed him, staring at the surrounding filth. + +His thoughts were churning so busily that he didn't see the blonde girl +until she had forced her way past them on the stairs. Then he turned +back, 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. It +was exactly ten days later. Bruce Gordon stood in the motley crowd +inside the barnlike room where Fats ran a bar along one wall, and filled +the rest of the space with assorted tables--all worn. Gordon was +sweating slightly as he stood at the roulette table, where both zero and +double-zero were reserved for the house. + +The croupier was a little wizened man wanted on Earth. His eyes darted +down to the point of the knife that showed under Gordon's sleeve, and he +licked his lips, showing snaggled teeth. The wheel hesitated and came to +a halt, with the ball trembling in a pocket. + +"Twenty-one wins again." He pushed chips toward Gordon, as if every one +of them came out of his own pay. "Place your bets." + +Two others around the table watched narrowly as Gordon left his chips +where they were; they then exchanged looks and shook their heads. In a +Martian roulette game, numbers with that much riding just didn't turn +up. The croupier shifted his weight, then caught the wheel and spun it +savagely. + +Gordon's leg ached from his strained position, but he shifted his weight +onto it more heavily, and sweat popped out on the croupier's face. His +eyes darted down, to where the full weight of Gordon seemed to rest on +the heel that was grinding into his instep. He tried to pull his foot +off the button that was concealed in the floor. + +The heel ground harder, bringing a groan from him. And the ball hovered +over Twenty-one and came to rest there once more. + +Slowly, painfully, the little man counted stacks of chips and moved them +across 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 then +holding the croupier down, had left him momentarily weak, but Gordon +could still feel the tensing of the crowd. Now he let his eyes run over +them--the night citizens of Marsport, lower-dome section. Spacemen who'd +missed their ships; men who'd come here with dreams, and stayed without +them--the shopkeepers who couldn't meet their graft and were here to try +to win it on a last chance; street women and petty grifters. The air was +thick with their unwashed bodies--all Mars smelled, since water was +still too rare for frequent bathing--and their cheap perfume, and +clouded with cheap Marsweed cigarettes. + +Gordon swung where their eyes pointed, until he saw Fats Eller sidling +through the groups, then let the knife slip into the palm of his hand as +the crowd seemed to hold its breath. Fats plucked a sheaf of Martian +bank notes from his pocket and tossed them to the croupier. + +"Cash in his chips." Then his pouchy eyes turned to Gordon. "Get your +money, punk, and get out! And stay out!" + +For a moment, as he began pocketing the bills, Gordon thought he was +going to get away that easily. Fats watched him dourly, then swung on +his heel, just as a shrill, strangled cry went up from someone in the +crowd. + +The deportee let his glance jerk to it, then froze. His eyes caught the +sight of a hand pointing behind him, and he knew it was too crude a +trick to bother with. But he paused, shocked to see the girl he'd seen +on Mother Corey's stairs gazing at him in well-feigned warning. In spite +of his better judgment, she caught his eyes and drew them down over +curves and swells that would always be right for arousing a man's +passion. + +He glanced back at Fats, who had started to turn again. Gordon took a +step backwards, preparing to duck. Again the girl's finger motioned +behind 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 his +shoulders up and his head down. Fast as his reaction was, it was almost +too late. The weapon crunched against his shoulder and slammed over the +back of his neck, almost knocking him out. + +His heel lashed back and caught the shin of the man behind him. Gordon's +other leg spun him around, still crouching; the knife in his hand +started coming up, sharp edge leading, and aimed for the belly of the +bruiser who confronted him. The pug saw the blade and tried to check his +lunge. + +Gordon felt the blade strike; but he was already pulling his swing, and +it 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 and +into the night in two soaring leaps. After only a few days on Mars, his +legs were still hardened to Earth gravity, and he had more than a double +advantage over the others. + +Outside, it was the usual Martian night in the poorer section of the +dome, which meant near-darkness. Most of the street lights had never +been installed--graft had eaten up the appropriations, instead--and the +nearest one was around the corner, leaving the side of Fats' Place in +the shadow. Gordon checked his speed, threw himself flat, and rolled +back against the building, just beyond the steps that led to the street. + +Feet pounded out of the door above as Fats and the bouncer broke +through. Gordon's hand had already knotted a couple of coins into his +kerchief; he waited until the two turned uncertainly up the street and +tossed it. It struck the wall near the corner, sailed on, and struck +again 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 had +hit. "Around the corner!" Fats yelled. "After him, and shoot!" + +In the shadows, Gordon jerked sharply. It was rare enough to have a gun +here; 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 sheet +that was held up by air pressure and reinforced with heavy webbing. It +was the biggest dome ever built--large enough to cover all of Marsport +before the slums sprawled out beyond it; it still covered half the city, +and made breathing possible here without a helmet. But the dome wasn't +designed to stand stray bullets; and having firearms inside it--except +for a few chosen men--was a crime punishable by death. + +Fats had swung back, and was now herding the crowd inside his place. He +might have been only a small gambling-house owner, but within his own +circle his words carried weight. + +Gordon got to his hands and knees and began crawling away from the +corner. He came to a dark alley, smelling of decay where garbage had +piled up without being carted away. Beyond lay a lighted street, and a +sign that announced _Mooney's Amusement Palace--Drinks Free to Patrons!_ +He looked up and down the street, then walked briskly toward the +somewhat plusher gambling hall there. Fats couldn't touch him in a +competitor's place. + +Inside Mooney's, he headed quickly for the dice table. He lost steadily +on 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 Gordon +bemoaned 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 another +policeman at a Canfield game. He was obviously winning, and now he got +up and came over to cash in his chips. + +"You'd think they'd lose count once in a while," he complained to his +companion. "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 the +edge of the dome and the entrance where he'd parked his airsuit and +helmet. 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 the +locker building. He threaded through the maze of the lockers with his +knife ready in his hand, trying not to attract suspicion. At this hour, +though, most of the place was empty. The crowds of foremen and +deliverymen who'd be going in and out through the day were lacking. + +He found his suit and helmet and clamped them on quickly, transferring +the knife to its spring sheath outside the suit. He checked the tiny +batteries that were recharged by generators in the soles of the boots +with every step. Then he paid his toll for the opening of the private +slit 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 on +numbers for safety; some of the very poor, stumbling about and hoping +for a drink somehow; and probably hoods from the gangs that ruled the +nights here. + +Gordon left his torch unlighted, and moved along; there was a little +illumination from the phosphorescent markers at some of the corners, and +from the stars. He could just make his way without marking himself with +a light. + +Damn it, he should have hired a few of the younger bums from Mother +Corey's. Here he couldn't hear footsteps. He located a pair of +patrolling cops, and followed them down one street, until they swung +off. 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 eighteen +behind him, carrying a torch that was filtered to bare visibility. It +swung up, and he saw a pock-marked face that was twisted in a smile +meant to be ingratiating. + +"You've got a pad on your tail," the kid said, again as low as his +amplifier would permit. "Need a convoy?" + +Gordon studied him briefly, and grinned. Then his grin wiped out as the +kid's arm flashed to his shoulder and back, a series of quick jerks that +seemed almost a blur. Four knives stood buried in the ground at Gordon's +feet, 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 them +expertly back into shoulder sheaths. The kid's hand shaped a C quickly, +and Gordon slipped his arm through a self-sealing slit in the airsuit +and brought out two of them. + +"Thanks, gov'nor," the kid said, stowing them away. "You won't regret +it." Gordon started to turn. Then the kid's voice rose sharply to a +yell. "Okay, honey, he's the Joe!" + +Out of the darkness, ten to a dozen figures loomed up. The kid had +jumped aside with a lithe leap, and now stood between Gordon and the +group moving in for the kill. Gordon swung to run, and found himself +surrounded. His eyes flickered around, trying to spot something in the +darkness that would give him shelter. + +A bludgeon was suddenly hurtling toward him, and he ducked it, his blood +thick in his throat and his ears ringing with the same pressure of fear +he'd always known just before he was kayoed in the ring. Then he +selected what he hoped was the thinnest section of the attackers and +leaped forward. With luck, he might jump over them, using his Earth +strength. + +There was a flicker of dawnlight in the sky, now, however; and he made +out others behind, ready for just such a move. He changed his lunge in +mid-stride, and brought his arm back with the knife. It met a small +round shield on the arm of the man he had chosen, and was deflected at +once. + +"Give 'em hell, gov'nor," the kid's voice yelled, and the little figure +was beside him, a shower of blades seeming to leap from his hand in the +glare of his bare torch. Shields caught them frantically, and then the +kid 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 the +ground, seizing the first rocks he could find, and threw them. One of +the hoods dropped his club in ducking; Gordon caught it up and swung in +a single motion that stretched the other out. + +Then it was a melée. The kid's open torch, stuck on his helmet, gave +them light enough, until Gordon could switch on his own. Then the kid +dropped behind him, fighting back-to-back. Here, in close quarters, the +attackers 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, but +she 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. He +tried to bring his club up--but knew it was too late. A dull weight hit +the side of his head, and he felt himself falling. + + * * * * * + +It took only minutes for dawn to become day on Mars, and the sun was +lighting up the messy section of back street when Bruce Gordon's eyes +opened and the pain of sight struck his aching head. He groaned, then +looked frantically for the puff of escaping air. But his suit was still +sealed. Ahead of him, the kid lay sprawled out, blood trickling from an +ugly bruise along his jaw. + +Then Gordon felt something on his suit, and his eyes darted to hands +just finishing an emergency patch. His eyes darted up and met those of +the blonde vixen! + +Amazement kept him motionless for a second. There were tears in the eyes +of the girl, and a sniffling sound reached him through her Marspeaker. +Apparently, she hadn't noticed that he had revived, though her eyes were +on him. She finished the patch, and ran perma-sealer over it. Then she +began putting her supplies away, tucking them into a bag that held notes +that could only have been stolen from his pockets--her share of the +loot, apparently. + +He was still thinking clumsily as she got to her feet and turned to +leave. 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 stand +the pain in his head. He came to his feet, and leaped after her. In the +thin air, his lunge was silent, and he was grabbing her before she knew +he 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 toward +him. Then he had her firmly, bringing her arm back and up, until the +knife fell from her fingers. + +She screamed and began writhing, twisting her hard young body like a boa +constrictor in his hands. But he was stronger. He bent her back over his +knee, until a mangled moan was coming from her speaker; then his foot +kicked out, knocking her feet out from under her. He let her hit the +ground, caught both her wrists in his, and brought his knee down on her +throat, applying more pressure until she lay still. Then he reached for +the pouch. + +"Damn you!" Her cry was more in anguish then it had been when he was +threatening to break her back. "You damned firster, I'll kill you if +it'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 kill +a man for his money, he doesn't feel very grateful for your reviving +him." + +He started to count the money. About a tenth of what he had won--not +even enough to open a cheap poker den, let alone bribe his way back to +Earth. + +The girl was out from under his knee at the first relaxation of +pressure. Her hand scooped up the knife, and she came charging toward +him, her mouth a taut slit across half-bared teeth. Gordon rolled out of +her swing, and brought his foot up. It caught her squarely under the +chin, and she went down and out. + +He picked up the scattered money and her knife, then made sure she was +still breathing. He ran his hands over her, looking for a hiding place +for more money; there was none. + +"Good work, gov'nor," the kid's thin voice approved, and Gordon swung to +see 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 then +dropped it. A grin writhed onto his face, and broke into sudden grudging +laughter. + +"Okay, Izzy," he admitted. "For this stinking planet, I guess you're +something of a saint. Come along, and we'll both apply for that +job--after I get my stuff." + +He might as well join the law. Security had wanted him to police their +damned planet for them--and he might as well do it officially. + +He tossed the girl's knife down beside her, motioned to Izzy, and began +heading for Mother Corey's. + + + + +Chapter III + +THE GRAFT IS GREEN + + +Izzy seemed surprised when he found that Gordon was turning in to the +quasi-secret entrance to Mother Corey's. "Coming here myself," he +explained. "Mother got ahold of a load of snow, and sent me out to +contact a big pusher. Coming back, the goons picked me up and gave me +the job on you. Hey, Mother!" + +Bruce Gordon didn't ask how Mother Corey had acquired the dope. When +Earth had deported all addicts two decades before, it had practically +begged 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 wheezing +behind, while the rotten wood of the stairs groaned under his grotesque +bulk. 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. Pretty +soon, they'll be trick-proof, anyhow; they're changing over to electric +eyes. Eh, you haven't forgotten me, cobber?" + +Gordon hadn't. The old wreck had demanded five per cent of his winnings +for tipping him off. Mother Corey had too many cheap hoods among his +friends 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. "Enough +to buy a corporal's job, pay for your suit, and maybe get by," he +decided. "Don't do it, cobber. You're the wrong kind. You take what +you're doing serious. When you set out to tinhorn a living, you're a +crook. Get you in a cop's outfit, and you'll turn honest. No place here +for an honest cop--not with elections coming up, cobber. Well, I guess +you gotta find out for yourself. Want a good room?" + +Gordon's lips twitched. "Thanks, Mother, but I'll be staying inside the +dome, I guess." + +"So'll I," the old man gloated. "Setting in a chair all day, being an +honest citizen. Cobber, I already own a joint there--a nice one, they +tell me. Lights. Two water closets. Big rooms, six-by-ten--fifty of +them, 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 from +the pusher, I can buy off that hot spot on the police blotter. I can go +in the dome and walk around, just like you." His eyes watered, and a +tear went dripping down his nose. "I'm getting old. They'll be calling +me 'Grandmother' pretty soon. So I'm turning my Chicken House over to my +granddaughter and I'm going honest. Want a room?" + +Gordon grinned, and nodded. Mother Corey knew the ropes, and could be +trusted. "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, looking +for me. I sold her to the head of the East Point gang. Since she killed +him, she's been doing pretty well on her own. Mostly. Except when she +makes a fool of herself, like she did with you. But she'll come around +to 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 pass +the 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 begin +applying for a police job by carrying in narcotics. He wondered how +they'd go about contacting the commissioner. + +But that turned out to be simple enough. After collecting, Izzy led the +way into a section marked "Special Taxes" and whispered a few casual +words. The man at the desk went into an office marked private, and came +back a few minutes later. + +"Your friend has no record with us," he said in a routine voice. "I've +checked through his tax forms, and they're all in order. We'll confirm +officially, of course." + + * * * * * + +In the Applications section of the big Municipal Building, at the center +of the dome, there was a long form to fill out at the desk; but the +captain 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--and +stamped their forms. "And you'll want suits. Isaacs? Good, here's your +receipt. 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 fair +fit in his suit. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be in +uniform. + +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 first +few 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 the +edge of the dome--proved to be livable, though it was a shock to see +Mother Corey himself in a decent suit, and using perfume. + +The beat was in a shabby section where clerks and skilled laborers +worked. It wasn't poor enough to offer the universal desperation that +gave the gang hoodlums protective coloring, nor rich enough to have +major rackets of its own. + +Izzy was disgusted. "Cripes! Hope they've got a few cheap pushers around +that 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 the +synthetics that replaced honest Earth foods were compounded into sweet +and sticky messes for the neighborhood kids. He looked up as Gordon came +in; then his face fell. "New cop, eh? No wonder Gable collected +yesterday, ahead of time. All right, you can look at my books. I've been +paying fifty, but you'll have to wait until Friday." + +Gordon nodded and swung on his heel, surprised to find that his stomach +was turning. The man obviously couldn't afford fifty credits a week. But +it was the same all along the street. Even Izzy admitted finally that +they'd have to wait. + +"That damned cop before us! He really tapped them! And we can't take +less, so I guess we gotta wait until Friday." + + * * * * * + +The next day, Bruce Gordon made his first arrest. It was near the end of +his shift, just as darkness was falling and the few lights were going +on. He turned a corner and came to a short, heavy hoodlum backing out of +a small liquor store with a knife in throwing position. The crook +grunted as he started to turn and stumbled onto Gordon. His knife +flashed up. + +Without the need to worry about an airsuit, Gordon moved in, his arm +jerking forward. He clipped the crook on the inside of the elbow, while +grabbing the wrist with his other hand. The man went sailing over +Gordon's head, to crash into the side of the building. He let out a +yell. + +Gordon rifled the hood's pockets, and located a roll of bills stuffed +in. He dragged them out, before snapping cuffs on the man. Then he +pulled the crook inside the store. + +A woman stood there, moaning over a pale man on the floor; blood oozed +from a welt on the back of his head. There was both gratitude and +resentment as she looked up at Gordon. + +"You'd better call the hospital," he told her sharply. "He may have a +concussion. I've got the man who held you up." + +"Hospital?" Her voice broke into another wail. "And who can afford +hospitals? All week we work, all hours. He's old, he can't handle the +cases. 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 sees +a doctor, he buys medicine. Then Gable comes. This man comes. We can't +pay him! So what do we get--we get knifes in the faces, saps on the +head--a concussion, you tell me! And all the money--the money we had to +pay to get stocks to sell to pay off from the profits we don't make--all +of it, he wants! Hospitals! You think they give away at the hospitals +free?" + +She fell to her knees, crying over the injured man. + +Gordon tossed the roll of bills onto the floor beside her; the injury +seemed only a scalp wound, and the old man was already beginning to +groan. He opened his eyes and saw the bills in front of him, at which +the 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 to +straighten up before the doorway was filled with two knife-men and a +heavier one behind them. + +His hands dropped to the handcuffed man on the floor, and he caught him +up with a jerk, slapping his body back against the counter. He took a +step forward, jerking his hands up and putting his Earth-adapted +shoulders behind it. The hood sailed up and struck the two knife-men +squarely. + +There was a scream as their automatic attempts to save themselves buried +both 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, then +shook 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, and +mark it down as a robbery attempt. I'm going to have to book you and +your men, Mr. Jurgens!" + +The heavy leader of the two angry knife-men grinned. "Okay, Captain. But +it's going to slow down the work I'm doing on the Mayor's campaign for +re-election! Damn that Maxie--I told him to be discreet. Hey, you know +what you've got, though--a real considerate man! He gave the old guy his +money 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 of +having slept well, he must have been out almost as soon as he was +booked. Two other men stood behind Gordon, while Jurgens explained that +he didn't like being interrupted on business calls "about the Mayor's +campaign, or anything else," and that next time there'd be real hard +feelings. Gordon was surprised when he wasn't beaten, but not when the +racketeer suggested that any money found at a crime was evidence and +should go to the police. The captain had told him the same. + +By Friday, he had learned. He made his collections early. Gable had sold +him the list of what was expected, and he used it, though he cut down +the figures in a few cases. There was no sense in killing the geese that +laid the eggs. + +The couple at the liquor store had their payment waiting, and they +handed it over, looking embarrassed. It wasn't until he was gone that he +found a small bottle of fairly good whiskey tucked into his pouch. He +started to throw it away, and then lifted it to his lips. Maybe they'd +known how he felt better than he had. Mother Corey's words about his +change of attitude came back. Damn it, he had to dig up enough money to +get back to Earth. + +He collected, down to the last account. It was a nice haul; at that +rate, he'd have to stand it only for a few months. Then Gordon's lips +twisted, as he realized it wasn't all gravy. There were angles, or the +price of a corporalcy would have been higher. + +One of the older men answered his questions. "Fifty per cent of the take +to the Orphan's and Widow's fund. Better make it more than Gable turned +in, if you want to get a better beat." + +The envelopes were lying on a table marked "Voluntary Donations"; Gordon +filled 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 him +carefully, settled back and smiled. + +"Widows and Orphans sure appreciate a good man," he said. "I was kind of +worried about you, Gordon, but you got a nice touch. One of my new +boys--Isaacs, you know him--was out checking up after you, and the dopes +seem to like you." + +Gordon had wondered why Izzy had been pulled off the beat. As he turned +to leave, the captain held up a hand. "Special meeting tomorrow. We +gotta see about getting out a good vote. Election only three weeks +away." + +Gordon went home. He'd learned by now that the native Martians--those +who'd been here for at least thirty years, or had been born here--were +backing a reform candidate and new ticket. But Mayor Wayne had all of +the rest of the town in his hand. He'd been in twice, and had lifted the +graft take by a truly remarkable figure. From where Gordon stood, it +looked like a clear victory for the reformer, Nolan. + +He went into the meeting willing to agree to anything. He applauded all +the speeches about how much Mayor Wayne had done for them, and signed +the pledge expressing his confidence, along with the implied duty he had +to 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 show +how well we like the Mayor. Just remember, he got us our jobs! Now I +figure we can all kick in a little to help his campaign. I'm going to +start it off with five thousand credits, two thousand of them right +now." + +They fell in line, though there was no cheering. The price might have +been fixed in advance. A thousand for a plain cop, fifteen hundred for a +corporal, and so on, each contributing a third of it now. Gordon +grimaced; 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. My +wife 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 strapped +now. 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 need +extra money. The boys out in Ward Three are shorthanded. Afraid I'll +have to order you out there!" + + * * * * * + +Ward Three was the hangout of a cheap gang of hoodlums, numbering some +four hundred, who went in for small crimes mostly. But they had recently +declared war on the cops. + +After eight hours of overtime, Gordon reported in with every bone sore +from small missiles, and his suit filthy from assorted muck. He had a +beautiful shiner where a stone had clipped him. + +The captain smiled. "Rough, eh? But I hear robbery went down on your +beat 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 can +trust with the job!" + +Gordon stuck it out, somehow, but it wasn't worth it. He reported back +to the precinct with the five hundred in his hand, and his pen itching +for the donation agreement. + +The captain took it, and nodded. "I wasn't kidding about your being a +good 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 slum +area beyond the dome, out near the rocket field. Here all the riffraff +that had been unable to establish itself in better quarters had found +some sort of a haven. At one time, there had been a small dome and a +tiny city devoted to the rocket field. But Marsport had flourished +enough to kill it off. The dome had failed from neglect, and the +buildings inside had grown shabbier. + +Bruce Gordon was trapped; he couldn't break his job with the police--if +he did, he'd be brought back as a criminal. Some of Mars' laws dated +from 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 members +to other gangs, during the frequent wars. Between times, they picked up +what they could by mugging and theft, with a reasonable amount of murder +thrown in at a modest price. + +Even derelicts and failures had to eat; there were stores and shops +throughout the district which eked out some kind of a marginal living. +They were safe from protection racketeers there--none bothered to come +so far out. And police had been taken off the beats there after it grew +unsafe even for men in pairs to patrol the area. + +The shopkeepers, and some of the less unfortunate people there, had +protested loud enough to reach clear back to Earth. Marsport had hired a +man from Earth to come in and act as chief of the section. Captain +Murdoch was an unknown factor, and now was asking for more men. The +pressure was enough to get them for him. + +Gordon reported for work with a sense of the bottom falling out, mixed +with a vague relief. + +"You're going to be busy," Murdoch announced shortly in the dilapidated +building 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 run +this the way we would on Earth. Your job is to protect the citizens +here--and that means everyone not breaking the laws--whether you feel +like it or not. No graft. The first man making a shakedown will get the +same treatment we're going to use on the Stonewall boys. You'll get +double 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 a +shaped 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 with +me. I'm going to show how we operate. The rest of you can team up any +way 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 eyes +fell on him. "Earth cop!" + +"Two years," Gordon admitted. + +"Then you should be ashamed to be in this mess. But whatever your +reasons, 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 a +squad leader, and that meant he'd be unable to step out of line. At +double standard pay, with normal Mars expenses, he might be able to pay +for 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 in +touch 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 the +front 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 told +them. "But it has to be _good_. Go in for business, and don't stop just +because the other guy quits. Give them hell!" + +Moving in two groups of threes, at opposite sides of the street, they +began their beat. They were covering an area of six blocks one way, and +two the other. + +They had traveled the six blocks and were turning down a side street +when they found their first case; it was still daylight. Two of the +Stonewall boys were working over a tall man in a newer airsuit. As the +police swung around, one of the thugs casually ripped the airsuit open. + +A thin screech like a whistle came from Murdoch's Marspeaker, and the +captain went forward, with Gordon at his heels. The hoodlums tossed the +man aside easily, and let out a yell. From the buildings around, an +assortment of toughs came at the double, swinging knives, picks, and +bludgeons. + +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 it +hit. A skilled man could knock a knife, or even a heavy club, out of +another'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 the +forward swing, one on the recover. Gordon's eyes popped at that. The man +was totally unlike a Martian captain, and a knot of homesickness for +Earth ran through his stomach. + +He swallowed the sentiment; his own club was moving now. Standing beside +Murdoch, they were moving forward. The other four cops had come in +reluctantly. + +"Knock them out and kick them down!" Murdoch yelled. "And don't let them +get away!" + +Gordon was after a thug who was attempting to run away. He brought him +to the ground with a single blow across the kidneys. + +It was soon over. They rounded up the men of the gang, and one of the +cops 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 facing +police with clubs. If they tried to run, they were hit from behind; if +they stood still, they were clubbed carefully. If they fought back, the +pugnaciousness was knocked out of them at once. + +Murdoch indicated one who stood with his shoulders shaking and tears +running 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 every +man 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 wretched +toughs. "He squealed," he announced. "If he should turn up dead, I'll +know you boys are responsible, and I'll find you. Now get out of this +district, or get honest jobs! Because every time one of my men sees one +of you, this will happen again. And you can pass the word along that the +Stonewall gang is dead!" + +He turned and moved off down the street, the others at his side. Gordon +nodded. "I've heard the theory, but never saw it in practice. Suppose +the whole gang jumps us at once?" + +Murdoch shrugged. "Then we're taken. The old book I got the idea from +didn't mention that." + + * * * * * + +Trouble began brewing shortly after, though. Men stood outside, studying +the cops on their beat. Murdoch sent one of the men to pick up a second +squad of six, and then a third. After that, the watchers began to melt +away. + +"We'd better shift to another territory," Murdoch decided. Gordon +realized that the gang had figured that concentrating the police here +meant other territories would be safe. + +Two more groups were given the treatment. In the third one, Bruce Gordon +spotted one of the men who'd been beaten before. He was a sick-looking +spectacle. + +Murdoch nodded. "Object lesson!" + +The one good thing about the captain, Gordon decided, was that he +believed in doing his own dirtiest work. When he was finished, he turned +to two of the other captives. + +"Get a stretcher, and take him wherever he belongs," he ordered. "I'm +leaving 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 the +brawls. But there was little grumbling. Gordon saw grudging admiration +in their eyes for Murdoch, who had taken more punishment than they had. + +Gordon rode back in the official car with Murdoch and both were silent +most of the way. But the captain stirred finally, sighing. "Poor +devils!" + +Gordon jerked up in surprise. "The gang?" + +"No, the cops they're giving me. We're covered, Gordon. But the +Stonewall gang is backing Wayne. He's let me come in because he figures +it will get him more votes. But afterwards, he'll have me out; and then +the 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 can +always go back to Earth, and I'll try to take you along. But it's going +to 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 the +tension. He found himself liking the other. + +"What makes you think Wayne will be re-elected? Nobody wants him, except +a gang of crooks and those in power." + +Murdoch grinned bitterly. "Ever see a Martian election? No, you're a +firster. He can't lose! And then hell is going to pop, and this whole +planet may be blown wide open!" + +It fitted with the dire predictions of Security, and with the spying +Gordon was going to do--according to them. + +He discussed it with Mother Corey, who agreed that Wayne would be +re-elected. + +"Can't lose," the old man said. He was getting even fatter, now that he +was 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 a +while, then opening up a few rooms for a good pusher or two, maybe a +high-class duchess. Cost 'em more, but they'd be respectable. Only now +I'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 the +way." + +"It didn't affect Honest Izzy," Gordon pointed out. + +"Nope. Because Izzy is always honest, according to how he sees it. But +you got Earth ideas of the stuff, like I had once. Too bad." He sighed +ponderously. + + * * * * * + +The week moved on. The groups grew more experienced, and Murdoch was +training a new squad every night. Gordon's own squad was equipped with +shields now, and they were doing better. The number of muggings and +holdups in the section was going down. They seldom saw a man after he'd +been treated. + +One of the squads was jumped by a gang of about forty, and two of the +men were killed before the nearest other squad could pull a rear attack. +That day the whole force worked overtime hunting for the men who had +escaped; and by evening the Stonewall boys had received proof that it +didn't pay to go against the police in large numbers. + +After that, they began to go hunting for the members of the gang. They +had the names of nearly all of them, and some pretty good ideas of their +hide-outs. + +It wasn't exactly legal; but nothing was, here. If a doctor's job was to +prevent illness, instead of merely curing it, then why shouldn't it be a +policeman's job to prevent crime? Here, that was best done by wiping out +the Stonewall gang to the last member. + +This could lead to abuses, as he'd seen on Earth. But there probably +wouldn'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 were +appearing on the streets at night for the first time in years. And there +were smiles--hungry, beaten smiles, but still genuine ones--for the +cops. + + + + +Chapter V + +RECALL + + +It was night outside, and the phosphor bulbs at the corners glowed +dimly, giving him barely enough light by which to locate the way to the +extemporized precinct house. Bruce Gordon reached the outskirts of the +miserable business section, noticing that a couple of the shops were +still open. It had probably been years since any had dared risk it after +the sun went down. And the slow, doubtful respect on the faces of the +citizens as they nodded to him was even more proof that Haley's system +was 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 he +swung back. The man who had just passed was carrying a lunch basket, and +was wearing the coveralls of one of the crop-prospector crews; but the +expression on his face had been wrong. + +Red hair, too heavily built, a lighter section where a mustache had been +shaved and the skin not quite perfectly powdered.... Gordon moved +forward quickly, until he could make out the thin scar showing through +the make-up over the man's eyes. He'd been right--this was O'Neill, head +of the Stonewall gang. + +Gordon hit the signal switch, and the Marspeaker let out a shrill +whistle. O'Neill had turned to run, and then seemed to think better of +it. 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 half +drawn--another gun! Guns suddenly seemed to be flourishing everywhere. +The gun dropped from O'Neill's hand as the wrist snapped, and the +Stonewall chief let out a high-pitched cry of pain. Then another cop +came around a corner at a run. + +"You can't do it to me! I'm reformed; I'm going straight! You damned +cops can't...." O'Neill was blubbering. The small crowd that was +collecting 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 break +down in public. + +The other cop had yanked out O'Neill's wallet, and now tossed it to +Gordon. One look was enough--the work papers had the telltale +over-thickening of the signature that had showed up on other papers, +obviously forgeries. The cops had been passing them on the hope of +finding one of the leaders. + +Some turned away as Gordon and the other cop went to work, but most of +them weren't squeamish. When it was over, the two picked up their +whimpering 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 members +of the gang were around, they made no attempt to rescue him. + +Jenkins, the other cop, had been holding the wallet. Now he held it out +toward Gordon. "The gee was heeled, Corporal. Must of been making a big +contact in something. Fifty-fifty?" + +"Turn it in to Murdoch," Gordon said, and then cursed himself. There +must have been over two thousand credits in the wallet. + + * * * * * + +The captain's face had been buried in a pile of papers, but now Murdoch +came around to stare at the gang leader. He inspected the forged work +papers, and jerked his thumb toward one of the hastily built cells where +a doctor would look O'Neill over--eventually. When Gordon and Jenkins +came back, Murdoch tossed the money to them. "Split it. You guys earned +it by keeping your hands off it. Anyhow, you're as entitled to it as he +was--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 as +he picked up the papers and began going through them again. Gordon went +down the passage to the end of the hall, in the direction Murdoch had +indicated. Waiting for him was the lean, cynical little figure of Honest +Izzy, complete with uniform and sergeant's stripes. + +"Hi, gov'nor," the little man greeted him. "Long time no see. With you +out here and me busy nights doing a bit of convoy work on the side, we +might 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 the +day, and I figure my time's my own at night. Of course, if I ever catch +myself 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 up +the scratch to buy these stripes and get made sergeant--and that takes +the 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 face +turning sober. "Nope. I've been meaning to see you, so I volunteered to +run 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 the +campaign fund, so I hadda fill in. A thousand, interest at ten per cent +a week, standard. Right?" + +Gordon had heard of the friendly interest charged on the side here, but +he shook his head. "Wrong, Izzy. If they want to collect that dratted +pledge of theirs, let them put me where I can make it. There's no graft +out 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 you +sign something, you gotta pay it. You _gotta_." + +"All right," Gordon admitted. He was suddenly in no mood to quibble with +Izzy's personal code. "So you paid it. Now show me where I signed any +agreement saying I'd pay _you_ back!" + +For a second, Izzy's face went blank; then he chuckled. "Jet me! You're +right, gov'nor. I sure asked for that one. Okay; I'm bloody well +suckered, so forget it." + +Gordon shrugged and gave up. He pulled out the bills and handed them +over. "Thanks, Izzy." + +"Thanks, yourself." The kid pocketed the money cheerfully, nodding. "Buy +you a beer. Anyhow, you won't miss it. I came out to tell you I got the +sweetest beat in Marsport--over a dozen gambling joints on it--and I +need 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, but +he 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 of +their own, Izzy was undoubtedly the man to find it out, and use the +information. With a beat such as that, even going halves, and with all +the graft to the upper brackets, he'd still be able to make his pile in +a matter of months. + +But he shook his head. "I'm assigned here, Izzy, at least for another +week, until after elections...." + +"Better take him up, Gordon," Murdoch told him bitterly. The captain +looked completely beaten as he came into the room and dropped onto the +bench. "Go on, accept, damn it. You're not assigned here any more. None +of us are. Mayor Wayne found an old clause in the charter and got a +rigged decision, pulling me back under his full authority. I thought I +had full responsibility to Earth, but he's got me. Wearing their uniform +makes me a temporary citizen! So we're being smothered back into the +Force, and they'll have their patsies out here, setting things up for +the Stonewall boys to come back by election time. So grab while the +grabbing's good, because by tomorrow morning I'll have this all closed +down!" + +He shook off Gordon's hand and stood up roughly, to head back up the +hallway. Then he stopped and looked back. "One thing, though, I've still +got enough authority to make you a sergeant. It's been a pleasure +working with you, Sergeant Gordon!" + +He swung out of view abruptly, leaving Gordon with a heavy weight in his +stomach. Izzy whistled, and began picking up his helmet, preparing to go +outside. "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 he +realized that Murdoch must be sending out warnings to the citizens that +things 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 well +enjoy what life he still had while he could. The Stonewall gang--what +was left of it--and all its friends would be gunning for him now. The +Force wouldn't have been fooled when Izzy paid his pledge, and they'd +mark him down as disloyal--if they didn't automatically mark down all +who'd served under Murdoch. And he didn't have the ghost of an idea as +to 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 had +begun to feel like a cop again, but the feeling disappeared as he +reported in at Captain Isaiah Trench's Seventh Precinct. Trench had once +been a colonel in the Marines, before a court-martial and sundry +unpleasantnesses had driven him off Earth. His dark, scowling face and +lean body still bore a military air. + +He looked Bruce Gordon over sourly. "I've been reading your record. It +stinks. Making trouble for Jurgens--could have been charged as false +arrest. No co-operation with your captain until he forced it; out in the +sticks beating up helpless men. Now you come crawling back to your only +friend, Isaacs. Well, I'll give it a try. But step out of line and I'll +have 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 what +had happened to Murdoch's recommendation. He joined Izzy in the locker +room, summing up the situation. + +"Yeah." Izzy looked worried, his thin face pinched in. "Maybe I didn't +do you a favor, gov'nor, pulling you here. I dunno. I got some pics of +Trench from a guy I know. That's how I got my beat so fast in the +Seventh. 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 had +first 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 as +rooming houses, though they made no bones about the fact that all their +permanent inhabitants were female. Then the beat swung off, past a row +of small businesses and genuine rooming houses, before turning back to +the 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 promote +good police service before it became a racket. But they were met +everywhere by sullen faces. Izzy explained it. The city had passed a new +poll tax--to pay for election booths, supposedly--and had made the +police collect it. Murdoch must have disregarded the order, but the rest +of the force had been busy helping the administration. + +But once they hit the main stem, things were mere routine. The gambling +joints took it for granted that beat cops had to be paid, and considered +it 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 too +welcome there. + +There was no sign of the thug, but Fats came out of his back office just +as Gordon reached the little bar. He came over, nodded, picked up a cup +and dice and began shaking them. + +"High man for sixty," he said automatically, and expertly rolled +bull's-eyes for a two. "Izzy said you'd be around. Sorry my man drew +that _knife_ on you the last time, Corporal." + +Gordon rolled an eight, pocketed the bills, and shrugged. "Accidents +will 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, you +should 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 an +alley. But the muggers had apparently given up before Izzy and Gordon +arrived, since the man had his wallet clutched in his hand. Gordon +reached for it, twisting his lips. + +Izzy stopped him. "It ain't honest, gov'nor. If the gees in the wagon +clean him, or the desk man gets it, that's their business. But I'm going +to run a straight beat, or else!" + +That was followed by a call to remove a berserk spaceman from one of the +so-called rooming houses. Gordon noticed that workmen were busy setting +up a heavy wooden gate in front of the entrance to the place. There were +a lot of such preparations going on for the forthcoming elections. + +Then the shift was over. But Gordon wasn't too surprised when his relief +showed up two hours late; he'd half-expected some such nastiness from +Trench. But he was surprised at the look on his tardy relief's face. + +The man seemed to avoid facing him, muttered, "Captain says report in +person at once," and swung out of the scooter and onto his beat without +further words. + +Gordon was met there by blank faces and averted looks, but someone +nodded toward Trench's office, and he went inside. Trench sat chewing on +a cigar. "Gordon, what does Security want with you?" + +"Security? Not a damned thing, if I can help it. They kicked me off +Earth 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, his +face 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, it +should show up. That's all!" + +Bruce Gordon went out, holding the envelope. The warning in Trench's +voice wasn't for any omission on his record, he knew. He shoved the +envelope into his belt pocket and waited until he was in his own room +before 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 in +itself. The damned, stupid, blundering fools! That was all Trench and +the police gang had to see; it was obvious that the letter had been +opened. Sure, report at once. Drop a letter in the mailbox, and the next +morning it would be turned over to Commissioner Arliss' office. Report +or be kicked off to a planet that Security felt enough worse than Mars +to use as punishment! Report _and_ find Mars a worse place than Mercury +could 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 anything +wrong with the system here. Security might think it was enough for the +moment, and the local men might possibly decide it a mere required +formality. At least it would stall things off for a while.... + +But Gordon knew now that he could never hope to get back to Earth +legally. That vague promise by Security was so much hogwash; yet it was +surprising how much he had counted on it. + +He tore the envelope from Security into tiny shreds, too small for +Mother Corey to make sense of, and went out to mail the letter, feeling +the few bills in his pocket. As usual, less than a hundred credits. + +He passed a sound truck blatting out a campaign speech by candidate +Nolan, 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 them +as Rafters--men from the biggest of the gangs supporting Wayne. The few +citizens on the street who drifted toward the truck took a good look at +them and moved on hastily. + +It seemed incredible that Wayne could be re-elected, though, even with +the power of the gangs. Nolan was probably a grafter, too; but he'd at +least be a change, and certainly the citizens were aching for that. + +The next day his relief was later. Gordon waited, trying to swallow +their petty punishments, but it went against the grain. Finally, he +began making the rounds, acting as his own night man. The owners of the +joints didn't care whether they paid the second daily dole to the same +man or another, but they wouldn't pay it again that same night. He'd +managed to tap most of the places before his relief showed. He made no +comment, but dutifully filled out the proper portion of both takes for +the Voluntary Donation box. It wouldn't do his record any good with +Trench, but it should put an end to the overtime. + +Trench, however, had other ideas. The overtime continued, but it was +dull after that--which made it even more tiring. But the time he took a +special release out to the spaceport was the worst. Seeing the big ship +readying for take-off back to Earth.... + +Then it was the day before election. The street was already bristling +with barricades around the entrances, and everything ran with a last +desperate restlessness, as if there would be no tomorrow. The operators +all swore that Wayne would be elected, but seemed to fear a miracle. On +the poorer section of the beat, there was a spiritless hope that Nolan +might come in with his reform program. Men who would normally have been +punctilious about their payments were avoiding Bruce Gordon, if in hope +that, by putting it off a day or so, they could run into a period where +no such payment would ever be asked--or a smaller one, at least. And he +was too tired to chase them down. His collections had been falling off +already, and he knew that he'd be on the carpet for that, if he didn't +do better. It was a rich territory, and required careful mining; even as +the week had gone, he still had more money in his wallet than he had +expected. + +But there had to be still more before night. + +He was lucky; he came on a pusher working one of the better houses--long +after his collections should have been over. He knew by the man's face +that 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 the +enforced part of Mars' laws was apparently honest, in his eyes. He +nodded, 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 have +some of that for myself!" + +Gordon grimaced. He couldn't work up any great sympathy for anyone who +made a living out of drugs. + +They cleaned the pusher, and left him sitting on the steps, a picture of +slumped misery. Izzy nodded approval. "Let him feel it a while. No sense +jailing him yet. Bloody fool had no business starting without lining the +groove. Anyhow, we'll get a bunch of credits for the stuff when we turn +it in." + +"Credits?" Gordon asked. + +"Sure." Izzy patted the little package. "We get a quarter value. Captain +probably gets fifty per cent from one of the pushers who's lined with +him. 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 to +find how much it had been cut. He issued them slips, which they added as +part of the contributions. "Good work--you, too, Gordon. Best week in +the territory for a couple of months. I guess the citizens like you, the +way they treat you." He laughed at his stale joke, and Gordon was +willing to laugh with him. The credit on the dope had paid for most of +the contributions. For once, he had money to show for the week. + +Then Trench motioned Bruce Gordon forward, and dismissed Izzy with a nod +of his head. "Something to discuss, Gordon. Isaacs, we're holding a +little 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 good +men, but.... Oh, bother the soft soap. We're still short on election +funds, so there's a raffle. The two men holding winning tickets get +bucked up to sergeants. A hundred credits a ticket. How many?" + +He frowned suddenly as Gordon counted out three bills. "You have a +better 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 was +another 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 the +meeting? Isaacs can brief you, later. Go out and get drunk, or +something." + +The comparative friendliness of the peace offering was probably the +ultimate in graciousness from Trench. Idly, Gordon wondered what kind of +pressures the captains were under; it must be pretty stiff, judging by +the relief the man was showing at making quota. + +"Thanks," he said, but his voice was bitter in his ears. "I'll go home +and rest. Drinking costs too much for what I make. It's a good thing you +don't have income tax here." + +"We do," Trench said flatly; "forty per cent. Better make out a form +next week, and start paying it regularly. But you can deduct your +contributions 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 sounds +first. Under the huge dome that enclosed the main part of the city, the +heavier air pressure permitted normal travel of sound; and he'd become +sensitive to the voice of the city after the relative quiet of the +Nineteenth Precinct. But now the normal noise was different. There was +an undertone of hushed waiting, with the sharp bursts of hammering and +last-minute work standing out sharply through it. Voting booths were +being finished here and there, and at one a small truck was delivering +ballots. Voting by machine had never been established here. Wherever the +booths were being thrown up, the nearby establishments were rushing +gates and barricades in front of the buildings. + +Most of the shops were already closed--even some of the saloons. To make +up for it, stands were being placed along the streets, carrying banners +that proclaimed free beer for all loyal administration friends. The few +bars that were still open had been blessed with the sign of some mob, +and obviously were well staffed with hoodlums ready to protect the +proprietor. Private houses were boarded up. The scattering of +last-minute shoppers along the streets showed that most of the citizens +were laying in supplies to last until after election. + +Gordon passed the First Marsport Bank and saw that it was surrounded by +barbed wires, with other strands still being strung, and with a sign +proclaiming that there was high voltage in the wires. Watching the +operation was Jurgens; it was obvious that his hoodlums had been hired +for the job. + +Toward the edge of the dome, where Mother Corey's place was, the +narrower streets were filling with the gangs, already half-drunk and +marching about with their banners and printed signs. Curiously enough, +all the gangs weren't working for Wayne's re-election. The big Star +Point gang had apparently grown tired of the increasing cost of +protection from the government, and was actively campaigning for Nolan. +Their home territory reached nearly to Mother Corey's, before it ran +into 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 plant +and through the yard where their trucks were parked. He had half +expected to find it barricaded, but apparently the rumors that Nick the +Croop owned it were true; it would be protected in other ways, with the +trucks used for street fighting, if needed. He threaded his way between +two of the trucks. + +Then a yell reached his ears, and something swished at him. An egg-sized +rock hit the truck behind him and bounced back, just as he spotted a +hoodlum drawing back a sling for a second shot. + +Gordon was on his knees between heartbeats, darting under one of the +trucks. He rolled to his feet, letting out a yell of his own, and +plunged forward. His fist hit the thug in the elbow, just as the man's +hand reached for his knife. His other hand chopped around, and the edge +of his palm connected with the other's nose. Cartilage crunched, and a +shrill cry of agony lanced out. + +But the hoodlum wasn't alone. Another came out from the rear of one of +the trucks. Gordon ducked as a knife sailed for his head; they were +stupid enough not to aim for his stomach, at least. He bent down to +locate some of the rubble on the ground, cursing his folly in carrying +his knife under his uniform. The new beat had given him a false sense of +security. + +He found a couple of rocks and a bottle and let them fly, then bent for +more. + +Something landed on his back, and fingernails were gouging into his +face, searching for his eyes! + +Instinct carried him forward, jerking down sharply and twisting. The +figure on his back sailed over his head, to land with a harsh thump on +the ground. Brassy yellow hair spilled over a girl's face, and her +breath slammed out of her throat as she hit. But the fall hadn't been +enough to do serious damage. + +Bruce Gordon jumped forward, bringing his foot up in a savage swing, but +she'd rolled, and the blow only glanced against her ribs. She jerked her +hand down for a knife, and came to her knees, her lips drawn back +against her teeth. "Get him!" she yelled. Then he recognized her--Sheila +Corey. + +The two thugs had held back, but now they began edging in. Gordon +slipped back behind another truck, listening for the sound of their +feet. He'd half-expected another encounter with the Mother's +granddaughter. + +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 apparently +paying no attention to him. But now she jerked to her feet, her hand +going back and forward. + +It was a six-inch section of pipe, with a thin wisp of smoke, and the +throw was toward Gordon's feet. The hoodlums yelled, and ducked, while +Sheila 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. He +spat savagely into his hand, and jumped for the bomb. If the fuse was +powder-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 her +helpers, and swung them with her. The three came back, Sheila in the +lead with her knife flashing. + +Gordon side-stepped her rush, and met the other two head-on, his knife +swinging back. His foot hit some of the rubble on the ground at the last +second, and he skidded. The leading mobster saw the chance and jumped +for him. Gordon bent his head sharply, and dropped, falling onto his +shoulders and somersaulting over. He twisted at the last second, jerking +his arms down to come up facing the other. + +Then a new voice cut into the fracas, and there was the sound of +something landing against a skull with a hollow thud. Gordon got his +head up just in time to see a man in police uniform kick aside the first +hoodlum and lunge for the other. There was a confused flurry; then the +second went up into the air and came down in the newcomer's hands, to +land with a sickening jar and lie still. Behind, Sheila Corey lay +crumpled in a heap, clutching one wrist in the other hand and crying +silently. + +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 the +street, she could lose herself in the swarm of Nick's Croopsters; Gordon +turned back. + +The iron-gray hair caught his eyes first. Then, as the solidly built +figure turned, he grunted. It was Captain Murdoch--now dressed in the +uniform of a regular beat cop, without even a corporal's stripes. And +the 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 one +and slammed the door shut, locking it with the metal bar which had +apparently been his weapon. Then he grinned wryly, and came back toward +Gordon. + +"You seem to have friends here," he commented. "A good thing I was +trying to catch up with you. Just missed you at the Precinct House, came +after you, and saw you turn in here. Then I heard the rumpus. A good +thing 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 sewed +up, and they're throwing the book at me. The old laws make me a citizen +while I wear the uniform--and a citizen can't quit the Force. That puts +me out of Earth's jurisdiction. I can't even cable for funds, and I +guess I'm too old to start squeezing money out of citizens. I was coming +to ask whether you had room in your diggings for a guest--and I'm hoping +now that my part here cinches it." + +Murdoch had tried to treat it lightly, but Gordon saw the red creeping +up into the man's face. "Forget that part. There's room enough for two +in my place--and I guess Mother Corey won't mind. I'm damned glad you +were 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 back +to 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 been +going out nights to help the citizens organize against the Stonewall +gang. But that's over now--they gave me hell for inciting vigilante +action, and confined me inside the dome. The way they hate a decent cop +here, you'd think honesty was contagious." + +"Yeah." Gordon preferred to let it drop. Murdoch was being given the +business for going too far on the Stonewall gang, not for refusing to +take 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 of +efforts to protect it against the coming night and day. The entrance was +unprotected. Then his eyes caught the bright chalk marks around +it--notices to the gangs to keep hands off. Mother Corey evidently had +pull 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 clump +watching the beginning excitement. Then, as they identified Gordon, they +moved back again. Some of the Mother's old lodgers from the ruin outside +the dome were inside now--obviously posted where it would do the most +good. + +Corey stuck his head out of the door at the back of the hall as Gordon +entered, and started to retire again--until he spotted Murdoch. Gordon +explained the situation hastily. + +"It's your room, cobber," the old man wheezed. He waddled back, to come +out with a towel and key, which he handed to Murdoch. "Number +forty-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 the +spaceport, 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 of +the neighborhood. He still called me 'sir,' when my boy was walking +across 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 wheezing +heavily. Gordon chuckled. "Well, how--?" + +Something banged heavily against the entrance seal, and there was the +sound of a hot argument, followed by a commotion of some sort. Corey +seemed to prick up his ears, and began to waddle rapidly toward the +entrance. + +It broke open before he could reach it, the seal snapping back to show a +giant of a man outside holding the two guards from across the street, +while a scar-faced, dark man shoved through briskly. Corey snapped out a +quick word, and the two guards ceased struggling and started back across +the street. The giant pushed in after the smaller thug. + +"I'm from the Ajax Householders Protection Group," the dark man +announced 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 entirely +missing from his voice now, though his face seemed as expressionless as +ever. "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 he +shrugged. "Okay, Fatty. So Jurgens is behind it. So now you know. And +I'm doubling your assessment, right now. To you, it's--" + +A heavy hand fell on the man's shoulder, and Mother Corey leaned forward +slightly. Even in Mars' gravity, his bulk made the other buckle at the +knees. The hand that had been reaching for the knife yanked the weapon +out and brought it up sharply. + +Gordon started to step in, then, but there was no time. Mother Corey's +free hand came around in an open-palmed slap that lifted the collector +up from the floor and sent him reeling back against a wall. The knife +fell from the crook's hand, and the dark face turned pale. He sagged +down the wall, limply. + +The giant opened his mouth, and took half a step forward; but the only +sound he made was a choking gobble. Mother Corey moved without seeming +haste, but before the other could make up his mind. There was a series +of motions that seemed to have no pattern. The giant was spun around, +somehow; one arm was jerked back behind him, then the other was forced +up to it. Mother Corey held the wrists in one hand, put his other under +the giant's crotch, and lifted. Carrying the big figure off the floor, +the old man moved toward the seal. His foot found the button, snapping +the entrance open. He pitched the giant out overhanded; holding the +entrance, he reached for the dark man with one hand and tossed him on +top of the giant. + +"To me, it's nothing," he called out. "Take these two back to young +Jurgens, boys, and tell him to keep his punks out of my house." + +The entrance snapped shut then, and Corey turned back to Gordon, wiping +the 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 I +was going to say, cobber," he said, "we've got a little social game +going upstairs--the room with the window. Fine view of the parades. We +need a fourth." + +Gordon started to protest that he was tired and needed his sleep; then +he shrugged. Corey's house was one of the few that had kept some +relation to Earth styles by installing a couple of windows in the second +story, and it would give a perfect view of the street. He followed the +old man up the stairs. + + * * * * * + +Two other men were already in the surprisingly well-furnished room, at +the little table set up near the window. Bruce Gordon recognized one as +Randolph, the publisher of the little opposition paper. The man's pale +blondness, weak eyes, and generally rabbity expression totally belied +the courage that had permitted him to keep going at his hopeless task of +trying to clean up Marsport. The _Crusader_ was strictly a one-man +weekly, against Mayor Wayne's _Chronicle_, with its Earth-comics and +daily circulation of over a hundred thousand. Wayne apparently let the +paper stay in business to give himself a talking point about fair play; +but Randolph walked with a limp from the last working over he had +received. + +"Hi, Gordon," he said. His thin, high voice was cool and reserved, in +keeping with the opinion he had expressed publicly of the police as a +body. But he did not protest Corey's selection of a partner. "This is Ed +Praeger. He's an engineer on our railroad." + +Gordon acknowledged the introduction automatically. He'd almost +forgotten 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 really +is a surrounding countryside," he said. + +Praeger nodded. He was a big, open-faced man, just turning bald. His +handshake was firm and friendly. "There are even cities out there, +Gordon. Nothing like Marsport, but that's no loss. That's where the real +population of Mars is--decent people, men who are going to turn this +into a real planet some day." + +"There are plenty like that here, too," Randolph said. He picked up the +cards. "First ace deals. Damn it, Mother, sit down-wind from me, won't +you? 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," he +said, and there was only amusement in his voice. "I got me in fifty +gallons of water today, and tomorrow I do just that. Made up my mind +there was going to be a cleanup in Marsport, even if Wayne does win. And +stop examining the cards, Bruce. I don't cheat my friends. The readers +are 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 at +least nine honest men to support a crook. They come up here to start +over--maybe spent half their life saving up for the trip. They hear a +man can make fifty credits a day in the factories, or strike it rich +crop prospecting. What they don't realize is that things cost ten times +as much here, too. They plan, maybe, on getting rich and going back to +Earth...." + +"Nobody goes back," Mother Corey wheezed. "_I_ know." His eyes rested on +Gordon. + +"A lot don't want to," Praeger said. "I never meant to go back. I've got +me a farm up north. Another ten years, and I retire to it. My kids are +up there now--grandkids, that is. They're Martians; maybe you won't +believe me, but they can breathe the air here without a helmet." + +The others nodded. Gordon had learned that a fair number of +third-generation people got that way. Their chests were only a trifle +larger, and their heartbeat only a few points higher; it was an internal +adaptation, like the one that had occurred in test animals reared at a +simulated forty-thousand-feet altitude on Earth, before Mars was ever +settled. + +"They'll take the planet away from Earth yet," Randolph agreed. +"Marsport is strictly artificial. It's kept going only because it's the +only place where Earth will set down her ships. If Security doesn't do +anything, time will." + +"Security!" Gordon muttered bitterly. Security was good at getting +people in trouble, but he had seen no other sign of it. + +Randolph frowned over his cards. "Yeah, I know. The government set them +up, gave them a mixture of powers, and has been trying to keep them from +working ever since. But somehow they did clean up Venus; and every crook +here is scared to death of the name. How come a muckraking newspaperman +like you never turned up anything on them, Gordon?" + +Gordon shrugged. It was the first reference he'd heard to his +background, and he preferred to let it drop. + +But Mother Corey cut in, his voice older and hoarser, and the skin on +his jowls even grayer than usual. "Don't sell them short, cobber. I +did--once.... You forget them, here, after a while. But they're +around...." + +Bruce Gordon felt something run down his armpit, and a chill creep up +his back.... + +Out on the street, a sudden whooping began, and he glanced down. The +parade was on, the Croopsters in full swing, already mostly drunk. The +main body went down the street, waving fluorescent signs, while +side-guards preceded them, armed with axes, knocking aside the flimsier +barricades as they went. He watched a group break into a small grocery +store to come out with bundles. They dragged out the storekeeper, his +wife, and young daughter, and pressed them into the middle of the +parade. + +"If Security's so damned powerful, why doesn't it stop that?" he asked +bitterly. + +Randolph grinned at him. "They might do it, Gordon. They just might. But +are 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 behind +the main one. There were a fair number of plain citizens who had been +impressed into it, too, judging by the appearance of little frightened +groups in the middle of the mobsters. + +Gordon couldn't understand why the police hadn't at least been kept on +duty, until Honest Izzy came into the room. The little man found a chair +and bought chips silently; he looked tired. + +"Vacation?" Mother Corey asked. + +Izzy nodded. "Trench took forever giving it to us, Mother. But it's the +same 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 wear +civvies when we go out to vote for Wayne." + +Gordon looked down at the rioters, who were now only keeping up a +pretense of a parade. It would be worse tomorrow, he supposed; and there +would be no cops. The image of the old woman and her husband in the +little liquor store where he'd had his first experience came back to +him. He wondered how well barricaded they were. + +He felt the curious eyes of Mother Corey dancing from him to Izzy and +back, and heard the old man's chuckle. "Put a uniform on some men and +they begin to believe they're cops, eh, cobber?" + +He shoved up from the table abruptly and headed for his room, swearing +to himself. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +VOTE EARLY AND OFTEN + + +Izzy was up first the next morning, urging them to hurry before things +began to hum. From somewhere, he dug up a suit of clothes that Murdoch +could wear. He found the gun that Gordon had confiscated from O'Neill +and filled it from a box of ammunition he'd apparently purchased. + +"I picked up some special permits," he said. "I knew you had this +cannon, gov'nor, and I figured it'd come in handy. Wouldn't be caught +dead with one myself. Knives, that's my specialty. Come on, Cap'n, we +gotta 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 the +honor system fixed for us. Show your papers and go into any booth in +your 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 to +observe, but I wouldn't make any choice between Wayne and Nolan." + +Downstairs, the rear room was locked, with one of Mother Corey's guards +at the door. From inside came the rare sound of water splashing, mixed +with a wheezing, off-key caterwauling. Mother Corey was apparently +making good on his promise to take a bath. As they reached the hall, one +of Trench's lieutenants came through the entrance, waving his badge at +the 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. Bruce +Gordon looked at the debacle left behind the drunken, looting mob. Most +of the barricades were down. Here and there, a few citizens were rushing +about trying to restore them, keeping wary eyes on the mobsters who had +passed 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 top +speed. But now the quietness had been broken. There were trucks coming +out of the plastics plant, and mobsters were gathering up their drunks, +and chasing the citizens back into their houses. Some of them were +wearing the forbidden guns, but it wouldn't matter on a day when no +police were on duty. + +In the Ninth Precinct, the Planters were the biggest gang, and all the +others were temporarily enrolled under them. Here, there were less signs +of trouble. The joints had been better barricaded, and the looting had +been 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 out +of--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 moving +efficiently. They were grouped around the booths, and they had begun to +line up their men, putting them in position to begin voting at once. + +Then the siren hooted again, a long, steady blast. The bunting in front +of the booths was pulled off, and the lines began to move. Izzy led the +way to the one at the rich end of their beat, and moved toward the head +of the line. "Cops," he said to the six mobsters who surrounded the +booth. "We got territory to cover." + +A thumb indicated that they could go in. Murdoch remained outside, and +one of the thugs reached for him. Izzy cut him off. "Just a friend on +the way to his own route. Eleventh Precinct." + +There were scowls, but they let it go. Then Gordon was in the little +booth. It seemed to be in order. There were the books of registration, +with a checker for Wayne, one for Nolan, and a third, supposedly +neutral, behind the plank that served as a desk. The Nolan man was +protesting. + +"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," the +Wayne 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's +registered, so he votes." + +The next man Gordon recognized as being from one of the small shops on +his beat. The fellow's eyes were desperate, but he was forcing himself +to go through with it. "Murtagh," he said, and his voice broke on the +second 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 Nolan +checker's finger toward the line in the book. "When a man can't get the +name 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 the +surprise in his eyes indicated that this was all new to him. + +Bruce Gordon came next, showing his badge. He was passed with a nod, and +headed for the little closed-off polling place. But the Wayne man +touched his arm and indicated a ballot. There were two piles, and this +pile was already filled out for Wayne. "Saves trouble, unless you want +to do it yourself," he suggested. + +Gordon shrugged, and shoved it into the slot. He went outside and waited +for Izzy to follow. It was raw beyond anything he'd expected--but at +least it saved any doubt about the votes. + +The procedure was the same at the next booth, though they had more +trouble. The Nolan man there was a fool--neither green nor agreeable. He +protested 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 unanimous +vote, at that rate. Izzy shook his head. "Wayne'll win, but not that +easy. The sticks don't have strong mobs, and they'll pile up a heavy +Nolan 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 careening +around a corner. Men began piling out of the back before it stopped--men +armed with clubs and stones. They were in the middle of the Planters at +once, striking without science, but with ferocity. The line waiting to +vote broke up, but the citizens had apparently organized with care. A +good 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, the +citizens broke; then a wave of fury seemed to wash over them at the +needless risk to the safety of all. The horror of rupturing the dome was +strongly ingrained in every citizen of Marsport. They drew back, then +made a concerted rush. There was a trample of bodies, but no more shots. + +In a minute, the citizens' group was inside, ripping the fixed ballots +to shreds, filling out and dropping their own. They ignored the +registration clerks. + +A whistle had been shrilling for minutes. Now another group came onto +the scene, and the Planters' men began getting out rapidly. Some of the +citizens looked up and yelled, but it was too late. From the approaching +cars, pipes projected forward. Streams of liquid jetted out, and their +agonized cries followed. + +Even where he stood, Gordon could smell the fumes of ammonia. Izzy's +face 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 out +the booth, driving the last struggling citizens away, and getting ready +for business as usual. + +Murdoch turned on his heel. "I've had enough. I've made up my mind," he +said. "The cable offices must be open for the doctored reports on the +election to Earth. Where's the nearest?" + +Izzy frowned, but supplied the information. Bruce Gordon pulled Murdoch +aside. "Come off the head-cop role; it won't work. They must have had +reports 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, before +worse happens. I've still got connections back there--" + +"Okay," Gordon said bitterly. He'd liked Asa Murdoch, had begun to +respect him. It hurt to see that what he'd considered hardheadedness was +just another case of a fool fighting dragons with a paper sword. + +"Okay, it's your death certificate," he said, and turned back toward +Izzy. "Go send your sob stories, Murdoch." + +They taught a bunch of pretty maxims in school--even slum kids learned +that honesty was the best policy, while their honest parents rotted in +unheated holes, and the racketeers rode around in fancy cars. It had got +him once. He'd refused to take a dive as a boxer; he'd tried to play +honest cards; he'd tried honesty on his beat back on Earth. He'd tried +to 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 to +vote. They been paying me off--and that's a retainer, you might say. Now +this gang tries to poison them. I'm still running an honest beat, and I +bloody well can't vote for that! Uniform or no uniform, I'm walking beat +today. And the first gee that gives trouble to the men who pay me gets a +knife 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 little +man. Then he grimaced. Rule books! Even Izzy had one. + +He went down the row, voting regularly. The Planters had things in +order. The mess had already been cleaned up when he arrived at the +cheaper end of the beat. It was the last place where he'd be expected to +do 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 only +two places in front of him. "Mrs. Mary Edelstein," she was saying. The +Wayne man nodded, and there was no protest. She picked up a Wayne +ballot, 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 the +back of his neck prickled. + +He started out of the crowd, trying to act normal, but glancing down to +make sure the gun was in its proper position. Satisfied, he wheeled +suddenly 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 those +standing near. The eyes had centered on the alleys along the street, and +men were beginning to run wildly, while others were jerking out their +weapons. He saw a big gray car coming up the street; on its side was +painted the colors of the Planters. Now it swerved, hitting a siren +button. + +But it was too late. Trucks shot out of the little alleys, jamming +forward through the people; there must have been fifty of them. One hit +the big gray car, tossing it aside. It was Trench himself who leaped +out, together with the driver. The trucks paid no attention, but bore +down 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 others +had tried that, but most were darting back as they saw the colors of +Nolan's Star Point gang on the trucks. + +Other guns began firing; men were leaping from the trucks and pouring +into the mob of Planters, forcing their way toward the booth in the +center of the mess. + +It was a beautifully timed surprise attack, and a well-armed one, even +though guns were supposed to be so rare here. Gordon stumbled into +someone ahead of him, and saw it was Trench. He looked up, and straight +into the swinging muzzle of the machine gun that had started the +commotion. + +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, and +pulled the trigger. The man behind the machine gun dropped. + +Trench had his gun out now, and was firing, after a single surprised +glance at Gordon. He waved back toward the crowd. + +But Gordon had spotted the open trunk of the gray car. He shook his head +and tried to indicate it. Trench jerked his thumb and leaped to his +feet, 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 luggage +compartment, 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 cold +went away, to be replaced by shock. Between his spread knees lay +Murdoch, bound and gagged, his face a bloody mess. + +Gordon reached for the gag, but the other held up his hands and pointed +to the gun. It made sense. The knots were tight, but Gordon managed to +get his knife under the rope around Murdoch's wrists and slice through +it. The older man's hands went out for the gun; his eyes swung toward +the street, while Gordon attacked the rope around his ankles. + +The Star Point men were winning, though it was tough going. They had +fought their way almost to the booth, but there a V of Planters' cars +had been gotten into position somehow, and gunfire was coming from +behind 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 view +again, waving a rag over his head and yelling. Captain Trench followed +him out, and began pointing toward the gray car. + +"They want me," Murdoch gasped thickly. "Get out, Gordon, before they +gang up on us!" + +Gordon jerked his eyes back toward the alley on the other side. It went +at an angle and would offer some protection. + +He looked back, just as bullets began to land against the metal of the +car. Murdoch held up one finger and put himself into a position to make +a run for it. Then he brought the finger down sharply, and the two +leaped 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 five +heart-ripping leaps and was around the bend. Then he swung, just as +Murdoch made it. Bullets spatted against the walls, and he saw blood +pumping from under Murdoch's right shoulder. + +"Keep going!" Murdoch ordered. + +A fresh cry from the street cut into his order, however. Gordon risked a +quick look, then stepped farther out to make sure. + +The surprise raid by the Star Pointers hadn't been quite as much of a +surprise as expected. Coming down the street, with no regard for men +trying to get out of their way, the trucks of the Croopsters were +battering aside the few who could not reach safety. There were no +machine guns this time. + +They smacked into the tangle of Star Point trucks, and came to a +grinding halt, men piling out ready for battle. Gordon nodded. In a few +minutes, Wayne's supporters would have the booth again; there'd be a +delay before any organized search could be made for the fugitives. He +looked 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 can +talk--and be damned to this. Gordon, I've got to talk--but I don't have +to live. I mean that!" + +Gordon started off, disregarding the words; a place of safety had to +come first. He picked his way down alleys and small streets. The older +man 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'd +missed the way, until he saw the drugstore. Now it all fell into +place--the first beat he'd had with Izzy. + +He ducked down back alleys until he reached the right section. He +scanned the street, jumped to the door of the little liquor store and +began banging on it. There was no answer, though he was sure the old +couple 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 identify +himself; he could only hope she would look. + +The entrance seal opened briefly; then it flashed open all the way. He +motioned 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 the +seal. Then she brushed the thin hair off her face, and pointed. Gordon +followed her up the stairs, carrying Murdoch on his back. She opened a +door, passed through a tiny kitchen, and threw open another door to a +bedroom. + +The old man lay on the bed, and this time there was no question of +concussion. 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 own +hands, 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 floor +with a strength that seemed impossible. Then her hands were gentle as +she helped lower Murdoch where the corpse had been. "I'll get alcohol +from below--and bandages and hot water." + +Asa Murdoch opened his eyes, breathing stertoriously. His face was +blanched, his clothes a mess. But he protested as Gordon tried to strip +them. "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 about +Security. Well, I'm Security. Top level--policy for Mars. We never got a +top man here without his being discovered and killed--That's why we've +had to work under all the cover--and against our own government. Nobody +knew I was here--Trench was our man--Sold us out! We've got junior +men--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 it +somewhere. That's why we rate you higher than you think you are. That's +why 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 nobody +came, nobody called...." + +She went back to trying to bandage the bleeding bluish hole in his +chest. Murdoch nodded faintly. + +"Probably what happened to a lot--men like Trench, supposed to build an +organization, just leaving the loose ends hanging." He groaned; sweat +popped out on his forehead, but his eyes never left Gordon's. "Hell's +going to pop. The government's just waiting to step in; Earth _wants_ to +take over." + +"It should," Gordon said. + +"No! We've studied these things. Mars won't give up--and Earth wants a +plum, not responsibility. You'll have civil war and the whole planetary +development ruined. Security's the only hope, Gordon--the only chance +Mars had, has, or will have! Believe me, I know. Security has to be +notified. There's a code message I had ready--a message to a +friend--even you can send it. And they'll be watching. I've got the +basic plans in the book here." + +He slumped back. Gordon frowned, then found the book and pulled it out +as gently as he could. It was a small black memo book, covered with +pages of shorthand. The back was an address book, filled with +names--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 plans +there. You'll need the brains and knowledge of the others--but they +can't act. You can--we know about you." + +The old woman sighed. She put down the hot water and picked up the +bottle of brandy, starting down the stairs. + +"Gordon!" Murdoch said faintly. + +He turned to put his head down. From the stairs, a sudden cry and thump +sounded, and something hit the floor. Gordon jumped toward the sound, to +find the old lady bending over the inert figure of Sheila Corey. + +"I heard someone," the woman said. She stared at the brandy bottle +sickly. "_Gott in Himmel_, look at me. Am I a killer, too, that I should +strike a young and beautiful girl. She comes into my house, and I sneak +behind her ... It is an evil time, young man. Here, you carry her +inside. 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 was +no way of knowing how much she'd heard, or whether she'd tipped others +off. He dropped her near the bed, and went over to Murdoch. The man was +dying now. + +"So Security wants me to contact the others in the book and organize +things?" + +"Yes." Murdoch swallowed. "Not a good chance, then--but a chance. Still +time--I think. Gordon?" + +"What else can I do?" Bruce Gordon asked. + +He knew it was no answer, but Asa Murdoch apparently accepted it as a +promise. The gray-speckled head relaxed and rolled sideways on the +bloody 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 from +the floor with a single push of her arm. She pivoted on her heel, hit +the door, and her heels were clattering on the stairs. Before Gordon +could reach the entrance, she was whipping around into an alley. + +He watched her go, sick inside, and the last he saw was the hand she +held 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 failed +Pappa; I failed the poor man who died--and now I have failed you. It is +better..." + +He caught her as she fell toward him. She relaxed after a second. +"Upstairs, please," she whispered, "beside Pappa. There was nothing +else. And these Martian poisons--they are so sure, they don't hurt. Five +minutes more, I think. Stay with me, I'll tell you how Pappa and I got +married. 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 floor +onto the bed where he had first seen the old man. He moved Murdoch's +body aside, and covered the two gently. Finally, he went down the +stairs, 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 old +couple. + +He stopped finally ten blocks of narrow alleys away, and put Murdoch +down. + +Now he had no witnesses, except Sheila Corey. He had no book, no clues +as to whom to see and what to do. + +He heard the sound of a mobile amplifier, and strained his ears toward +it. He got enough to know that Wayne had won a thumping victory, better +than 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 only +boarded-up and darkened buildings. There were sounds of stirring, but no +one was trusting that the election-day brawls were completely ended yet. + +Gordon hesitated, then swung glumly toward a corner where he could find +a police call box. He heard a tiny patrol car turn the corner and ducked +back into another alley to wait for it to go by. But they weren't +looking for him. Their spotlight caught a running boy, clutching a few +thin copies of the _Crusader_ under a scrawny arm. + +After the cops had dumped the unconscious kid into the back of the small +squad car, and gone looking for more game, Gordon went over to look at +the tattered scraps left of the opposition paper. + +Randolph wasn't preaching this time, but was content to report the facts +he'd seen. There had been at least ninety known killings; mobs had +fought citizens outside the main market for three hours. + +Yet in spite of all the ballot-stuffing and intimidations, Wayne had +barely squeaked through, by a four per cent majority. It was obvious +that 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 of +hasty switching. In less than fifteen seconds, Trench's voice barked out +of the phone. "Gordon? Where the hell you been?" + +"Up an alley between McCutcheon and Miles," Gordon told him. "With a +corpse. Murdoch's corpse. Better send out the wagon." + +Trench hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Okay, _I'll_ be out in +ten minutes." + +Gordon clumped back to the alley and bent for a final inspection of +Murdoch's body, to make sure nothing would prove the flaws in his weakly +built story. + +Isaiah Trench was better than his word. He swung his gray car up to the +alley in seven minutes. + +The door slammed behind him, a beam snapped out from his flashlight into +the alley, and then he was beside Murdoch's body. He threw the light to +Gordon and stooped to run expert hands over the corpse and through the +pockets. + +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 he +was--" + +"Security?" Gordon filled in. "Yeah. Claimed he was head of it here, and +wanted 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 ... By +the way, thanks for killing that sniper. You're a good shot. I'd be dead +if you weren't, I guess." + +Gordon made no comment, and Trench said, "I could start a nasty +investigation, I guess. But I heard him raving, too. Give me a hand, and +I'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 to +relax while Trench drove along the rubble-piled and nearly deserted +streets. Gordon heard a sigh from beside him; Trench must have been +under 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 the +way. I forgot to tell you, but you won the lottery. You're a sergeant +from now on." + + * * * * * + +Inside, a thick effluvium hit his nose, and Gordon turned to see Mother +Corey's huge bulk waddling down the hall. The old man nodded. "We +thought you'd gone on the lam, cobber. But I guess, since Trench brought +you back, you've cooled. Good, good. As a respectable man now, I +couldn't have stashed you from the cops--though I might have been +tempted--mighty tempted." His face was melancholy. "Tell me, lad, did +they get Murdoch?" + +Bruce Gordon nodded, and the old man sighed. Something suspiciously like +a 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 the +tub. Fifty gallons of water, all wasted!" + +He turned back toward the end of the hall, sighing again. Gordon went up +the stairs, noticing that Izzy's door was open. The little man was +stretched out on the bunk in his clothes, filthy; one side of his face +swollen. + +"Hi, gov'nor," he called out, his voice still cheerful. "I had odds +you'd beat the ticket, though the Mother and me were worried there for a +while. How'd you grease the fix?" + +Gordon sketched it in, without mentioning Security. "What happened to +you, Izzy?" + +"Price of being honest. But the gees who paid me protection didn't get +hurt, gov'nor." He winced, then grinned. "So they pay double tomorrow. +Honesty pays, gov'nor, if you squeeze it once in a while ... Funny, you +making sergeant; I thought two other gees won the lottery." + +So the promotion _had_ come from Trench! It bothered him. When a turkey +sees 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 since +he'd landed here. + +He had become almost superstitious about the way he was always left with +no more than a hundred credits in his pockets. This time, he stripped +himself to that sum at once, depositing the rest in the First Marsport +Bank. Maybe it would break the jinx. + +They were one of the few teams in the Seventh Precinct to make full +quota. Trench was lavish in his praise. He was playing more than fair +with 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. I +need two men who can keep their mouths shut." + +They idled around the station through the morning. In the late +afternoon, they left in a big truck capable of hauling what would have +been fifty tons on Earth. Trench drove. Outside the dome, the electric +motor carried them along at a steady twenty miles an hour, almost +silently. + +It was Gordon's first look at the real Mars. He saw small villages where +crop prospectors and hydroponic farmers lived, with a few small +industrial sections scattered over the desert. As they moved out, he saw +the slow change from the beaten appearance of Marsport to something that +seemed no worse than would be found among the share-croppers back on +Earth. 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 somehow +learned to adapt to the atmosphere. + +Darkness fell sharply, as it always did in Mars' thin air, but they went +on, heading out into the dunes of the desert. When they finally stopped, +they were beside a small, battered space ship. Boxes were piled all +around it, and others were being tossed out. Trent leaped from the +truck, motioning them to follow, and they began loading the crates +hastily. 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 to +one of the men from the ship, handed over an envelope, and came back to +start 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 elevator +that took them three levels down. Trench climbed out and nodded in +satisfaction. "That's it. Take tomorrow off, if you want, and I'll fix +credit for you. But just remember you haven't seen anything. You don't +know 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 the +administration from Earth. And they must have paid half the graft +they've taken for that. What the hell do they want it for?" + +Izzy jerked a shoulder upwards and a twist ran across his pock-marked +face. "War, what else? Gov'nor, Earth must be boiling about the +election. Maybe Security's getting set to spring." + +The idea of Marsport rebelling against Earth seemed ridiculous. Even +with guns, they wouldn't have a chance if Earth sent a force of any +strength to back Security. But it was the only explanation. + +Gordon took the next day off to look for Sheila Corey, but nobody would +admit having seen her. + +He had seen crowds beginning to assemble all afternoon, but had paid no +attention to them. Now he found the way back to Corey's blocked by a +mob. 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. Gordon +managed 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 with +an improvised battering ram. As he watched, a pompous little man came to +the upper window over the door and began motioning for attention. The +crowd quieted almost at once, except for a single yell. "When do we get +our money?" + +"Please. Please." The voice reached back thinly as the bank president +got his silence. "Please. It won't do you any good. Not a bit. We're +broke. Not a cent left! And don't go blaming me. _I_ didn't start the +rush. Your friends did that. They took all the money, and now we're +cleaned out. You can't--" + +A rope rose from the crowd and settled around him. In a second, he was +pulled down, and the crowd surged forward. + +Gordon dropped from the rubble, staring at the bank. He'd played it safe +this 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, then +everything 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 of +the 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 past +midnight, 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 know +where all the scratch went?" + +"Sure--guns from Earth! The damned fools!" + +"Yeah. But not fools. Just bloody well-informed, gov'nor. Earth's +sending a fleet--got official word of it. No way of telling how big, but +it'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 section +alone, apparently scared off by the organized group ready and waiting +for them. But every street and alley had to be kept under constant +surveillance to drive out the angry, desperate men who were trying to +get something to hang onto before everything collapsed. He saw stores +being broken into, beyond his beat; and brawls as one drunken, crazed +crowd met another. But he kept to his own territory, knowing that there +was 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, beaten +hopelessness. + +Honest Izzy finally seemed satisfied to turn things over to the regular +night men. Gordon waited around a while longer, but finally headed back +to Mother Corey's place. + +Mother Corey put a cup of steaming coffee into his hands. "You look +worse than I do, cobber. Worse than even that granddaughter of mine. She +was looking for you!" + +"Sheila?" Gordon jerked the word out. + +"Yeah. She left a note for you. I put it up in your room." Mother Corey +chuckled. "Why don't you two get married and make your fighting legal?" + +"Thanks for the coffee," Gordon threw back at him. He was already +mounting 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 the +rest of this, you've got until three tonight to make an offer. If you +can find me, maybe I'll listen." + +The torn-off front cover of the notebook accompanied the letter. But it +was a quarter after three already, he was practically broke--and he had +no idea where she could be found. + + + + +Chapter X + +MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE + + +Bruce Gordon jerked the door open to yell for Izzy while he tucked the +bit of notebook cover into his pocket. Then he stopped as something +nibbled at his mind; the odor Gordon had smelled before registered. He +yanked out the bit of notebook and sniffed. It hadn't been close enough +for any length of time to be contaminated by Mother Corey, so the smell +could only come from one place. + +He checked the batteries on his suit and put it on quickly. There was no +point in wearing the helmet inside the dome, but it was better than +trying to rent one at the lockers. He buckled it to a strap. The knife +slid into its sheath, and the gun holster snapped onto the suit. As a +final thought, he picked up the stout locust stick he'd used under +Murdoch. + +There were no cabs outside tonight, of course. The streets were almost +deserted, except for some prowler or desperation-driven drug addict. He +proceeded cautiously, however, realizing that it would be just like +Sheila to ambush him. But he reached the exit from the dome with no +trouble. + +"Special pass to leave at this hour," the guard there reminded him. "Of +course, 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 the +hell out of my way." + +The guard thought it over, and reached for the release. Gordon swung +back as he passed through. "And you'd better be ready to open when I +come back." + +He was in comparative darkness almost at once, and tonight there was no +sign of the lights of patrolling cops. Then three specks of glaring blue +light suddenly appeared in the sky, jerking his eyes up. They were +dropping rapidly. + +Rockets that flamed bright blue--military rockets! Earth was finally +taking a hand! + +He crouched in a hollow that had once been some kind of a basement until +the ships had landed and cut off their jets. Then he stood up, blinking +his 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 was +the old Mother Corey's Chicken Coop showed up against the faint light. + +He moved in cautiously, as silently as he could, and located the +semi-secret entrance to the building without meeting anyone. Once in the +tunnel that led to the building, he felt a little safer. + +He removed his helmet, and strapped it to the back of his suit, out of +the way. The old hall was in worse shape than before. Mother Corey had +run a somewhat orderly place, with constant vigilance; Bruce Gordon +could never have come into the hallway without being seen in the old +days. + +Then a pounding sound came from the second floor, and Gordon drew back +into the denser shadows, staring upwards. A heavy voice picked up the +exchange of shouts. + +"You, Sheila, you come outa there! You come right out or I'm gonna blast +that 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 is +this place--we got use for it. It don't belong to you, anyhow! Come out +now, and we'll let you go peaceful. Or stay in there and we'll blast you +out--in pieces." + +It was the voice of Jurgens' henchman who had called on Mother Corey +before elections. The thick voice must belong to the big ape who'd been +with 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 he +wasn't too worried, if there were only two of them. Then his head +projected above the top step, and he hesitated. Only the rat and the ape +were standing near a heavy, closed door. But four others were lounging +in the background. He lifted his foot to put it back down to a lower +step, just as Sheila's muffled voice shrilled out a fog of profanity. He +grinned, 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 knife +sailed for him, but the aim was poor. Gordon's gun came out. Two of the +men were dropping before the others could reach for their own weapons, +and while the rat-faced man was just turning. The third dropped without +firing, and the fourth's shot went wild. Gordon was firing rapidly, but +not 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 pull +a gun that seemed to be stuck; a scared man's ability to get his gun +stuck 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 body +over one hip. It sailed over the broken railing, to land on the floor +below and crash through the rotten planking. He heard the man hit the +basement, even while he was swinging the club in his hand toward the +rat-faced man. + +There was a thin, high-pitched scream as a collarbone broke. He slumped +onto the floor, and began to try hitching his way down the steps. Gordon +picked up the gun that had fallen out of the holster as the man fell and +put it into his pouch. He considered the two, and decided they would be +no menace. + +"Okay, Sheila," he called out, trying to muffle his voice. "We got them +all." + +"Pie-Face?" Her voice was doubtful. + +He considered what a man out here who went under that name might be +like. "Sure, baby. Open up!" + +"Wait a minute. I've got this nailed shut." There was the sound of an +effort of some kind going on as she talked. "Though I ought to let you +stay out there and rot. Damn it ... uh!" + +The door heaved open then, and she appeared in it; then she saw him, and +her 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, knocking +her aside. His knee caught the outside of her hip as she spun; she fell +over, dropping the gun. + +The two men in the room were both holding knives, but in the ridiculous +overhand position that seems to be an ingrained stupidity of the human +race, until it's taught better. A single flip of his locust club against +their wrists accounted for both of the knives. He grabbed them by the +hair of their heads, then, and brought the two skulls together savagely. + +Sheila lay stretched out on the floor, where her head had apparently +struck against the leg of a bed. Gordon shoved the bodies of the two men +aside and looked down at the wreck of a man who lay on the dirty +blanket. "Hello, O'Neill," he said. + +The former leader of the Stonewall gang stared up at the club swinging +from 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 of +necessity was one thing; but to see the sorry results of it later was +another. "All right," he said. "Just stay there until I get away from +this 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 so +sure about Sheila. He checked the two men on the floor, who were still +out cold. Then he stepped through the door carefully, to make sure that +the big bruiser hadn't come back. + +His ears barely detected the sound Sheila made as she reached for the +knife 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 saw +her momentum carry her over him; she was at the edge of the rail, and +starting to fall. + +He caught her feet in his hands and yanked her back. There was nothing +phony this time as she hit the floor. + +"Just a matter of co-ordination, Cuddles," he told her. "Little girls +shouldn'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 her +up and tossed her back into the room. From the broken mattress on the +bed, 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," he +commented, looking toward the bed where O'Neill was cowering. "It looks +as if your grandfather picks them better for you." + +"You filthy-minded hog! D'you think I'd--I'd--One room in the place with +a decent door, and you can't see why I'd choose that room to keep +Jurgens' devils back. You--You--" + +He'd been searching the room, but there was no sign of the notebook +there. He checked again to see that the wire was tight, and then picked +up the two henchmen who were showing some signs of reviving. + +"I'll watch them," a voice said from the door. Gordon snapped his head +up to see Izzy standing there. He realized he'd been a lot less cautious +than he'd thought. + +Izzy grinned at his confusion. "I got enough out of the Mother to case +the pitch," he said. "I knew I was right when I spotted the apeman +carrying 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 you +bunked 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 saw +that Izzy was right; there was a nearly used-up lipstick, a comb, and a +cracked mirror. There was also a small cloth bag containing a few scraps +of clothes. + +He turned the room upside down, but there was no sign of the notebook or +papers from it. + +He located her helmet and carried it down with him. "You're going +bye-bye, Cuddles," he told her. "I'm going to put this on you and then +unfasten your arms and legs. But if you start to so much as wiggle your +big 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 he +unfastened 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 full +daylight, which should have been a signal for the workers to start for +their jobs. But today they were drifting out unhappily, as if already +sure there would be no jobs by nightfall. + +A few stared at Gordon and his burden, but most of them didn't even look +up. The two men trudged along silently. + +"Prisoner," he announced crisply to the guard, but there was no protest +this time. They went through, and he was lucky enough to locate a +broken-down tricycle cab. + +Mother Corey let them in, without flickering an eyelash as he saw his +granddaughter. Bruce Gordon dropped her onto her legs. "Behave +yourself," he warned her as he took off his helmet, and then unfastened +hers. + +Mother Corey chuckled. "Very touching, cobber. You have a way with +women, it seems. Too bad she had to wear a helmet, or you might have +dragged her here by her hair. Ah, well, let's not talk about it here. My +room is more comfortable--and private." + +Inside, Sheila sat woodenly on the little sofa, pretending to see none +of them. Mother Corey looked from one to the other, and then back to +Gordon. "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 can +lock her up--carrying a gun without a permit is reason enough. But I'd +rather 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 myself +at her age, couldn't control my son, and I don't intend to handle a +female 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 the +one 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, except +married 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 her +without any rigmarole?" + +Izzy's face seemed to drop toward the floor. Sheila came up off the +couch with a choking cry and leaped for the door. Mother Corey's immense +arm moved out casually, sweeping her back onto the couch. + +"Very convenient," the old man said. "The two of you simply fill out a +form--I've got a few left from the last time--and get Izzy and me to +witness 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," he +said thoughtfully. "But she'll learn. Izzy, I have a feeling we should +let 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--you +know that better than most people. And I'm up to my neck in it. If I've +got to marry you to keep you out of my hair, I will." + +Her face was pasty-white, but she bent her head, and fluttered her +eyelashes up at him. "So romantic," she sighed. "You sweep me off my +feet. You--Why, you--" + +"Me or Trench! I can take you to him and tell him you're mixed up in +Security, and that you either have papers on you or out at the Chicken +Coop 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 her +eyes. "You'd do it! You really would.... All right; I'll sign your +damned 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 be +hers. There were no windows here, and his own room had an excellent lock +on it already--one he'd put on himself. Izzy came back as Mother Corey +finished the door and began knocking a small panel out of the connecting +door. The old man was surprisingly adept with his hands as he fitted +hinges and a catch to the panel, and re-installed it so that Sheila +could swing it open. + +"They're married," Izzy said. "It's in the mail to the register, along +with 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 Mother +Corey for the materials and work. He jerked his head and the two men +went 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 the +connecting 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 went +up to them, and nobody came from them; surprisingly, Wayne had found the +courage to ignore them. But rumors were circulating wildly. Bruce Gordon +felt his nerves creeping out of his skin and beginning to stand on end +to test each breeze for danger. + +With the credit they'd accumulated in the fund, nearly all their +collection was theirs. Gordon went out to do some shopping. He stopped +when his money was down to a hundred credits, hardly realizing what he +was doing. When he went out, the street was going crazy. + +Izzy had been waiting, and filled him in. At exactly sundown, the rocket +ships had thrown down ramps, and a stream of jeeps had ridden down them +and toward the south entrance to the dome. They had presented some sort +of paper and forced the guard to let them through. There were about two +hundred men, some of them armed. They had driven straight to the huge, +barnlike Employment Bureau, had chased out the few people remaining +there, and had simply taken over. Now there was a sign in front which +simply said MARSPORT LEGAL POLICE FORCE HEADQUARTERS. Then the +jeeps had driven back to the rockets, gone on board, and the ships had +taken off. + +Gordon glanced at his watch, finding it hard to believe it could have +been done so quickly. But it was two hours after sundown. + +Now a car with a loudspeaker on top rolled into view--a completely +armored car. It stopped, and the speaker began operating. + +"Citizens of Marsport! In order to protect your interests from the +proven rapacity of the administration here, Earth has revoked the +independent charter of Marsport. The past elections are hereby declared +null and void. Your home world has appointed Marcus Gannett as mayor, +with Philip Crane as chief of police. Other members of the council will +be by appointment until legal elections can be held safely. The +Municipal Police Force is disbanded, and the Legal Police Force is now +being organized. + +"All police and officers who remain loyal to the legal government will +be accepted at their present grade or higher. To those who now leave the +illegal Municipal Force and accept their duty with the Legal Force, +there will be no question of past conduct. Nor will they suffer +financially from the change! + +"Banks will be reopened as rapidly as the Legal Government can extend +its control, and all deposits previously made will be honored in full." + +That brought a cheer from the crowd, as the sound truck moved on. Gordon +saw two of the police officers nearby fingering their badges +thoughtfully. + +Then another truck rolled into view, and the Mayor's canned voice came +over it, panting as if he'd had to rush to make the recording. He began +directly: + +"Martians! Earth has declared war on us. She has denied us our right to +rule ourselves--a right guaranteed in our charter. We admit there have +been abuses; all young civilizations make mistakes. But we've developed +and grown. + +"This is an old pattern, fellow Martians! England tried it on her +colonies three hundred years ago. And the people rose up and demanded +their right to rule themselves. They had troubles with their +governments, too--and they had panics. But they won their freedom, and +it 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 permit +to herself. + +"Well, we don't have an army. But neither do they. They know the people +of 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 us +and use it for their war. + +"Fellow Martians, they aren't going to bribe us into that! Mars has had +enough. I declare us to be in a state of revolution. And since they have +chosen the weapons, I declare our loyal and functioning Municipal Police +Force to be _our_ army. Any man who deserts will be considered a +traitor. But any man who sticks will be rewarded more than he ever +expected. We're going to protect our freedom. + +"Let them open their banks--our banks--again. And when they have +established your accounts, go in and collect the money! If they give it +to you, Mars is that much richer. If they don't, you'll know they're +lying. + +"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 that +Wayne had played his cards well. + +But it didn't make the question of where he belonged, or what he should +do, any easier. He waited until the crowd had thinned out a little and +began heading toward Corey's, with Izzy moving along silently beside +him, carrying half the packages. + +He remembered the promise of forgiveness for all sins on joining the new +Legal Force; but he'd read enough history to know that it was fine--as +long as the struggle continued. Afterwards, promises grew dim.... + +He had no use for the present administration, but Earth had no right to +take over without a formal investigation, and a chance for the people to +state their choice. + +Then he grimaced at himself. He was in no position to move according to +right and wrong. The only question that counted was how he had the best +chance to ride out the storm, and to get back to Earth and a normal +life. + +He was still in a brown study as he took the bundles from Izzy and +dropped them on his bed. Izzy went out, and Gordon stood staring at the +wall. Trench? Or the new Commissioner Crane? If Earth should win--and +they had most of the power, after all--and Bruce Gordon had fought +against Security, the mines of Mercury were waiting. + +He picked up the stuff from his bed and started to sweep it aside before +he lay down. Then he remembered at last; he knocked on the panel, until +it finally opened a crack. + +"Here," he told her. "Food, and some other stuff. There are some refuse +bags, too. Yell when you want them removed." + +She took the bundles woodenly until she came to a plastic can. Then she +gasped. "Water! Two gallons!" + +"There are heat tablets, and a skin tub." The salesgirl had explained +how one gallon was enough in the plastic bag that served as a tub; he +had his doubts. "Detergent. The whole works." + +She hauled the stuff in and started to close the panel. Then she +hesitated. "I suppose I should thank you, but I don't like to be told I +stink so much you can't stand me in the next room!" + +"Hell, I've gotten so I can stand your grandfather," he answered. "It +wasn't that." The panel slammed shut. + + * * * * * + +He still hadn't solved his problem in the morning; out of habit, he put +on his uniform and went across to Izzy's room. But Izzy was already +gone. + +Gordon fished into the pocket of his uniform for paper and a pencil to +leave a note in case Izzy came back. His fingers found the half notebook +cover instead. He drew it out, scowling at it, and started to crumple +it. Then he stopped, staring at the piece of imitation leather and paper +that wouldn't bend. + +His fingers were still stiff as he began tearing off the thin covering +with his knife; the paper backing peeled away easily. + +Under it lay a thin metal plate that glowed faintly even in the dim +light of Izzy's room! Gordon nearly dropped it. He'd seen such an +identification plate once before. + +The printing on it leaped at him: "This will identify the bearer, BRUCE +IRVING GORDON, as a PRIME agent of the Office of Solar Security, +empowered to make and execute any and all directives under the powers of +this office." The printing in capitals was obviously done by hand, but +with the same catalytic "ink" as the rest of the badge. Murdoch must +have prepared it, hidden it in the notebook, then died before the secret +could be revealed. + +A knock sounded from across the hall. Gordon thrust the damning badge as +deep into his pouch as he could cram it and looked out. It was Mother +Corey. + +"You've got a visitor--outside," he announced. "Trench. And I don't like +the stench of that kind of cop in my place. Get him away, cobber, get +him away!" + +Gordon found Trench pacing up and down in front of the house, scowling +up 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 to +have been taken out of his hands. They crossed the street and went down +half 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 to +trust you, Gordon. I've never been sure. But either you're loyal now or +I 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-interest +holding most of the cops loyal to them. They'd been wrong. Legal forces +already controlled about half the city. + +"So?" Gordon asked. He could have told Trench that the fund was +good-enough reason for most police deserting. + +Trench put his coffee down and yelled for more. It was obvious he'd +spent the night without sleep. "So we're going to need men with guts. +Gordon, you had training under Murdoch--who knew his business. And you +aren'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 at +large--and conscript any of the Municipal Force you want, up to a +hundred. Pick out any place you want, train them to handle those damned +Legals the way Murdoch handled the Stonewall boys. In return, the sky's +the limit. Name your own salary, once you've done the job. And no +kickbacks, either!" + +Gordon picked up the badge slowly and buckled it on, while a grim, +satisfied smile spread over Trench's features. The problem seemed to +have been solved. Gordon should have been satisfied, but he felt like +Judas picking up the thirty pieces of silver. He tried to swallow them +with 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 whistle +sounded, and a Municipal cop ran by. "We're in enemy territory," he +said. "The Legals got this precinct last night. Captain Hendrix and some +of his men wanted to come back with full battle equipment and chase them +out. I had a hell of a time getting them to take it easy. I suppose that +was 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 door +and was peering out. Up the narrow little street was rolling a group of +about seventy Municipal police and half a dozen small trucks. The men +were wearing guns. And up the street a man in bright green uniform was +pounding his fist up and down in emphasis as he called in over the +precinct box. + +"The idiot!" Trench grabbed Gordon and spun out, running toward the +advancing men. "We've got to stop this. Get my car--up the street--call +Arliss 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 war +made none at all. Gordon grabbed the phone from under the dash. A sleepy +voice answered to say that Commissioner Arliss and Mayor Wayne were +sleeping. 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 Captain +Hendrix. From the other end of the street, a group of small cars +appeared; and men began piling out, all in shiny green. + +"Who's this?" the phone asked. When Gordon identified himself, there was +a snort of disgust. "Yes, yes, congratulations. Trench was quite right; +you're fully authorized. Did you call me out of bed just to check on +that, young man?" + +"No, I--" Then he hung up. Hendrix had dropped to his knees and fired +before Trench could knock the gun from his hands. + +There was no answering fire. The Legals simply came boiling down the +street, equipped with long pikes with lead-weighted ends. And Hendrix +came charging up, his men straggling behind him. Gordon was squarely in +the middle. He considered staying in Trench's car and letting it roll +past 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 suddenly +gone. His hand snapped down sharply for a rock on the street. The pike +whistled over his head, barely missing, and he was up, squashing the big +stone into the face of the other. He jerked the pike away, kicked the +man in the neck as he fell, and unsheathed his knife with the other +hand. + +Trench was a few feet away. The man might be a louse, but he was also a +fighting machine of first order, still. He'd already captured one of the +pikes. Now he grinned tightly at Gordon and began moving toward him. +Gordon nodded--in a brawl such as this, two working together had a +distinct advantage. + +Then a yell sounded as more Legals poured down the street. One of them +was obviously Izzy, wearing the same green as the others! + +Gordon felt something hit his back, and instinctively fell, soaking up +the blow. He managed to bend his neck and roll, coming to his feet. His +knife slashed upwards, and the Legal fell--almost on top of the Security +badge 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 entrance +to 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 coming +down and tried to duck... + +He was vaguely conscious later of looking up, to see Sheila dragging him +into some entrance, while Trench ran toward them. Sheila and Trench +together--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 out +of his unconsciousness finally. There was the softness of a bed under +him and the bitter aftertaste of Migrainol on his tongue. He tried to +move, but nothing happened. The drug killed pain, but only at the +expense of a temporary paralysis of all voluntary motion. + +There was a sudden withdrawal of the cooling touch on his forehead, and +then hasty steps that went away from him, and the sound of a door +closing. + +Steps sounded from outside; his door opened, and there was the sound of +two 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. Must +be a bloody big false section you've got in that trick mattress of +yours!" + +"Big enough for him and for Trench, Izzy," Mother Corey's wheezing voice +agreed. "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 a +convoy back, our Captain Trench gave me a paper with immunity from the +Municipal Force. Used that, with a bit of my old reputation, to get your +Mayor Gannett to give me the same from the Legals. Gannett didn't want +Mother Corey to think the Municipals were kinder than the Legals, so +you're in the only neutral territory in Marsport. Not that you deserve +it." + +"Lay off, Mother," Izzy said sharply. "I told you I had to do it. I take +care of the side that pays my cut, and the bloody administration pulled +the plug on my beat twice. Only honest thing to do was to join the +Legals." + +"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, I +figured Bruce would do the same. He's a right gee." + +Mother Corey chuckled. "Yeah, when he forgets he's a machine. How about +a game of shanks?" + +The steps moved away; the door closed again. Bruce Gordon got both eyes +open 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. His +fingers, clumsy and uncertain, groped back and forth for a badge that +wasn't there! + +He heard the door open softly, but made no effort to look up. The +reaction from his effort had drained him. + +Fingers touched his head carefully, brushing the hair back delicately +from the side of his skull. Then there was the biting sting of +antiseptic, sharp enough to bring a groan from his lips. Sheila's hair +fell over her face as she bent to replace his bandages. + +Her eyes wandered toward his, and the scissors and bandages on her lap +hit the floor as she jumped to her feet. She turned toward her room, +then hesitated as he grinned crookedly at her. "Hi, Cuddles," he said +flatly. + +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 up +the bandages and to finish with his head. "Are you hungry? There's some +canned soup--I took the money from your pocket. Or coffee..." + +"Coffee." He forced himself up again; Sheila propped the flimsy pillow +behind him, then went into her room to come back with a plastic cup +filled with brown liquid that passed for coffee here. It was loaded with +caffeine, at least. + +"Why'd you come back?" he asked suddenly. "You were anxious enough to +pick 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, my +mistake. But why the change of heart?" + +"Because I needed a meal ticket!" she said harshly. "When I saw that +Legal 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 been +attacking 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 meal +ticket. Right now, I probably have six death warrants out on me, and +about 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'll +support her. Just remember, it was your idea." + +He'd had a lot of ideas, it seemed. "I've got a wife who's holding onto +a 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't +bother 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 grimaced +and turned back to the chair where his uniform still lay. He could stay +here fighting with her, or he could face his troubles on the outside. +The whole thing hinged on Trench; unless Trench had shown the badge to +others, his problem boiled down to a single man. + +Gordon found one tablet of painkiller left in the bottle and swallowed +it with the dregs of the coffee. He made sure his knife was in its +sheath and that the gun at his side was loaded. He found his police +club, 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 or +prisoner? He turned it over in his mind, knowing that her words couldn't +change the facts. But in the end, he dropped the key and half his money +beside her door, along with a spare knife and one of his guns. + +He went by Izzy's room without stopping; technically, the boy was an +enemy to all Municipals. This might be neutral territory, but there was +no use pressing it. Gordon went down the stairs and out through the seal +onto the street entrance, still in the shadows. + +His eyes covered the street in two quick scans. Far up, a Legal cop was +passing beyond the range of the single dim light. At the other end, a +pair of figures skulked along, trying the door of each house they +passed. With the cops busy fighting each other, this was better pickings +than 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 the +nearest alley, which led through the truckyard of Nick the Croop. + +The entrance was in nearly complete darkness. Gordon loosened his knife +and tightened his grip on the locust stick. + +Suddenly a whisper of sound caught his ears. He stopped, not too +quickly, and listened, but everything was still. A hundred feet farther +on, and within twenty yards of the trucks, a swishing rustle reached his +ears 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 boot +lifted, and the flashlight spun aside, broken and dark. With a +continuous motion, he switched the knife to his left hand in a thumb-up +position and brought it back. There was a grunt of pain; he stepped +backwards and twisted. His hands caught the man behind, lifted across a +hip, and heaved, just before the front man reached him. + +The two ambushers were down in a tangled mess. There was just enough +light to make out faint outlines, and Gordon brought his locust club +down twice, with the hollow thud of wood on skulls. + +His head was swimming in a hot maelstrom of pain, but it was quieting as +his breathing returned to normal. As long as his opponents were slower +or less ruthless, he could take care of himself. + +The trouble, though, was that Isaiah Trench was neither slow nor +squeamish. + +Gordon gathered the two hoodlums under his arms and dragged them with +him. He came out in the truckyard and began searching. Nick the Croop +had ridden his reputation long enough to be careless, and the third +truck had its key still in the lock. He threw the two into the back and +struck a cautious light. + +One of them was Jurgens' apelike follower, his stupid face relaxed and +vacant. The other was probably also one of Jurgens' growing mob of +protection racketeers. Gordon yanked out the man's wallet, but there was +no identification; it held only a small sheaf of bills. + +He stripped out the money--and finally put half of it back into the +wallet and dropped it beside the hoodlum. Even in jail, a man had to +have smokes. + +He stuck to the alleys, not using the headlights, after he had locked +the two in and started the electric motor. He had no clear idea of how +the battles were going, but it looked as if the Seventh Precinct was +still in Municipal hands. + +There was no one at the side entrance to Seventh Precinct Headquarters +and only two corporals on duty inside; the rest were probably out +fighting the Legals, or worrying about it. One of the corporals started +to stand up and halt him, but wavered at the sight of the captain's star +that was still pinned to his uniform. + +"Special prisoners," Gordon told him sharply. "I've got to get +information to Trench--and in private!" + +The corporal stuttered. Gordon knocked him out of the way with his +elbow, reached for the door to Trench's private office, and yanked it +open. He stepped through, drawing it shut behind him, while his eyes +checked 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 a +Municipal captain, sat the heavy figure of Jurgens. "Outside!" he +snapped. Then his eyes narrowed, and a stiff smile came onto his lips as +he laid the pen down. "Oh, it's you, Gordon?" + +"Where's Captain Trench?" + +The heavy features didn't change as Jurgens chuckled. "Commissioner +Trench, Gordon. It seems Arliss decided to get rid of Mayor Wayne, but +didn't count on Wayne's spies being better than his. So Trench got +promoted--and I got his job for loyal service in helping the Force +recruit. My boys always wanted to be cops, you know." + +Gordon tried to grin in return as he moved closer, slipping the heavy +locust 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 in +his neck. "They hadn't arrived when I left the house," he said +truthfully enough. + +Jurgens reached out for tobacco and filled a pipe. He fumbled in his +pockets, as if looking for a light. "Too bad. I knew you weren't in top +shape, so I figured a convoy might be handy. Well, no matter. Trench +left some instructions about you, and--" + +His voice was perfectly normal, but Gordon saw the hand move suddenly +toward the drawer that was half-open. And the cigarette lighter was +attached to the other side of the desk. + +The locust stick left Gordon's hand with a snap. It cut through the air +a scant eight feet, jerked to a stop against Jurgens' forehead and +clattered onto the top of the desk, while Jurgens folded over, his mouth +still open, his hand slumping out of the drawer. The club rolled toward +Gordon, who caught it before it could reach the floor. + +But Jurgens was only momentarily out. As Gordon slipped the loop over +his wrist again, one of the new captain's hands groped, seeking a button +on the edge of the desk. + +The two corporals were at the door when Gordon threw it open, but they +drew back at the sight of his drawn gun. Feet were pounding below as he +found the entrance that led to the truck. He hit the seat and rammed +down the throttle with his foot before he could get his hands on the +wheel. + +It was a full minute before sirens sounded behind him, and Nick the +Croop had fast trucks. He spotted the squad car far behind, ducked +through 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 Gordon +felt his stomach squashing down onto the wheel. He kept his foot to the +floor, strewing bits of the barricade behind him, until he was beyond +the range of the Legal guns that were firing suddenly. Then he stopped +and got out carefully, with his hands up. + +"Captain Bruce Gordon, with two prisoners--bodyguards of Captain +Jurgens," he reported to the three men in bright new Legal uniform who +were approaching warily. "How do I sign up with you?" + + + + +Chapter XIII + +ARREST MAYOR WAYNE! + + +The Legal forces were shorthanded and eager for recruits. They had +struck quickly, according to plans made by experts on Earth, and now +controlled about half of Marsport. But it was a sprawling crescent +around the central section, harder to handle than the Municipal +territory. Bruce Gordon was sworn in at once. + +Then he cooled his heels while the florid, paunchy ex-politician +Commissioner Crane worried about his rating and repeated how corrupt +Mars was and how the collection system was over--absolutely over. In the +end, 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 a +trim-fitting green uniform. Then a surprisingly competent doctor +examined his wound, rebandaged it, and sent him home for the day. The +change was finished--and he felt like a grown man playing with dolls. + +He walked back, watching the dull-looking people closing off their +homes, as they had done at elections. Here and there, houses had been +broken into during the night. There were occasional buzzes of angry +conversation that cut off as he approached. + +Marsport had learned to hate all cops, and a change of uniform hadn't +altered that; instead, the people seemed to resent the loss of the +familiar 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 'em +give you my beat?" + +He seemed genuinely pleased as Gordon nodded, and then dropped it, to +point to Randolph. "Guess what, gov'nor. The Legals bought Randy's +_Crusader_. Traded him an old job press and a bag of scratch for his +reputation." + +"You'll be late, Izzy," Randolph said quietly. Gordon suddenly realized +that Randolph, like everyone else, seemed to be Izzy's friend. He +watched the little man leave, and reached out for the menu. Randolph +picked it out of his hand. "You've got a wife home, muckraker. You don't +have to eat this filth." + +Gordon got up, grimacing at the obvious dismissal. But the publisher +motioned him back again. + +"Yeah, the Legals want the _Crusader_ for their propaganda," he said +wearily. "New slogans and new uniforms, and none of them mean anything. +Here!" He drew a small golden band from his little finger. "My mother's +wedding ring. Give it to her--and if you tell her it came from me, I'll +rip out your guts!" + +He got up suddenly and hobbled out, his pinched face working. Gordon +turned the ring over, puzzled. Finally he got up and headed for his +room, a little surprised to find the door unlocked. Sheila opened her +eyes 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 cooking +equipment used in half Marsport. There was also a small iron lying +beside 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 was +no mockery on her face--and oddly, it felt good to him. Maybe her idea +of married life was different from his. + +She was sanding the dishes and putting them away when he finally +remembered the ring. He studied it again, then got up and dropped it +beside her. He was surprised as she fumbled it on to see that it +fitted--and more surprised at the sudden realization that she was +entitled to it. + +She studied it under the glare of the single bulb, and then turned to +her room. She was back a few seconds later with a small purse. "I got a +duplicate key. Yours is in there," she said thickly. "And--something +else. I guess I was going to give it to you anyway. I was afraid someone +else might find it--" + +He cut her off brusquely, his eyes riveted on the Security badge he'd +been sure Trench had taken. "Yeah, I know. Your meal ticket was in +danger. Okay, you've done your nightly duty. Now get the hell out of my +room, will you?" + + * * * * * + +The week went on mechanically, while he gradually adjusted to the new +angles of being a Legal. The banks were open, and deposits honored, as +promised. But it was in the printing-press scrip of Legal currency, +useful only through Mayor Gannett's trick Exchanges. Water went up from +fourteen credits to eighty credits for a gallon of pure distilled. Other +things were worse. Resentment flared, but the scrip was the only money +available, and it still bound the people to the new regime. + +Supplies were scarce, salt and sugar almost unavailable. Earth had cut +off all shipping until the affair was settled, and nobody in the +outlands would deal in scrip. + +He came home the third evening to find that Sheila had managed to find +space for her bunk in his room, cut off by a heavy screen, and had +closed the other room to save the rent. It led to some relaxation +between them, and they began talking impersonally. + +Gordon watched for a sign that Trench had passed on his evidence of the +murder of Murdoch, but there was none. The pressure of the beat took his +mind from it. Looting had stepped up. + +Izzy had co-operated--reluctantly, until Gordon was able to convince him +that it was the people who paid his salary. Then he nodded. "It's a +helluva roundabout way of doing things, gov'nor, but if the gees pay for +protection 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 would +barely keep them in food for a week. "I told you you had a punched meal +ticket," he said bitterly. + +"We'll live," she answered him. "I got a job today--barmaid, on your +beat, where being your wife helps." + +He could think of nothing to say to it; but after supper, he went to +Izzy's room to arrange for a raid on Municipal territory. Such small +raids were nominally on the excuse of extending the boundaries, but +actually 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 the +Precinct house to find men milling around the bulletin board, buzzing +over an announcement there. Apparently, Chief Justice Arliss had broken +with the Wayne administration, and the mimeographed form was a legal +ruling that Wayne was no longer Mayor, since the charter had been +voided. He was charged with inciting a riot, and a warrant had been +issued 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 legal +now! Every odd-numbered shield goes from every precinct. Gordon, +Isaacs--you two been talking big about law and order. Here's the +warrant. Take it and arrest Wayne!" + +It took nearly an hour to get the plans settled, but finally they headed +for the trucks that had been arriving. Most of them belonged to Nick the +Croop, who had apparently decided the Legals would win. + +Gordon and Izzy found the lead truck and led the way. They neared the +bar where Sheila was working, and Bruce Gordon swore. She was running +toward 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. "The +princess? She sure is." + +The crew at the barricade had been alerted, and now began clearing it +aside hastily, while others kept up a covering fire against the few +Municipals. The trucks wheeled through, and Gordon dropped back to let +scout trucks go ahead and pick off any rash enough to head for the call +boxes. They couldn't prevent advance warning, but they could delay and +minimize it. + +They were near the big Municipal building when they came to the first +real opposition, and it was obviously hastily assembled. The scouts took +care of most of the trouble, though a few shots pinged against the truck +Gordon was driving. + +"Rifles!" Izzy commented in disgust. "They'll ruin the dome yet. Why +can'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 grounds +around it and began bulling their way through the groups that were +trying to organize a defense. Gordon found his way cleared and shot +through, emerging behind the defense and driving at full speed toward +the entrance Izzy pointed out. + +"Cut speed! Left sharp!" Izzy shouted. "Now, in there!" + +They sliced into a small tunnel, scraping their sides where it was +barely big enough for the truck. Then they reached a dead end, with just +room for them to squeeze through the door of the truck and into an +entrance 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 remotely +controlled, and up a narrow flight of stairs, down a hallway, and up +another flight. A Municipal corporal at the top grabbed for a warning +whistle, but Gordon clipped him with a hasty rabbit punch and shoved him +down the stairs. Then they were in front of an ornate door, with their +weapons ready. + +Izzy yanked the door open and dropped flat behind it. Bullets from a +submachine gun clipped out, peppering the entrance and the door, and +ricocheting down the hall. The yammering stopped, finally, and Izzy +stuck his head and one arm out with a snap of his knife. Gordon leaped +in, to see a Municipal dropping the machine gun. + +There were about thirty cops inside, gathered around Mayor Wayne, with +Trench standing at one side. The fools had obviously expected the +machine gun to do all the work. + +Izzy leaped for the machine gun and yanked it from dead hands, while the +cops slowly began raising their arms. Wayne sat petrified, staring +unbelievingly, and Gordon drew out the warrant. "Wayne, you're under +arrest!" + +Trench moved forward, his hands in the air, but with no mark of surprise +or fear on his face. "So the bad pennies turn up. You damned fools, you +should 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 gun +jerked forward and clicked on an empty chamber. Trench was tumbling +forward to avoid the shot, but he twitched as a bullet creased his +shoulder. Then he was upright, waving empty hands at them, with the thin +smile on his face deepening. He'd had no guns. + +Gordon jerked around, but Wayne was already disappearing through a heavy +door. And the cops were reaching for their guns. Gordon estimated the +chances of escape and then leaped forward into their group, with Izzy at +his side, seeking close quarters where guns wouldn't work. + +Gun butts, elbows, fists, and clubs were pounding at him, while his own +club lashed out savagely. In ten seconds, things began to haze over, but +his arms went on mechanically, seeking the most damage they could work. + +Then a heavy bellow sounded, and a seeming mountain of flesh thundered +across the huge room. There was no shuffle to Mother Corey now. The huge +legs pumped steadily, and the great arms were reaching out to flail +aside clubs and knives. Men began spewing out of the brawl like straw +from a thresher as the old man grabbed arms, legs, or whatever was +handy. He had one cop in his left arm, using him as a flail against the +others. + +The Municipals broke. And at the first sign, Mother Corey leaped +forward, dropping his flail and gathering Izzy and Gordon under his +arms. He hit the heavy door with his shoulder and crashed through +without breaking stride. Stairs lay there, and he took them three at a +time. + +He dropped them finally as they came to a side entrance. There was a +sporadic firing going on there, and a knot of Municipals were clustered +around a few Legals, busy with knives and clubs. Corey broke into a run +again, driving straight into them and through, with Gordon and Izzy on +his heels. The surprise element was enough to give them a few seconds. + +Then they were around a small side building, out of danger. Sheila was +holding 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 fight +going 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 of +battle-crazed men, leaping across the square and into the first side +street they could find. Then she slowed, and headed for the main street +back to Legal territory. + +"Lucky we found a good car to steal," Mother Corey wheezed. He was +puffing now, mopping rivulets of perspiration from his face. "I'm +getting old, cobbers. Once I broke every strong-man record on +Earth--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 finally +admits she _needs_ her old grandfather?" + +Gordon was staring back at the straggling of trucks he could see +beginning 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 pay +my salary, who's paying me to start fighting other cops? Or is it maybe +that somebody isn't being exactly honest with the scratch they lift from +the gees?" + +"We still have to eat," Gordon said bitterly. "And to eat, we'll go on +doing what we're told." + + + + +Chapter XIV + +FULL CIRCLE + + +Hendrix had been wounded lightly, and was out when Gordon and Izzy +reported. But the next day, they were switched to a new beat where +trouble had been thickest and given twelve-hour duty--without special +overtime. + +Izzy considered it slowly and shook his head. "That does it, gov'nor. It +ain't honest, treating us this way. If the crackle comes from the +people, and these gees give everybody a skull cracking, then they're +crooks. It ain't honest, and I'm too sick to work. And if that bloody +doctor won't agree..." + +He turned toward the dispensary. Gordon hesitated, and then swung off +woodenly to take up his new beat. Apparently, his reputation had gone +ahead of him, since most of the hoodlums had decided pickings would be +easier on some beat where the cops had their own secret rackets to +attend to, instead of head busting. But once they learned he was +alone... + +But the second day, two of the citizens fell into step behind him almost +at 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 come +over from his old beat. Something began to burn inside him, but he held +himself in, confining his talk to vague comments on the rumors going +around. + +There were enough of them, mostly based on truth. Part of Jurgens' old +crowd had broken away from him and established a corner on most of the +drugs available; they had secretly traded a supply to Wayne, who had +become an addict, for a stock of weapons. + +Gordon remembered the contraband shipment of guns, and compared it to +the increase he'd noticed in weapons, and to the impossible prices the +pushers were demanding. It made sense. + +All kinds of supplies were low, and the outlands beyond Marsport had cut +off all shipments. Scrip was useless to them, and the Legals were +raiding all cargoes destined for Wayne's section. And the Municipals had +imposed new taxes again. + +He came back from what should have been his day off to find Izzy in +uniform, waiting grimly. Behind the screen, there was a rustling of +clothes, and a dress came sailing from behind it. While he stared, +Sheila came out, finishing the zipping of her airsuit. She moved to a +small bag and began drawing out the gun she had used and a knife. He +caught 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 the +headline: SECURITY DENOUNCES RAPE OF MARSPORT! + +The story was somewhat cooler than that, but not much. Randolph simply +quoted what was supposed to be an official cable from Security on Earth, +denouncing both governments and demanding that both immediately +surrender. It listed the crimes of Wayne, then tore into the Legals as a +bunch of dupes, sent by North America to foment trouble while they +looted the city, and to give the Earth government an excuse for seizing +military control of Marsport officially. Citizens were instructed not to +co-operate; all members of either government were indicted for high +treason 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. She +grabbed 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 of +the few remaining cabs. He stopped it with his whistle, and dumped the +passenger out unceremoniously, while Izzy gave the address. + +"The damned fool opened up on the border--figured he'd circulate to both +sections," Izzy said. "We'd better get out a block up and walk. And I +hope we ain't _too_ bloody late!" + +The building was a wreck, outside; inside it was worse. Men in the +Municipal uniform were working over the small job press and dumping the +hand-set type from the boxes. On the floor, a single Legal cop lay under +the wreckage, apparently having gotten there first and been taken care +of by the later Municipals. Randolph had been sitting in a chair between +two of the cops, but now he leaped up and tried to flee through the back +door. + +Izzy started forward, but Gordon pulled him back, as the cops reached +for their weapons. The gun in his hand picked them out at quarters too +close for a miss, starting with the cop who had jumped to catch +Randolph. Izzy had ducked around the side, and now came back, leading +the little man. + +Randolph paid no attention to the dead men, nor to the bruises on his +own body. He moved forward to the press, staring at it, and there were +tears in his eyes as he ran his hands over the broken metal. Then he +looked up at them. "Arrest or rescue?" he asked. + +"Arrest!" a voice from the door said harshly, and Bruce Gordon swung to +see six Legals filing in, headed by Hendrix himself. The captain nodded +at Gordon. "Good work, Sergeant. By jinx, when I heard the Municipals +were coming, I was scared they'd get him for sure. Crane wants to watch +this guy shot in person!" + +He grabbed Randolph by the arm. + +"You're overlooking something, Hendrix," Gordon cut in. He had moved +back 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 them +up, Izzy." + +Hendrix was faster than Gordon had thought. He had his gun almost up +before Gordon could fire. A bluish hole appeared on the man's forehead; +he dropped slowly. The others made no trouble as Izzy bound them with +baling wire. + +"And I hope nobody finds them," he commented. "All right, Randy, I guess +we're a bunch of refugees heading for the outside, and bloody lucky at +that. Proves a man shouldn't have friends." + +Randolph's face was still greenish-white, but he straightened and +managed a feeble smile. "Not to me, Izzy. Right now I can appreciate +friends. But you two better get going. I've got some unfinished business +to tend to." He moved to one corner and began dragging out an old +double-cylinder mimeograph. "Either of you know where I can buy stencils +and 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 out +a sudden yelp of laughter. "Okay, Randy, we'll find them. Gov'nor, you'd +better tell my mother I'll be using the old sheets. Go on. You've got +the princess to worry about. We'll be along later." + +He grabbed Randolph's hand and ducked out the back before Gordon could +protest. + +Izzy could only have meant that they were going to hole up in Mother +Corey's old Chicken Coop. Bruce Gordon had now managed to make a full +circle, back to his beginnings on Mars. He'd started at the Coop with a +deck of cards; now he was returning with a club. + +He had counted on at least some regret from Mother Corey, however. But +the old man only nodded after hearing that Randolph was safe. "Fanatics, +crusaders and damned fools!" he said. He shook his head sadly and went +shuffling back to his room, where two of his part-time henchmen were +sitting. + +Sheila had been sitting on the bunk, still in her airsuit. Now she +jerked upright, then sank back with a slow flush. Her hands were +trembling 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 he +was 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 practically +bare, except for a few of her dresses. She followed his gaze, and shook +her head. "I won't need them out there," she said. Her voice caught on +that. "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 little +while ago just where you stand. Remind me to tell you sometime how much +fun it's been." + +"Your mother was good with a soldering iron, wasn't she? You even look +human." She bent to pick up a shoulder pack and a bag, and her face was +normal when she stood up again. "You might guess that the cops would be +happy 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 room +toward the smaller exit, stopping to fasten down their helmets. The +guard 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 went +through and out into the waste and slums beyond the domes, heading out +until 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. He +heard her cry out, and turned to see her crash into the stomach of a man +with a half-raised stick. He went down with almost no resistance. Sheila +shot the beam of her light on the thin, drawn face. "Rusty!" + +"Hi, princess." He got up slowly, trying to grin. "Didn't know who it +was. Sorry. Ever get that louse you were out for?" + +She nodded. "Yeah, I got him. That's him--my husband! What's wrong with +you, Rusty? You've lost fifty pounds, and--" + +"Things are a mite tough out here, princess. No deliveries. Closed my +bar, been living sort of hand to mouth, but not much mouth." His eyes +bulged greedily as she dug into a bag and began to drag out the +sandwiches she must have packed for the trip. But he shook his head. "I +ain't so bad off. I ate something yesterday. But if you can spare +something for the Kid--Hey, Kid!" + +A thin boy of about sixteen crept out from behind some rubble, staring +uncertainly. Then, at the sight of the food, he made a lunge, grabbed +it, and hardly waited to get it through the slits of his suit before +gulping it down. Rusty sat down, his lined old face breaking into a +faint grin. He hesitated, but finally took some of the food. + +"Shouldn't oughta. You'll need it. Umm." He swallowed slowly, as if +tasting the food all the way down. "Kid can't talk. Cop caught him +peddling one of Randolph's pamphlets, cut out part of his tongue. But +he's all right now. Come on, Kid, hurry it up. We gotta convoy these +people." + +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 was +no hostile move from the big truck. He studied it, trying to decide what +a truck would be doing here. Then a Marspeaker-amplified voice shouted +from it. "Any muckrakers there?" + +"One," Gordon shouted back, and ran toward it, motioning the others to +follow. 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 did +the actual lifting. + +"Why didn't you two wait?" Mother Corey asked, his voice booming out of +his 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 being +respectable, cobber. And I'm getting old and sentimental about the +Chicken Coop." He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "But not so old +that 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 those +trained apes of yours to cut the lights, will you, Mother? Somebody must +be using the Coop." + +They stopped the truck before reaching the old wreck. In the few dim +lights, the old building still gave off an air of mold and decay. Gordon +shuddered faintly, then followed Izzy and the Mother into the +semi-secret entrance. + +Izzy went ahead, almost silent, with a thin strand of wire between his +hands, his elbows weaving back and forth slowly to guide him. He was +apparently as familiar with the garrote as the knife. But they found no +guard. Izzy pressed the seal release and slid in cautiously, while the +others followed. + +In the beam of Gordon's torch, a single figure lay sprawled out on the +floor halfway to the rickety stairs to the main house. Mother Corey +grunted, 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 to +try 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 of +them, and some former members of the Jurgens organization. He found the +apelike 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 busily +going through piles of crates and boxes stacked along one wall. He was +pointing to a lead-foil-covered box. "Dope! And all that other stuff's +ammunition!" + +He shivered, staring at the fortune in his hands. Then he grimaced and +shoved the open can back in its case. He threw it back and began +stacking ammunition cases in front of the dope. Gordon went out to get +the others and start moving in the supplies and transferring the corpses +to the truck for disposal. Randolph scurried off to start setting up his +makeshift 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_ can +smell 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 into +it. Sheila watched him uncertainly, and then took possession of the next +room. 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 down +into the basement where Randolph was arranging his mimeograph. + +The printer listened only to the first sentence, and shook his head +impatiently. "I was afraid you'd think of that, Gordon. Look, you never +were a reporter--you ran a column. I've read the stuff you wrote. You +killed and maimed with words. But you never dug up news that would help +people, or tell them what they didn't suspect all along. And that's what +I've got to have." + +"Thanks!" Gordon said curtly. "Too bad Security didn't think I was as +lousy a reporter as you do!" + +"Okay. I'll give you a job, for one week. See what outer Marsport is +like. Find what can be done, if anything, and do it if you can. Then +come back and give me six columns on it. I'll pay Mother Corey for your +food--and for your wife's--and if I can find one column's worth of news +in it, maybe I'll give you a second week. I can't see a man's wife +starve 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 had +turned in. Gordon went up the stairs and threw himself onto the bed in +disgust. + +"Bruce!" Sheila stood outlined in the doorway against the dim glow of a +phosphor bulb. Her robe was partly open, and hunger burned in him; then, +before he could lift himself, she bent over and began unfastening his +boots. "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 disturb +her again. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he'd find some kind of an +answer; 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 left +arm, talking to Mother Corey when Bruce Gordon came down the rickety +steps. He stopped for a second, but there was no sign of trouble. Then +the 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 you +found. 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 and +strain on his face, but an odd authority and pride now. "I'll be +doggoned. Whyn't you say he was with Murdoch?" + +"They want someone to locate Ed Praeger and see about getting some food +shipped in from outside, cobber," Mother Corey told him. "They got some +money scraped together, but the hicks are doing no business with +Marsport. You know Ed--just tell him I sent you. I'd go myself, but I'm +getting 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 Mother +Corey chuckled. "Heart like a steel trap, cobber," he said, almost +approvingly. "Well, you'll be earning your keep here--yours and that +granddaughter's, too. Here--you'll need directions for finding Praeger." + +He handed the paper with his scrawled notes on it over to Gordon and +went shuffling back. Gordon stuck it into his pouch, and followed the +three. Outside, they had a truck waiting; Rusty and Corey's two henchmen +were busy loading it with ammunition from the cellar. + +Schulberg motioned him into the cab of the truck, and the other two +climbed into the closed rear section. "All right," Gordon said, "what +goes on?" + +The other began explaining as he picked a way through the ruin and +rubble. Murdoch had done better than Gordon had suspected; he'd laid out +a program for a citizens' vigilante committee, and had drilled enough in +the ruthless use of the club to keep the gangs down. Once the police +were all busy inside the dome with their private war, the committee had +been the only means of keeping order in the whole territory beyond. It +was now extended to cover about half the area, as a voluntary police +organization. + +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 man +was 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. The +dead man had been caught with a half bag of flour and part of a case of +beans. Schulberg found a scrap of something and penciled the crime on +it, together with a circle signature, and pinned it to the body. + +"All food should be turned in," he explained to Gordon as they climbed +back into the truck. "We figure community kitchens can stretch things a +bit more. And we give a half extra ration to the guys who can find +anything useful to do. We got enough so most people won't starve to +death for another week, I guess. But you'd better get Praeger to send +something, 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 passed +the old building Murdoch had used as a precinct house. It now had a +crude sign proclaiming it voluntary police HQ and outland government +center. Then he went on until they came to a spur of the little electric +monorail system, with three abandoned service engines parked at the end. + +"Extra air inside, and the best we could do for food. Was gonna try +myself, but I don't know Praeger," Schulberg said. He handed over a key, +and nodded toward the first service engine. "Good luck, Gordon--and damn +it, we're--we gotta eat, don't we? You tell him that! It ain't much--but +get what you can!" + +He swung the truck, and was gone. Gordon climbed into the enclosed cab +and pulled back questioningly on the only lever he could see. The engine +backed briefly; he reversed the control. Then it moved forward, picking +up speed. Apparently there was still power flowing in from the automatic +atomic generators. + +He got off to puzzle out a switch, using Mother Corey's scrawled +instructions. + +He had vaguely expected to see more of Mars, but for eight hours there +was only the bare flatness and dunes of unending sandy surface and +scraggly, useless native plants, opened out to the sun. Marsport had +been located where the only vein of uranium had been found on Mars, and +the growing section was closer to the equator. + +Then he came to villages. Again there was the sight of children running +around without helmets. He stopped once for directions, and a man stared +at him suspiciously and finally threw a switch reluctantly. + +He was finally forced to stop again, sure that he was near, now. This +time, it was in what seemed to be a major shipping center in the heart +of the lines that ran helter-skelter from village to village. Another +suspicious-eyed man studied him. "You won't find Praeger on his +farm--couldn't reach it in that, anyhow," he said finally. Then he +turned up his Marspeaker. "Ed! Hey, Ed!" + +Down the street, the seal of a building opened, and the big, bluff +figure of Praeger came out. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Gordon; then +he grinned and waved his visitor forward. + +Inside, there was evidence of food, and a rather pretty girl brought out +another platter and set it before Gordon. He ate while they exchanged +uncertain, rambling information; finally, he got down to his errand. + +Praeger seemed to read his mind. "I can get the stuff sent, Gordon. I'm +head of the shipping committee for this quadrant. But why in hell should +I? The last time, every car was looted in Outer Marsport. If they won't +let us get the oil and chemicals we need, why should we feed them?" + +"Ever see starvation?" Gordon asked, wishing again someone else who'd +felt it could carry the message. He told about a man who'd committed +suicide 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've +got kids of my own.... Look, you want food, we want to ship. Get your +cops to give us an escort for every shipment through to the dome, and +we'll drop off one car out of four for the outlands." + +Gordon sat back weakly. "Done!" he said. "Provided the first shipment +carries 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 you +have a whole train of it." He took the sack of credits and tossed it +toward a drawer, uncounted. "A damned good thing Security's sending a +ship. Credits won't be worth much until they get this mess straightened +out." + +Gordon felt the hair at the base of his neck tingle. "What makes you +think Security can do anything? They haven't shown a hand yet." + +"They will," Praeger said. "You guys in Marsport feed yourselves so many +lies you begin to believe them. But Security took Venus--and I'm not +worried here, in the long run. Don't ask me how." + +His voice was a mixture of bitterness and an odd certainty. "They set +Security up as a nice little debating society, Gordon, to make it easy +for 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 has +played one nation against another enough to keep any from daring to +swipe power on the planets. And this latest trick folded up, too. North +America figured on Marsport folding up once they got a police war +started, with a bunch of chiseling profiteers as their front; they +expected the citizens to yell uncle all the way back to Earth. But out +here, nobody thinks of Earth as a place to yell to for help, so they +missed. And now Security's got Pan-Asia and United Africa balanced +against North America, so the swipe won't work. We got the dope from our +southern receiver. North America's called it all a mistaken emergency +measure 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 strength +Security's ever had comes from the fact that it always wins, somehow. +Forget the crooks and crooked cops, man! Ask the people who've been +getting kicked around about Security, and you'll find that even most of +Marsport doesn't hate it! It's the only hope we've got of not having all +the planets turned into colonial empires! You staying over, or want me +to 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 the +planet, at Praeger, and at the girl. Here was the real Mars--the men who +liked 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 after +he'd reported his results. He climbed in woodenly, leaving his helmet on +as he saw the broken window. "A good job," the little man said. "And +news for the paper, if I ever publish it again. I came over because I +wasn't much use at the Coop, and everyone else was busy." + +"Doing what?" Gordon asked. + +Randolph grinned crookedly. "Running Outer Marsport. The Mother's the +only man everybody knows, I guess--and his word has never been broken +that anyone can remember. So he's helping Schulberg make agreements with +the sections the volunteers don't handle. Place is lousy with people +now. Heard about Mayor Wayne?" + +Gordon shook his head, not caring, but the man went on. "He must have +had his supply of drugs lifted somehow. He holed up one day, until it +really hit him that he couldn't get any more. Then he went gunning for +Trench, with some idea Trench had swiped the stuff--so Trench is now +running the Municipals. And I hear the gangs are just about in control +of both sections, lately." + + * * * * * + +The Chicken Coop was filled, as Randolph had said, but he slipped in and +up the stairs, leaving the news to the publisher. The place had been +cleaned up more than he had expected, and there must have been new +plants 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 he +blinked. His bunk had been changed to a wider one, and she lay under the +thin covering on one side. Down the center, crude stitches of heavy cord +showed where she had sewed the blanket to the mattress to divide it into +two sections. And in one corner, a couple of blanket sections formed a +rough screen. + +She caught his stare and reddened slowly. "I had to, Bruce. The Coop is +full, 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 enough +room to slide between the bed and the wall, and began dragging off his +boots and uniform. She started up to help him, then jerked back, and +turned her head away. "Forget all you're thinking, Cuddles. I'm still +not bothering unwilling women--and I'll even close my eyes when you +dress." + +She sighed, and relaxed. There was a faint touch of humor in her voice +then. "They called it bundling once, I think. I--Bruce, I know you don't +like 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 to +find out what it's like up here," he told her bitterly. For a second he +hesitated, and then the account of the newsboy and his would-be killers +came rushing out. + +She dropped a hand onto his, nodding. "I know. The Kid--Rusty's +friend--wrote down what they did to him." + +Gordon grunted. He'd almost forgotten about the tongueless Kid. For a +second, his thoughts churned on. Then he got up and began putting on his +uniform again. Sheila frowned, staring at him, and began sliding from +her side, reaching for her robe. She followed him down the creaking +stairs, and to the room where Schulberg, Mother Corey, and a few others +were 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 myself +in!" he told them coldly. "You know enough about Security badges to know +they 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 tiny +badge 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 just +declared war on the whole damned dome section! Mother, I want all the +dope we found!" With that--about the only supply of any size left--he +could command unquestioning loyalty from every addict who hadn't already +died from lack of it. Mother Corey nodded, instant understanding running +over his puttylike face. + +Schulberg shrugged. "After your deal with Praeger, we'd probably follow +you anyhow. I don't cotton to Security, Gordon--but those devils in +there are making our kids starve!" + +Mother Corey heaved his bulk up slowly, wheezing, and indicated his +chair at the head of the table. But Gordon shook his head. He'd made his +decision. His head was emptied for the moment, and he wanted nothing +more than a chance to hit the bed and forget the whole business until +morning. + +Sheila was staring at him as he shucked off his outer clothes +mechanically and crawled under the blanket. She let the robe fall to the +floor and slid into the bed without taking her eyes off him. "Is it true +about Security sending a ship?" she asked at last. He nodded, and her +breath 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. Stop +worrying about it." + +She threw herself sideways, as far from him as she could get. Her voice +was 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 a +Security Prime seemed to bring the other sections of Outer Marsport +under the volunteer police control even faster. But he was too busy to +worry about it. He left general co-ordination in the hands of Mother +Corey, while Izzy and Schulberg ran the expanding of the police force. + +Praeger arrived with the first load of food, and came storming up to +him. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Security Prime! I'm grade three +myself." + +"And I suppose that would have meant you'd have shipped in all the food +we 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 all +away now. Well, we'll get in enough food this way to keep you going for +a while--couple of weeks, at least." + +It sounded good, and might have worked if there had been the normal food +reserve, or if the other three quadrants had been willing to do as much. +But while the immediate pressure of starvation was lifted, Gordon's own +stomach told him that it wasn't an adequate diet. Signs of scurvy and +pellagra were increasing. + +Bruce Gordon whipped himself into forgetting some of that. His army was +growing. Or rather, his mob. There was no sense in trying to get more +than the vaguest organization. + +It was the eighth day when he led them out in the early dawn. He had +issued extra dope and managed a slight increase in the ration, so they +made a brave showing--until they reached the dome. + +There were no rifles opposed to him, as he had expected, and the guard +at the gate was no heavier. But the warning had somehow been given, and +both forces were ready. + +Stretching north from the gate were the Municipals with members of some +of the gangs; the other gangmen were with the Legals to the south. And +they stood within inches of the dome, holding axes and knives. + +A big Marspeaker ran out from the gate, and the voice of Gannett came +over it. "Go back! If just one of you gets within ten feet of the dome +or entrance, we're going to rip the dome! We'll destroy Marsport before +we'll give in to a doped-up crowd of riffraff! You've got five minutes +to 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 the +entrance, just as the moaning wail of the crowd behind him built up. + +"You fools!" he yelled. "They're bluffing. They wouldn't dare destroy +the dome! Come on!" + +But already the men were evaporating. He stared at the rout, and +suddenly stopped fighting the hands holding him. Beside him, the Kid was +crying, 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 and +Municipals wildly scrambling for cover from each other. + +Mother Corey met him, dragging him back to a small room where he dug up +an impossibly precious bottle of brandy. "Drink it all, cobber. So one +of your Security badges had the wrong man attached to it, and word got +back. Couldn't be helped. You just ran into the sacred law of +Marsport--the one they teach kids. Be bad, and the dome'll collapse. The +dome made Marsport, and it's taboo!" + +Gordon nodded. Maybe the old man was right. "If the dome gives them a +perfect cover, why let me make a jackass of myself, Mother?" he asked +numbly. + +Corey shook his head, setting the heavy folds of flesh to bouncing. +"Gave them something to live for here, cobber. And when you get over +this, you're gonna announce new plans to try again. Yes, you are! But +right now, you get yourself drunk!" + +He left Gordon and the bottle. After a while, the bottle was gone. He +felt number, but no better, by the time Izzy came in. + +"Trench is outside in a heavy-armored car, Bruce. Says he wants to see +you. Something to discuss--a proposition!" + +Gordon stood up, wobbling a little, trying to think. Then he swore, and +headed 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 big +car outside. Then he shrugged. He finally made the stairs and reached +his bed before he passed out. + +Sheila was standing over him when he finally woke. She dumped a headache +powder into her palm and held it out, handing him a small glass of +water. He swallowed the fast-acting drug, and sat up, trying to +remember. 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," she +answered. "At least he said he wanted to show you something, and it was +about that size. He wouldn't talk with us much. But I remember his name +in the book--" + +Gordon shook his head and sat up. The book, he thought, trying to focus +his thoughts. The book with all the names... + +"All right, Cuddles," he said finally. "You got your meal ticket, and +you've outgrown it in this mess. Now I want that damned book! I've been +operating in the dark. It's time I found out how to get in touch with +some of those people. Where is it?" + +She shook her head. "It isn't. Bruce--I don't have it. That time I gave +you 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 burned +it. I lied to you about using it to make you keep me." + +"You burned it!" He turned it over, staring at her. "Okay, Cuddles, you +burned it. You were trying to kill me then, so you burned it to keep +Jurgens 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 know +why. I just did! No!" + +She turned toward the door as he pushed up from the bed, but his arm +caught her wrist, dragging her back. She whimpered once, then shrieked +faintly as his hand caught the buttons on the dress, jerking them off. +Then suddenly she was a writhing, biting, scratching fury. He tightened +his hand and lifted her to the bed, dropping a knee onto her throat and +beginning to squeeze, while he jerked the dress and thin slip off. + +She sat up as he released his knee, her hoarse voice squeezed from +between 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 you +know a _wife_ shouldn't keep secrets from her _husband_? A warm-blooded, +affectionate husband, to boot." He bent down, knocking aside her +flailing arms, and pulled her closer to him. "Better tell your husband +where the book is, Cuddles!" + +She cursed and he drew her closer. He bent down, forcing her head back +and setting his lips on hers. + +From somewhere, wetness touched his cheek; he lifted his head and looked +down. The wetness came from tears that spilled out of her eyes and ran +off onto the mattress. She was making no sound, and there was no +resistance, but the tears ran out, one drop seeming to trip over +another. + +"All right, Sheila," he said. His voice was cracked in his ears. +"Another week of being a failure on this planet of failures, and I +might. Go ahead and tell me I'm the same as your first husband. If I +can't even keep my word to you, I can at least get out and stay out." He +shook his head, waiting for her denunciation. "For your amusement, I'm +going to miss having you around!" + +He stood up. Something touched his hand, and he looked down to see her +fingers. + +"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 touched +her 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't +want you to go!" + + * * * * * + +Two worlds. One huddled under its dome, forever afraid of losing that +protection and having to face the life the other led; and yet driven to +work 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 been +blind--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 the +air we'd die on, and they're doing fine at it. Probably +second-generation ones can keep going after we'd pass out. It's just as +true out here as it is on the frontier. But Marsport has that sacred +dome over it. It's still trying to be Earth. And it can't do it. It's +never 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 a +half-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 the +discussion, she made coffee, and first Randolph, then the Kid came in +for briefing. Randolph was a natural addition, and the Kid had been +alternately following Gordon and Sheila around since he'd first heard +they were fighting against the men who'd robbed him of his right to +speak. In the end, as the night spread into day, there were more people +than 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 even +the webbing straps that gave it added strength were frail things. But it +was strong enough to hold up the pressure of over ten pounds per square +inch, and the webbing was anchored in a metal sleeve that went too high +for cutting. They could rip it, but not ruin it completely; and it had +to 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 powder +under those webbing supports, and lay the fuse wire beside the plastic +ring that keeps it airtight," he reported. "But God help us, gov'nor, if +any gee spots us." + +They worked through the night, while Rusty went back to requisition more +explosives from the dwindling supply, and while the Kid and Izzy took +time off to break into a closed converter plant and find wire enough to +connect the charges. But dawn caught them with less done than they had +hoped. Gordon went to connect a wire and switch from the battery and +coil they had installed, but jerked backwards as he saw a suspicious +guard staring at him. + +"Let him think we're just scouting," Randolph advised. + +There were suspicious looks as the group came back to the Coop, but +Mother Corey waddled over to meet them. "Did you find them, cobber?" he +asked quickly, and one of his eyelids flickered. + +Izzy answered before Gordon could rise to it. "Not yet, Mother. May have +to go back tonight." + +Gordon left them discussing the mythical search for certain supplies +that Mother Corey had apparently used as an alibi for their absence from +the building. Sheila started to make coffee, but he shook his head and +headed for the bed. She yawned and nodded, fingering the stitches that +still ran down the blanket to divide it. Then she grimaced faintly and +dropped down beside him on top of the blanket. Her head hit his arm, and +she 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 it +was something that had to be done, gov'nor, so I figured you'd know +about 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 obviously +knew something; but he kept his suspicions to himself, and gave them a +cover from the others. + +There was no sign of Sheila near the dome. But inside, there were guards +pacing along it. Gordon spotted them first, and drew the others back. If +they'd found the carefully worked-in powder... + +The Kid ducked down and out of the car, worming his way around the +building that concealed them. He waited for the guard to vanish, and +then went crawling forward. Gordon swore, but there was no sense in two +of them risking themselves, only to attract more attention. And at last +the 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 inside +the 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'll +have to do it under some kind of covering, the way I had it planned in +the first place, only with one more damned complication. We'll pull +another false raid on the dome. As soon as we get chased off, I'll +manage 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 to +ribbons for knocking off the dome." + +Then he stopped suddenly, staring. Bruce Gordon leaned forward, with +Izzy's hands grabbing for him. But he'd seen it, too. + +Standing next to the dome was Trench, talking to one of the guards. And +beside 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, but +he pushed it away, with all the other things. "Get us back, Izzy," he +ordered. "We've got to round up whatever group we can and get them back +here on the double. They must be counting on our original time, so +they're in no hurry to remove the powder and wiring. But we can't count +on 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 to +save the dome. Tell the men we just found out that Trench is losing and +intends to blow it up instead of letting the Legals win." + +Rumor would travel fast enough, he hoped. And it should give him a few +extra seconds before his forces cracked. + +He lifted the switch in his hands and stared at it. It wasn't necessary +now. All he had to do was to reach the battery and drop any metal across +the two terminals there--if they could get back before Trench--and +Sheila--could remove the battery. + +It was a period of complete fog to him, but it wasn't until his motley +army reached the dome, straggling up in trucks and on foot, that he +snapped into focus again. There was no sign of Sheila this time, and he +didn't look for her. His whole mind was concentrated down to a single +point: Get the dome! + +This time, there was no scattering of Municipals and Legals. The +Municipal forces were rushing up toward the dome, and surprised Legals +were frantically arriving in trucks. There was the beginning of a +pitched 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, with +the 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 now +the 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 whole +development made no more sense than any part of it to him, but he saw +the Municipals and Legals suddenly begin to turn as a single man to face +the outside menace that had crept up on them while they were boiling +into a fight. + +And suddenly the Marspeaker over the entrance blasted into life. "Get +back! 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 hand +snaked 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 the +dome. In one place it began to tear, and there was a sudden savage roar +from the men around Gordon. He had started forward after the Kid, but +Izzy was in front of him, holding him back. + +The Kid stumbled and slid across the ground, while blood spurted out +from a gash across his head, and the helmet fell into pieces. Then, with +a 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 visible +form. The webbing straps broke, and the dome jerked upwards, twisting +outwards, 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 houses +around, and other men pouring forward from his own group. The few of +either police force still standing and helmeted broke into a wild run, +but they had no chance! The mob had decided that they had mined and +exploded the dome. + +He turned back toward the Coop, sick with the death of the Kid and the +violence. 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 the +cab. He stared into the face of Isaiah Trench. And driving the truck was +Sheila. + +"Your wife took a helluva chance, Gordon," Trench said heavily. "And I +took quite a chance, too, to set this up so nobody could ever believe +you were behind it. Getting that fight started in time, after you first +showed 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 where +I stood." + +Gordon stared at them slowly, not quite believing it, even though it was +no crazier than anything else during the past few hours. + +Trench shrugged. "I was railroaded here by Security, told to be good and +they'd let me go home. A lot of men got that treatment. So when Wayne +was still talking about building a perfect Marsport, I joined up. He +treated me right, and I took orders. But a man gets sick of working with +punks and cheap hoods; he gets sicker of killing off a planet he's +learned to like. I learned to take orders, though--and I took them until +Wayne tried to put a bullet through me. That ended that, and I came out +to join up with you. You were soused, I hear--but your wife guessed +enough to take the chance of coming to me, when she thought you were +going to get yourself killed. Well, I guess you get out here." + +He indicated the Coop. Gordon got down, followed by Sheila as Trench +took the wheel. "What happens to you now?" Gordon asked. "They'll be +blaming you for the end of the dome." + +"Let them. I planned on that. Too bad Trench got torn to bits by the +mob, isn't it? And it's a good thing I've always kept myself a place +under a safe incognito out in the sticks. Got a wife and two kids out +there that even Wayne didn't know about." He stuck out a hand. "You're +like Security, Gordon. You do all the wrong things, but you get the +right results. Goodbye!" + +Sheila watched him go, shaking her head. "He likes you, Bruce. But he +can't say it. Men!" + +"Women!" Gordon answered. + +Then he stiffened. Coming down through the thin air of Mars was the +bright 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 up +Security; another four days passed after they had sent him back to wait +until they received orders from Headquarters for him. There was a man +coming from Earth on a second ship who would see him. They gave him a +chauffeur back to the Chicken Coop, and politely indicated that it would +be better if he stayed within reach. + +The dome had been down a full week when he watched the last of +Randolph's equipment packed onto a truck and hauled away. The little +publisher was back at the _Crusader_ again. Rusty was busy opening his +bar, and the others were all busy. Only Gordon and Sheila were left. + +He heard her coming down the old stairs, and ducked out through the +private 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 no +attempt to follow. She'd asked no questions and hadn't even tried to +convince him that he'd be sent back to Earth now. + +He muttered to himself as he headed over the rubble toward the +previously domed section. + +Out at the spaceport, ships were dropping down from Deimos with the +supplies that had been held up so long, and a long line of trucks went +snaking by. Credit had been established again, and the businesses were +open. + +For the time being, the hoods and punks were having a tough time of it, +with working papers demanded as constant identification. And while it +lasted, at least, Marsport was beginning to have its face lifted. Wrecks +were being broken up, with salvageable material used for newer homes. +Gordon came to a row of temporary bubbles, individual dwellings built +like the dome, but opaque for privacy. + +As Gordon drew closer to the old foundation of the dome, the feeling +around began to clarify into something halfway between what he had seen +on 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 of +it falling back; and the buildings had come through the outward +explosion of the pressure with little damage. Gordon grinned wryly. +Schulberg's volunteers were official, now. Izzy was acting as chief of +police, Schulberg was head of the reconstruction corps, and Mother Corey +was temporary Mayor of all Marsport. The old charter for Marsport from +North America was dead, and the whole city was now under Security +charter, like the rest of the planet. But the dozen Security men had +left most of the control in the Mother's hands, and the old man was up +to his fat jowls in business. + +Gordon moved automatically toward the Seventh Ward. Fats' Place was +still open, though the crooked tables had been removed. Gordon dropped +to a stool, slipping off his helmet. He reached automatically for the +glass of ether-needled beer. This time, it even tasted good to him. + +"On the house, copper," Fats' voice said. The man dropped to another +stool, 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 old +friends!" + +"Friends and other things," Gordon said, remembering his first visit +here. "Maybe you should have got me that night, Fats." + +The other shrugged. "That's Mars." He rolled the dice out, then picked +them up again. "Guess I'll have to stick to selling meals, mostly--for a +while, at least. Somebody told me you'd joined Security and got banged +up trying to keep Trench from blowing up the dome. Thought you'd be in +the chips!" + +"That's Mars," Gordon echoed the other's comment. "Why don't you pull +off the planet, Fats? You could go back to Earth, I'd guess." + +The other nodded. "Yeah. I went back, about ten years ago. Spent four +weeks 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 ships +come in, and bill this as a real old Martian den of sin! Get a barker +out at the port, run special busses, charge the suckers a mint for a +cheap thrill." + +Gordon grinned wryly; Fats would probably make more than ever. + +He finished the meal, accepted a pack of the Earth cigarettes that sold +at a luxury price here, and went out into the thin air of Mars. It was +almost good to get out into the filth of the slums, and be heading back +to the still-standing monument of the old Chicken Coop. He headed for +the private entrance out of habit, and then shrugged as he realized it +was a needless precaution now. He moved up the front steps and through +the 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 was +waiting. + +There was a grin on the other's face. "Hello, Gordon. Finally got our +orders for you. It's Mercury!" + +Bruce Gordon nodded slowly. "All right. I suppose you know I ruined the +dome, was supposed to have killed Murdoch, pretended I was a Security +agent..." + +"You _were_ one," the man said. He grinned again. "We know about +Murdoch, and we know where Trench is--but he's a good citizen now, so he +can stay there. We're not throwing the book at you, Bruce. Damn it, we +sent you here to get results, and you got them. We sent twenty others +the same way--and they failed. You were a bit drastic--that I have to +admit--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 do +is to hope. We'll probably get this Mother Corey and Isaacs elected +properly; and for a while, things will improve. But there'll be pushers +as long as weak men turn to drugs, and graft as long as voters allow the +thing to get out of their hands. Let's say you've shifted some of the +misery around a bit, and given them a chance to do better. It's up to +them 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't +like it now. You're a fighter. And there's hell brewing on +Mercury--worse than here. We've got permission to send you there, if +you'll go. With a yellow ticket, again--but without any razzle-dazzle +this time. The only thing you'll get out of it is a chance to fight for +a better chance for others some day--and a promise that there'll be +more, until you get old enough to sit at a desk on Earth and fight +against every bickering nation there to keep the planets clean. There's +a rocket waiting to transship you to the Moon on the way to Mercury +right now." + +Gordon sighed. "All right. But I wish you'd tell my wife sometime +that--well, that I didn't just run out on her. She's had bad luck with +men." + +"She already knows," the Security man said. "I've been waiting for you +quite a while, you know. And I've paid her the pay we owe you from the +time you began using your badge. She's out shopping!" + +The car pulled up to the waiting rocket, and the Security man helped him +up the steps with a perfunctory wish for good luck. Then Bruce Gordon +stopped as great arms surrounded him. + +Mother Corey was immaculate, though not much prettier. But his old eyes +were 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 shook +his head. + +"I can't say it, either, gov'nor--but some day, I'm going to have one of +those badges myself. Like I always said, honesty sure pays, even if it +kills you. Here!" + +He followed Mother Corey, leaving behind his favorite knife and a +brand-new deck of reader cards, marked exactly as the ones Gordon had +first used. + +Gordon dropped into his seat, while the sounds outside indicated +take-off time. He had less than a hundred credits, a knife, a deck of +phony cards, and a yellow ticket. Mars was leaving him what he'd +brought.... + +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 the +black of Mercury on the bottom. + +"Hello, Bruce," Sheila said softly. "I've been shopping and I spent the +money the man gave me. This is all I have left. Do you think it's worth +it? Or should I take it back?" + +He turned it over in his hands slowly, and the smile came back to his +face gradually. + +"You got a bargain, Cuddles," he said. "A lot better than the meal +ticket you bought. Let's keep it." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Police Your Planet, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLICE YOUR PLANET *** + +***** This file should be named 20212-8.txt or 20212-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/2/1/20212/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Police Your Planet + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Release Date: December 29, 2006 [EBook #20212] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLICE YOUR PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>POLICE YOUR PLANET</h1> + +<h2>By ERIC VAN LHIN</h2> + +<h4> +SCIENCE FICTION<br /> +AVALON BOOKS<br /> +22 EAST 60TH STREET NEW YORK +</h4> + +<h4> +Copyright, 1956, by Eric van Lhin<br /> +Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number: 56-13313 +</h4> + +<h4>[Transcriber's note: This is a rule 6 clearance. A copyright + renewal could not be found.]</h4> + + + + +<h4> +PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN THE DOMINION OF CANADA<br /> +BY THE RYERSON PRESS, TORONTO +</h4> + + +<h4> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /> +BY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC., CLINTON, MASSACHUSETTS +</h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#Chapter_I"><b>Chapter I. <span class="smcap">One Way Ticket</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_II"><b>Chapter II. <span class="smcap">Honest Izzy</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_III"><b>Chapter III. <span class="smcap">The Graft Is Green</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_IV"><b>Chapter IV. <span class="smcap">Captain Murdoch</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_V"><b>Chapter V. <span class="smcap">Recall</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_VI"><b>Chapter VI. <span class="smcap">Sealed Letter</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_VII"><b>Chapter VII. <span class="smcap">Electioneering</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_VIII"><b>Chapter VIII. <span class="smcap">Vote Early and Often</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_IX"><b>Chapter IX. <span class="smcap">Contraband</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_X"><b>Chapter X. <span class="smcap">Marriage of Convenience</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_XI"><b>Chapter XI. <span class="smcap">The Sky's the Limit</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_XII"><b>Chapter XII. <span class="smcap">Wife or Prisoner?</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_XIII"><b>Chapter XIII. <span class="smcap">Arrest Mayor Wayne!</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_XIV"><b>Chapter XIV. <span class="smcap">Full Circle</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_XV"><b>Chapter XV. <span class="smcap">Murdoch's Mantle</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_XVI"><b>Chapter XVI. <span class="smcap">Get the Dome!</span></b></a><br /> +<a href="#Chapter_XVII"><b>Chapter XVII. <span class="smcap">Security Payoff</span></b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>POLICE YOUR PLANET</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_I" id="Chapter_I"></a>Chapter I</h2> + +<h3>ONE WAY TICKET</h3> + + +<p>There were ten passengers in the little pressurized cabin of the +electric bus that shuttled between the rocket field and Marsport. Ten +men, the driver—and Bruce Gordon.</p> + +<p>He sat apart from the others, as he had kept to himself on the ten-day +trip between Earth and Mars, with the yellow stub of his ticket still +stuck defiantly in the band of his hat, proclaiming that Earth had paid +his passage without his permission being asked. His big, lean body was +slumped slightly in the seat. There was no expression on his face.</p> + +<p>He listened to the driver explaining to a couple of firsters that they +were actually on what appeared to be one of the mysterious canals when +viewed from Earth. Every book on Mars gave the fact that the canals were +either an illusion or something which could not be detected on the +surface of the planet.</p> + +<p>He glanced back toward the rocket that still pointed skyward back on the +field, and then forward toward the city of Marsport, sprawling out in a +mess of slums beyond the edges of the dome that had been built to hold +air over the central part. And at last he stirred and reached for the +yellow stub.</p> + +<p>He grimaced at the <span class="smcap">One Way</span> stamped on it, then tore it into +bits and let the pieces scatter over the floor. He counted them as they +fell; thirty pieces, one for each year of his life. Little ones for the +two years he'd wasted as a cop. Shreds for the four years as a kid in +the ring before that—he'd never made the top. Bigger bits for two years +also wasted in trying his hand at professional gambling; and the six +final pieces that spelled his rise from a special reporter helping out +with a police shake-up coverage, through a regular leg-man turning up +rackets, and on up like a meteor until.... He'd made his big scoop, all +right. He'd dug up enough about the Mercury scandals to double +circulation.</p> + +<p>And the government had explained what a fool he'd been for printing half +of a story that was never supposed to be printed until all could be +revealed. They'd given Bruce Gordon his final assignment.</p> + +<p>He shrugged. He'd bought a suit of airtight coveralls and a helmet at +the 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 never +been exported to Mars. With them and the knife he'd selected, he might +get by.</p> + +<p>The Solar Security office had given him the knife practice, to make sure +he could use it, just as they'd made sure he hadn't taken extra money +with him beyond the regulation amount.</p> + +<p>"You're a traitor, and we'd like nothing better than seeing your guts +spilled," the Security man had told him. "That paper you swiped was +marked 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 bound +for Mars, rather than the Mercury mines. If..."</p> + +<p>It was a big <i>if</i>, and a vague one. They needed men on Mars who could +act as links in their information bureau, and be ready to work on their +side when the expected trouble came. They wanted men who could serve +them loyally, even without orders. If he did them enough service, they +might let him back to Earth. If he caused trouble enough, they could +still ship him to Mercury.</p> + +<p>"And suppose nothing happens?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Then who cares? You're just lucky enough to be alive."</p> + +<p>"And what makes you think I'm going to be a spy for Security?"</p> + +<p>The other had shrugged. "Why not, Gordon? You've been a spy for a yellow +scandal sheet. Why not for us?"</p> + +<p>Gordon had been smart enough to realize that perhaps Security was right.</p> + +<p>They were in the slums around the city now. Marsport had been settled +faster than it was ready to receive. Temporary buildings had been thrown +up, and then had remained, decaying into deathtraps. It wasn't a pretty +view that visitors got as they first reached Mars. But nobody except the +romantic fools had ever thought frontiers were pretty.</p> + +<p>The drummer who had watched Gordon tear up his yellow stub moved forward +now. "First time?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Gordon nodded, mentally cataloguing the drummer as the cockroach type, +midway between the small-businessman slug and the petty-crook spider +types that weren't worth bothering with. But the other took it as +interest.</p> + +<p>"Been here dozens of times, myself. Risking your life just to go into +Marsport. Why Congress doesn't clean it up, <i>I'll</i> never know!"</p> + +<p>Gordon's mind switched to the readers in his bag. The cards were +plastic, and should be good for a week or so of use before they showed +wear. During that time, by playing it carefully, he should have his +stake. Then, if the gaming tables here were as crudely run as an +oldtimer he'd known on Earth had said, he could try a coup.</p> + +<p>"... be at Mother Corey's soon," the fat little drummer babbled on. +"Notorious—worst place on Mars. Take it from me, brother, that's +something! Even the cops are afraid to go in there. See it? There, to +your left!"</p> + +<p>The name was vaguely familiar as one of the sore spots of Marsport. +Bruce Gordon looked, and spotted the ragged building, half a mile +outside the dome. It had been a rocket-maintenance hangar once, then had +been turned into temporary dwelling for the first deportees, when Earth +began flooding Mars. Now, seeming to stand by habit alone, it radiated +desolation and decay.</p> + +<p>He stood up, grabbing for his bag, and spinning the drummer aside. He +jerked forward, and caught the driver's shoulder. "Getting off!"</p> + +<p>The driver shrugged his hand away. "Don't be crazy, mister! They—" He +turned, 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 minutes +to get into coveralls and helmet and out through the airlock."</p> + +<p>Gordon needed less than that; he'd practiced all the way from Earth. The +transparent plastic of the coveralls went on easily enough, and his +hands found the seals quickly. He slipped his few possessions into a bag +at his belt, slid the knife into a spring holster above his wrist, and +picked up the bowl-shaped helmet. It seated on a plastic seal, and the +little air compressor at his back began to hum, ready to turn the thin +wisp of Mars' atmosphere into a barely breathable pressure. He tested +the Marspeaker—an amplifier and speaker in another pouch, designed to +raise the volume of his voice to a level where it would carry through +even the air of Mars.</p> + +<p>The driver swore at the lash of sound, and grabbed for the airlock +switch.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Gordon moved down unpaved streets that zig-zagged along, thick with the +filth of garbage and poverty—the part of Mars never seen in the +newsreels, outside the shock movies. Thin kids with big eyes and sullen +mouths crowded the streets in their airsuits, yelling profanity. The +street was filled with people watching with a numbed hunger for any kind +of excitement.</p> + +<p>It was late afternoon, obviously. Men were coming from the few bus +routes, lugging tools and lunch baskets, slumped and beaten from labor +in the atomic plants, the Martian conversion farms, and the industries +that had come inevitably where inefficiency was better than the high +prices of imports. The saloons were doing well enough, apparently, from +the number that streamed in through their airlock entrances. But Gordon +saw one of the bartenders paying money to a thickset person with an +arrogant sneer; he knew then that the few profits from the cheap beer +were never going home with the man. Storekeepers in the cheap little +shops had the same lines on their faces as they saw on those of their +customers.</p> + +<p>Poverty and misery were the keynotes here, rather than the evil +half-world the drummer had babbled about. But to Gordon's trained eyes, +there was plenty of outright rottenness, too.</p> + +<p>He grimaced, grateful that the supercharger on his airsuit filtered out +some of the smell which the thin air carried. He'd thought he was +familiar with human misery from his own Earth slum background. But there +was no attempt to disguise it here.</p> + +<p>Ahead, Mother Corey's reared up—a huge, ugly half-cylinder of pitted +metal and native bricks, showing the patchwork of decades, before +repairs had been abandoned. There were no windows, though once there had +been; and the front was covered with a big sign that spelled out +<i>Condemned</i>. The airseal was filthy, and there was no bell.</p> + +<p>Gordon kicked against the side, waited, and kicked again. A slit opened +and closed. He waited, then drew his knife and began prying at the worn +cement around the airseal, looking for the lock that had been there.</p> + +<p>The seal suddenly quivered, indicating that metal inside had been +withdrawn. Gordon grinned tautly, stepped through, and pushed the blade +against the inner plastic.</p> + +<p>"All right, all right," a voice whined out of the darkness. "You don't +have to puncture my seal. You're in."</p> + +<p>"Then call them off!"</p> + +<p>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?"</p> + +<p>"A yellow ticket," Gordon told him, "and a government allotment that'll +last me two weeks in the dome. I figure on making it last six here, and +don't let my being a firster give you hot palms. My brother was Lanny +Gordon!"</p> + +<p>It happened to be true, though Bruce Gordon hadn't seen his brother from +the time the man had left the family, as a young punk, to the day they +finally convicted him on his twenty-first murder. But here, if it was +like places he'd known on Earth, even second-hand contact with "muscle" +was useful.</p> + +<p>It seemed to work. A huge man oozed out of the shadows, his gray face +contorting its doughy fat into a yellow-toothed grin, and a filthy hand +waved back the others. There were a few wisps of long, gray hair on the +head and face, and they quivered as he moved forward.</p> + +<p>"Looking for a room?" he whined.</p> + +<p>"I'm looking for Mother Corey."</p> + +<p>"Then you're looking at him, cobber. Sleep on the floor, want a bunk, +squat with four, or room and duchess to yourself?"</p> + +<p>There was a period of haggling, followed by a wait as Mother Corey +kicked four grumbling men out of a four-by-seven hole on the second +floor. Gordon's money had carried more weight than his brother's +reputation; for that, Corey humored his guest's wish for privacy. "All +yours, cobber, while your crackle's blue."</p> + +<p>It was a filthy, dark place. In one corner was an unsheeted bed. There +was a rusty bucket for water, a hole kicked through the floor for waste +water. Plumbing, and such luxuries, apparently hadn't existed for +years—except for the small cistern and worn water-recovery plant in the +basement, beside the tired-looking weeds in the hydroponic tanks that +tried unsuccessfully to keep the air breathable.</p> + +<p>"What about a lock on the door?" Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>"What good would it do you? Got a different way here, we have. One +credit a week, and you get Mother Corey's word nobody busts in. And it +sticks, cobber—one way or the other."</p> + +<p>Gordon paid, and tossed his pouch on the filthy bed. With a little work, +the place could be cleaned enough.</p> + +<p>He pulled the cards out of his pouch, trying to be casual. Mother Corey +stood staring at the pack while Bruce Gordon changed out of his airsuit, +gagging faintly as the full effluvium of the place hit him. "Where does +a man eat around here?"</p> + +<p>Mother Corey pried his eyes off the cards and ran a thick tongue over +heavy 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 vote +money back in town—with a deck of cheaters like that—you want to +<i>eat</i>?"</p> + +<p>He picked the deck up fondly, while a faraway look came into his clouded +eyes. "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." He +shook 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 when +your 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."</p> + +<p>He waddled off, telling of his plans to take Mars for a cleaning, once +long ago. Gordon followed him, staring at the surrounding filth.</p> + +<p>His thoughts were churning so busily that he didn't see the blonde girl +until she had forced her way past them on the stairs. Then he turned +back, but she had vanished into one of the rooms.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_II" id="Chapter_II"></a>Chapter II</h2> + +<h3>HONEST IZZY</h3> + + +<p>A lot could be done in ten days, when a man knew what he was after. It +was exactly ten days later. Bruce Gordon stood in the motley crowd +inside the barnlike room where Fats ran a bar along one wall, and filled +the rest of the space with assorted tables—all worn. Gordon was +sweating slightly as he stood at the roulette table, where both zero and +double-zero were reserved for the house.</p> + +<p>The croupier was a little wizened man wanted on Earth. His eyes darted +down to the point of the knife that showed under Gordon's sleeve, and he +licked his lips, showing snaggled teeth. The wheel hesitated and came to +a halt, with the ball trembling in a pocket.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-one wins again." He pushed chips toward Gordon, as if every one +of them came out of his own pay. "Place your bets."</p> + +<p>Two others around the table watched narrowly as Gordon left his chips +where they were; they then exchanged looks and shook their heads. In a +Martian roulette game, numbers with that much riding just didn't turn +up. The croupier shifted his weight, then caught the wheel and spun it +savagely.</p> + +<p>Gordon's leg ached from his strained position, but he shifted his weight +onto it more heavily, and sweat popped out on the croupier's face. His +eyes darted down, to where the full weight of Gordon seemed to rest on +the heel that was grinding into his instep. He tried to pull his foot +off the button that was concealed in the floor.</p> + +<p>The heel ground harder, bringing a groan from him. And the ball hovered +over Twenty-one and came to rest there once more.</p> + +<p>Slowly, painfully, the little man counted stacks of chips and moved them +across the table toward Gordon, his hands trembling.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>The strain of watching the games until he could spot the fix, and then +holding the croupier down, had left him momentarily weak, but Gordon +could still feel the tensing of the crowd. Now he let his eyes run over +them—the night citizens of Marsport, lower-dome section. Spacemen who'd +missed their ships; men who'd come here with dreams, and stayed without +them—the shopkeepers who couldn't meet their graft and were here to try +to win it on a last chance; street women and petty grifters. The air was +thick with their unwashed bodies—all Mars smelled, since water was +still too rare for frequent bathing—and their cheap perfume, and +clouded with cheap Marsweed cigarettes.</p> + +<p>Gordon swung where their eyes pointed, until he saw Fats Eller sidling +through the groups, then let the knife slip into the palm of his hand as +the crowd seemed to hold its breath. Fats plucked a sheaf of Martian +bank notes from his pocket and tossed them to the croupier.</p> + +<p>"Cash in his chips." Then his pouchy eyes turned to Gordon. "Get your +money, punk, and get out! And stay out!"</p> + +<p>For a moment, as he began pocketing the bills, Gordon thought he was +going to get away that easily. Fats watched him dourly, then swung on +his heel, just as a shrill, strangled cry went up from someone in the +crowd.</p> + +<p>The deportee let his glance jerk to it, then froze. His eyes caught the +sight of a hand pointing behind him, and he knew it was too crude a +trick to bother with. But he paused, shocked to see the girl he'd seen +on Mother Corey's stairs gazing at him in well-feigned warning. In spite +of his better judgment, she caught his eyes and drew them down over +curves and swells that would always be right for arousing a man's +passion.</p> + +<p>He glanced back at Fats, who had started to turn again. Gordon took a +step backwards, preparing to duck. Again the girl's finger motioned +behind him; he disregarded it—and then realized it was a mistake.</p> + +<p>It was the faintest swish in the air that caught his ear; he brought his +shoulders up and his head down. Fast as his reaction was, it was almost +too late. The weapon crunched against his shoulder and slammed over the +back of his neck, almost knocking him out.</p> + +<p>His heel lashed back and caught the shin of the man behind him. Gordon's +other leg spun him around, still crouching; the knife in his hand +started coming up, sharp edge leading, and aimed for the belly of the +bruiser who confronted him. The pug saw the blade and tried to check his +lunge.</p> + +<p>Gordon felt the blade strike; but he was already pulling his swing, and +it 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 and +into the night in two soaring leaps. After only a few days on Mars, his +legs were still hardened to Earth gravity, and he had more than a double +advantage over the others.</p> + +<p>Outside, it was the usual Martian night in the poorer section of the +dome, which meant near-darkness. Most of the street lights had never +been installed—graft had eaten up the appropriations, instead—and the +nearest one was around the corner, leaving the side of Fats' Place in +the shadow. Gordon checked his speed, threw himself flat, and rolled +back against the building, just beyond the steps that led to the street.</p> + +<p>Feet pounded out of the door above as Fats and the bouncer broke +through. Gordon's hand had already knotted a couple of coins into his +kerchief; he waited until the two turned uncertainly up the street and +tossed it. It struck the wall near the corner, sailed on, and struck +again at the edge of the unpaved street with a muffled sound.</p> + +<p>Fats and the other swung, just in time to see a bit of dust where it had +hit. "Around the corner!" Fats yelled. "After him, and shoot!"</p> + +<p>In the shadows, Gordon jerked sharply. It was rare enough to have a gun +here; 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 sheet +that was held up by air pressure and reinforced with heavy webbing. It +was the biggest dome ever built—large enough to cover all of Marsport +before the slums sprawled out beyond it; it still covered half the city, +and made breathing possible here without a helmet. But the dome wasn't +designed to stand stray bullets; and having firearms inside it—except +for a few chosen men—was a crime punishable by death.</p> + +<p>Fats had swung back, and was now herding the crowd inside his place. He +might have been only a small gambling-house owner, but within his own +circle his words carried weight.</p> + +<p>Gordon got to his hands and knees and began crawling away from the +corner. He came to a dark alley, smelling of decay where garbage had +piled up without being carted away. Beyond lay a lighted street, and a +sign that announced <i>Mooney's Amusement Palace—Drinks Free to Patrons!</i> +He looked up and down the street, then walked briskly toward the +somewhat plusher gambling hall there. Fats couldn't touch him in a +competitor's place.</p> + +<p>Inside Mooney's, he headed quickly for the dice table. He lost steadily +on 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 Gordon +bemoaned 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.</p> + +<p>Beside him, a cop was drinking the same slowly, watching another +policeman at a Canfield game. He was obviously winning, and now he got +up and came over to cash in his chips.</p> + +<p>"You'd think they'd lose count once in a while," he complained to his +companion. "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."</p> + +<p>Gordon followed them out and turned south, down the street toward the +edge of the dome and the entrance where he'd parked his airsuit and +helmet. He kept glancing back, whenever he was in the thicker shadows, +but there seemed to be no one following him.</p> + +<p>At the gate of the dome, he looked back again, then ducked into the +locker building. He threaded through the maze of the lockers with his +knife ready in his hand, trying not to attract suspicion. At this hour, +though, most of the place was empty. The crowds of foremen and +deliverymen who'd be going in and out through the day were lacking.</p> + +<p>He found his suit and helmet and clamped them on quickly, transferring +the knife to its spring sheath outside the suit. He checked the tiny +batteries that were recharged by generators in the soles of the boots +with every step. Then he paid his toll for the opening of the private +slit and went through, into the darkness outside the dome.</p> + +<p>Lights bobbed about—police in pairs, patrolling in the better streets, +walking as far from the houses as they could; a few groups, depending on +numbers for safety; some of the very poor, stumbling about and hoping +for a drink somehow; and probably hoods from the gangs that ruled the +nights here.</p> + +<p>Gordon left his torch unlighted, and moved along; there was a little +illumination from the phosphorescent markers at some of the corners, and +from the stars. He could just make his way without marking himself with +a light.</p> + +<p>Damn it, he should have hired a few of the younger bums from Mother +Corey's. Here he couldn't hear footsteps. He located a pair of +patrolling cops, and followed them down one street, until they swung +off. Then he was on his own again.</p> + +<p>"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 eighteen +behind him, carrying a torch that was filtered to bare visibility. It +swung up, and he saw a pock-marked face that was twisted in a smile +meant to be ingratiating.</p> + +<p>"You've got a pad on your tail," the kid said, again as low as his +amplifier would permit. "Need a convoy?"</p> + +<p>Gordon studied him briefly, and grinned. Then his grin wiped out as the +kid's arm flashed to his shoulder and back, a series of quick jerks that +seemed almost a blur. Four knives stood buried in the ground at Gordon's +feet, forming a square—and a fifth was in the kid's hand.</p> + +<p>"How much?" he asked, as the kid scooped up the blades and shoved them +expertly back into shoulder sheaths. The kid's hand shaped a C quickly, +and Gordon slipped his arm through a self-sealing slit in the airsuit +and brought out two of them.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, gov'nor," the kid said, stowing them away. "You won't regret +it." Gordon started to turn. Then the kid's voice rose sharply to a +yell. "Okay, honey, he's the Joe!"</p> + +<p>Out of the darkness, ten to a dozen figures loomed up. The kid had +jumped aside with a lithe leap, and now stood between Gordon and the +group moving in for the kill. Gordon swung to run, and found himself +surrounded. His eyes flickered around, trying to spot something in the +darkness that would give him shelter.</p> + +<p>A bludgeon was suddenly hurtling toward him, and he ducked it, his blood +thick in his throat and his ears ringing with the same pressure of fear +he'd always known just before he was kayoed in the ring. Then he +selected what he hoped was the thinnest section of the attackers and +leaped forward. With luck, he might jump over them, using his Earth +strength.</p> + +<p>There was a flicker of dawnlight in the sky, now, however; and he made +out others behind, ready for just such a move. He changed his lunge in +mid-stride, and brought his arm back with the knife. It met a small +round shield on the arm of the man he had chosen, and was deflected at +once.</p> + +<p>"Give 'em hell, gov'nor," the kid's voice yelled, and the little figure +was beside him, a shower of blades seeming to leap from his hand in the +glare of his bare torch. Shields caught them frantically, and then the +kid was in with a heavy club he'd torn from someone's hand.</p> + +<p>Gordon had no time to consider his sudden traitor-ally. He bent to the +ground, seizing the first rocks he could find, and threw them. One of +the hoods dropped his club in ducking; Gordon caught it up and swung in +a single motion that stretched the other out.</p> + +<p>Then it was a melée. The kid's open torch, stuck on his helmet, gave +them light enough, until Gordon could switch on his own. Then the kid +dropped behind him, fighting back-to-back. Here, in close quarters, the +attackers were no longer using knives. One might be turned on its owner, +and a slit suit meant death by asphyxiation.</p> + +<p>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, but +she leaped nimbly aside, shouting commands.</p> + +<p>Two burly goons were suddenly working together. Gordon swung at one, +ducked a blow from the other, and then saw the first swinging again. He +tried to bring his club up—but knew it was too late. A dull weight hit +the side of his head, and he felt himself falling.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It took only minutes for dawn to become day on Mars, and the sun was +lighting up the messy section of back street when Bruce Gordon's eyes +opened and the pain of sight struck his aching head. He groaned, then +looked frantically for the puff of escaping air. But his suit was still +sealed. Ahead of him, the kid lay sprawled out, blood trickling from an +ugly bruise along his jaw.</p> + +<p>Then Gordon felt something on his suit, and his eyes darted to hands +just finishing an emergency patch. His eyes darted up and met those of +the blonde vixen!</p> + +<p>Amazement kept him motionless for a second. There were tears in the eyes +of the girl, and a sniffling sound reached him through her Marspeaker. +Apparently, she hadn't noticed that he had revived, though her eyes were +on him. She finished the patch, and ran perma-sealer over it. Then she +began putting her supplies away, tucking them into a bag that held notes +that could only have been stolen from his pockets—her share of the +loot, apparently.</p> + +<p>He was still thinking clumsily as she got to her feet and turned to +leave. She cast a glance back, hesitated, and then began to move off.</p> + +<p>He got his feet under him slowly, but he was reviving enough to stand +the pain in his head. He came to his feet, and leaped after her. In the +thin air, his lunge was silent, and he was grabbing her before she knew +he was up.</p> + +<p>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 toward +him. Then he had her firmly, bringing her arm back and up, until the +knife fell from her fingers.</p> + +<p>She screamed and began writhing, twisting her hard young body like a boa +constrictor in his hands. But he was stronger. He bent her back over his +knee, until a mangled moan was coming from her speaker; then his foot +kicked out, knocking her feet out from under her. He let her hit the +ground, caught both her wrists in his, and brought his knee down on her +throat, applying more pressure until she lay still. Then he reached for +the pouch.</p> + +<p>"Damn you!" Her cry was more in anguish then it had been when he was +threatening to break her back. "You damned firster, I'll kill you if +it's the last thing I do. And after I saved your miserable life...."</p> + +<p>"Thanks for that," he grunted. "Next time don't be a fool. When you kill +a man for his money, he doesn't feel very grateful for your reviving +him."</p> + +<p>He started to count the money. About a tenth of what he had won—not +even enough to open a cheap poker den, let alone bribe his way back to +Earth.</p> + +<p>The girl was out from under his knee at the first relaxation of +pressure. Her hand scooped up the knife, and she came charging toward +him, her mouth a taut slit across half-bared teeth. Gordon rolled out of +her swing, and brought his foot up. It caught her squarely under the +chin, and she went down and out.</p> + +<p>He picked up the scattered money and her knife, then made sure she was +still breathing. He ran his hands over her, looking for a hiding place +for more money; there was none.</p> + +<p>"Good work, gov'nor," the kid's thin voice approved, and Gordon swung to +see 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?"</p> + +<p>Gordon hauled back his hand to knock the other from his feet, and then +dropped it. A grin writhed onto his face, and broke into sudden grudging +laughter.</p> + +<p>"Okay, Izzy," he admitted. "For this stinking planet, I guess you're +something of a saint. Come along, and we'll both apply for that +job—after I get my stuff."</p> + +<p>He might as well join the law. Security had wanted him to police their +damned planet for them—and he might as well do it officially.</p> + +<p>He tossed the girl's knife down beside her, motioned to Izzy, and began +heading for Mother Corey's.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_III" id="Chapter_III"></a>Chapter III</h2> + +<h3>THE GRAFT IS GREEN</h3> + + +<p>Izzy seemed surprised when he found that Gordon was turning in to the +quasi-secret entrance to Mother Corey's. "Coming here myself," he +explained. "Mother got ahold of a load of snow, and sent me out to +contact a big pusher. Coming back, the goons picked me up and gave me +the job on you. Hey, Mother!"</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon didn't ask how Mother Corey had acquired the dope. When +Earth had deported all addicts two decades before, it had practically +begged for dope smuggling.</p> + +<p>The gross hulk of Mother Corey appeared almost at once. "Izzy and Bruce. +Didn't know you'd met, cobbers. Contact, Izzy?"</p> + +<p>"Ninety per cent for uncut," Izzy answered.</p> + +<p>They went up to Gordon's hole-in-the-wall, with Mother Corey wheezing +behind, while the rotten wood of the stairs groaned under his grotesque +bulk. At his questions, Gordon told the story tersely.</p> + +<p>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. Pretty +soon, they'll be trick-proof, anyhow; they're changing over to electric +eyes. Eh, you haven't forgotten me, cobber?"</p> + +<p>Gordon hadn't. The old wreck had demanded five per cent of his winnings +for tipping him off. Mother Corey had too many cheap hoods among his +friends to be fooled with. Gordon counted out the money reluctantly, +while Izzy explained that they were going to be cops.</p> + +<p>The old man shook his head, estimating what was left to Gordon. "Enough +to buy a corporal's job, pay for your suit, and maybe get by," he +decided. "Don't do it, cobber. You're the wrong kind. You take what +you're doing serious. When you set out to tinhorn a living, you're a +crook. Get you in a cop's outfit, and you'll turn honest. No place here +for an honest cop—not with elections coming up, cobber. Well, I guess +you gotta find out for yourself. Want a good room?"</p> + +<p>Gordon's lips twitched. "Thanks, Mother, but I'll be staying inside the +dome, I guess."</p> + +<p>"So'll I," the old man gloated. "Setting in a chair all day, being an +honest citizen. Cobber, I already own a joint there—a nice one, they +tell me. Lights. Two water closets. Big rooms, six-by-ten—fifty of +them, big enough for whole families. And strictly on the level, cobber. +It's no hide-out, like this."</p> + +<p>He rolled the money in his greasy fingers. "Now, with what I get from +the pusher, I can buy off that hot spot on the police blotter. I can go +in the dome and walk around, just like you." His eyes watered, and a +tear went dripping down his nose. "I'm getting old. They'll be calling +me 'Grandmother' pretty soon. So I'm turning my Chicken House over to my +granddaughter and I'm going honest. Want a room?"</p> + +<p>Gordon grinned, and nodded. Mother Corey knew the ropes, and could be +trusted. "Didn't know you had a granddaughter."</p> + +<p>Izzy snorted, and Mother Corey grinned wolfishly. "You met her, cobber. +The blonde you shook down! Came up from Earth eight years ago, looking +for me. I sold her to the head of the East Point gang. Since she killed +him, she's been doing pretty well on her own. Mostly. Except when she +makes a fool of herself, like she did with you. But she'll come around +to 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 pass +the dome till he gets it—I'll give you both rooms for six months free. +Except for the lights and water, of course."</p> + +<p>Izzy nodded, and Gordon shrugged. On Mars, it didn't seem odd to begin +applying for a police job by carrying in narcotics. He wondered how +they'd go about contacting the commissioner.</p> + +<p>But that turned out to be simple enough. After collecting, Izzy led the +way into a section marked "Special Taxes" and whispered a few casual +words. The man at the desk went into an office marked private, and came +back a few minutes later.</p> + +<p>"Your friend has no record with us," he said in a routine voice. "I've +checked through his tax forms, and they're all in order. We'll confirm +officially, of course."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the Applications section of the big Municipal Building, at the center +of the dome, there was a long form to fill out at the desk; but the +captain there had already had answers typed in.</p> + +<p>"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—and +stamped their forms. "And you'll want suits. Isaacs? Good, here's your +receipt. And you, Corporal Gordon. Right. Get your suits one floor down, +end of the hall. And report in eight tomorrow morning!"</p> + +<p>It was as simple as that. Bruce Gordon was lucky enough to get a fair +fit in his suit. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be in +uniform.</p> + +<p>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 first +few beats, but you can work some fairly well."</p> + +<p>Gordon's chest fell; this was Mars!</p> + +<p>The room at the new Mother Corey's—an unkempt old building near the +edge of the dome—proved to be livable, though it was a shock to see +Mother Corey himself in a decent suit, and using perfume.</p> + +<p>The beat was in a shabby section where clerks and skilled laborers +worked. It wasn't poor enough to offer the universal desperation that +gave the gang hoodlums protective coloring, nor rich enough to have +major rackets of its own.</p> + +<p>Izzy was disgusted. "Cripes! Hope they've got a few cheap pushers around +that don't pay protection direct to the captain. You take that store; +I'll go in this one!"</p> + +<p>The proprietor was a druggist who ran his own fountain where the +synthetics that replaced honest Earth foods were compounded into sweet +and sticky messes for the neighborhood kids. He looked up as Gordon came +in; then his face fell. "New cop, eh? No wonder Gable collected +yesterday, ahead of time. All right, you can look at my books. I've been +paying fifty, but you'll have to wait until Friday."</p> + +<p>Gordon nodded and swung on his heel, surprised to find that his stomach +was turning. The man obviously couldn't afford fifty credits a week. But +it was the same all along the street. Even Izzy admitted finally that +they'd have to wait.</p> + +<p>"That damned cop before us! He really tapped them! And we can't take +less, so I guess we gotta wait until Friday."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The next day, Bruce Gordon made his first arrest. It was near the end of +his shift, just as darkness was falling and the few lights were going +on. He turned a corner and came to a short, heavy hoodlum backing out of +a small liquor store with a knife in throwing position. The crook +grunted as he started to turn and stumbled onto Gordon. His knife +flashed up.</p> + +<p>Without the need to worry about an airsuit, Gordon moved in, his arm +jerking forward. He clipped the crook on the inside of the elbow, while +grabbing the wrist with his other hand. The man went sailing over +Gordon's head, to crash into the side of the building. He let out a +yell.</p> + +<p>Gordon rifled the hood's pockets, and located a roll of bills stuffed +in. He dragged them out, before snapping cuffs on the man. Then he +pulled the crook inside the store.</p> + +<p>A woman stood there, moaning over a pale man on the floor; blood oozed +from a welt on the back of his head. There was both gratitude and +resentment as she looked up at Gordon.</p> + +<p>"You'd better call the hospital," he told her sharply. "He may have a +concussion. I've got the man who held you up."</p> + +<p>"Hospital?" Her voice broke into another wail. "And who can afford +hospitals? All week we work, all hours. He's old, he can't handle the +cases. I do that. Me! And then you come, and you get your money. And +<i>he</i> comes for his protection. Papa is sick. Sick, do you hear? He sees +a doctor, he buys medicine. Then Gable comes. This man comes. We can't +pay him! So what do we get—we get knifes in the faces, saps on the +head—a concussion, you tell me! And all the money—the money we had to +pay to get stocks to sell to pay off from the profits we don't make—all +of it, he wants! Hospitals! You think they give away at the hospitals +free?"</p> + +<p>She fell to her knees, crying over the injured man.</p> + +<p>Gordon tossed the roll of bills onto the floor beside her; the injury +seemed only a scalp wound, and the old man was already beginning to +groan. He opened his eyes and saw the bills in front of him, at which +the woman was staring unbelievingly. His hand darted out, clutching it. +"God!" he moaned softly, and his eyes turned up slowly to Gordon.</p> + +<p>"In there!" It was a shout from outside. Gordon had just time to +straighten up before the doorway was filled with two knife-men and a +heavier one behind them.</p> + +<p>His hands dropped to the handcuffed man on the floor, and he caught him +up with a jerk, slapping his body back against the counter. He took a +step forward, jerking his hands up and putting his Earth-adapted +shoulders behind it. The hood sailed up and struck the two knife-men +squarely.</p> + +<p>There was a scream as their automatic attempts to save themselves buried +both knives in the body of their friend. Then they went crashing down, +and Gordon was over them.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The desk captain at the precinct house groaned as they came in, then +shook 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, and +mark it down as a robbery attempt. I'm going to have to book you and +your men, Mr. Jurgens!"</p> + +<p>The heavy leader of the two angry knife-men grinned. "Okay, Captain. But +it's going to slow down the work I'm doing on the Mayor's campaign for +re-election! Damn that Maxie—I told him to be discreet. Hey, you know +what you've got, though—a real considerate man! He gave the old guy his +money back!"</p> + +<p>They took Bruce Gordon's testimony, and sent him home.</p> + +<p>Jurgens was waiting for him when he came on the beat. From his look of +having slept well, he must have been out almost as soon as he was +booked. Two other men stood behind Gordon, while Jurgens explained that +he didn't like being interrupted on business calls "about the Mayor's +campaign, or anything else," and that next time there'd be real hard +feelings. Gordon was surprised when he wasn't beaten, but not when the +racketeer suggested that any money found at a crime was evidence and +should go to the police. The captain had told him the same.</p> + +<p>By Friday, he had learned. He made his collections early. Gable had sold +him the list of what was expected, and he used it, though he cut down +the figures in a few cases. There was no sense in killing the geese that +laid the eggs.</p> + +<p>The couple at the liquor store had their payment waiting, and they +handed it over, looking embarrassed. It wasn't until he was gone that he +found a small bottle of fairly good whiskey tucked into his pouch. He +started to throw it away, and then lifted it to his lips. Maybe they'd +known how he felt better than he had. Mother Corey's words about his +change of attitude came back. Damn it, he had to dig up enough money to +get back to Earth.</p> + +<p>He collected, down to the last account. It was a nice haul; at that +rate, he'd have to stand it only for a few months. Then Gordon's lips +twisted, as he realized it wasn't all gravy. There were angles, or the +price of a corporalcy would have been higher.</p> + +<p>One of the older men answered his questions. "Fifty per cent of the take +to the Orphan's and Widow's fund. Better make it more than Gable turned +in, if you want to get a better beat."</p> + +<p>The envelopes were lying on a table marked "Voluntary Donations"; Gordon +filled 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 him +carefully, settled back and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Widows and Orphans sure appreciate a good man," he said. "I was kind of +worried about you, Gordon, but you got a nice touch. One of my new +boys—Isaacs, you know him—was out checking up after you, and the dopes +seem to like you."</p> + +<p>Gordon had wondered why Izzy had been pulled off the beat. As he turned +to leave, the captain held up a hand. "Special meeting tomorrow. We +gotta see about getting out a good vote. Election only three weeks +away."</p> + +<p>Gordon went home. He'd learned by now that the native Martians—those +who'd been here for at least thirty years, or had been born here—were +backing a reform candidate and new ticket. But Mayor Wayne had all of +the rest of the town in his hand. He'd been in twice, and had lifted the +graft take by a truly remarkable figure. From where Gordon stood, it +looked like a clear victory for the reformer, Nolan.</p> + +<p>He went into the meeting willing to agree to anything. He applauded all +the speeches about how much Mayor Wayne had done for them, and signed +the pledge expressing his confidence, along with the implied duty he had +to make his beat vote right. Then he stopped, as the captain stood up.</p> + +<p>"We gotta be neutral, boys," he boomed. "But it don't mean we can't show +how well we like the Mayor. Just remember, he got us our jobs! Now I +figure we can all kick in a little to help his campaign. I'm going to +start it off with five thousand credits, two thousand of them right +now."</p> + +<p>They fell in line, though there was no cheering. The price might have +been fixed in advance. A thousand for a plain cop, fifteen hundred for a +corporal, and so on, each contributing a third of it now. Gordon +grimaced; he had six hundred left. This would take nearly all of it.</p> + +<p>A man named Fell shook his head, fearfully. "Can't do a thing now. My +wife had a baby and an operation, and——"</p> + +<p>"Okay, Fell," the captain said, without a sign of disapproval. "Freitag, +what about you? Fine, fine!"</p> + +<p>Gordon's name came, and he shook his head. "I'm new—and I'm strapped +now. I'd like——"</p> + +<p>"Quite all right, Gordon," the captain boomed. "Harwick!"</p> + +<p>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 need +extra money. The boys out in Ward Three are shorthanded. Afraid I'll +have to order you out there!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ward Three was the hangout of a cheap gang of hoodlums, numbering some +four hundred, who went in for small crimes mostly. But they had recently +declared war on the cops.</p> + +<p>After eight hours of overtime, Gordon reported in with every bone sore +from small missiles, and his suit filthy from assorted muck. He had a +beautiful shiner where a stone had clipped him.</p> + +<p>The captain smiled. "Rough, eh? But I hear robbery went down on your +beat 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 can +trust with the job!"</p> + +<p>Gordon stuck it out, somehow, but it wasn't worth it. He reported back +to the precinct with the five hundred in his hand, and his pen itching +for the donation agreement.</p> + +<p>The captain took it, and nodded. "I wasn't kidding about your being a +good man, Gordon. Go home and get some sleep, take the next day off. +After that, we've got a new job for you!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_IV" id="Chapter_IV"></a>Chapter IV</h2> + +<h3>CAPTAIN MURDOCH</h3> + + +<p>The new assignment was to the roughest section in all Marsport—the slum +area beyond the dome, out near the rocket field. Here all the riffraff +that had been unable to establish itself in better quarters had found +some sort of a haven. At one time, there had been a small dome and a +tiny city devoted to the rocket field. But Marsport had flourished +enough to kill it off. The dome had failed from neglect, and the +buildings inside had grown shabbier.</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon was trapped; he couldn't break his job with the police—if +he did, he'd be brought back as a criminal. Some of Mars' laws dated +from the time when law enforcement had been hampered by lack of men, +rather than by the type of men.</p> + +<p>The Stonewall gang numbered perhaps five hundred. They hired out members +to other gangs, during the frequent wars. Between times, they picked up +what they could by mugging and theft, with a reasonable amount of murder +thrown in at a modest price.</p> + +<p>Even derelicts and failures had to eat; there were stores and shops +throughout the district which eked out some kind of a marginal living. +They were safe from protection racketeers there—none bothered to come +so far out. And police had been taken off the beats there after it grew +unsafe even for men in pairs to patrol the area.</p> + +<p>The shopkeepers, and some of the less unfortunate people there, had +protested loud enough to reach clear back to Earth. Marsport had hired a +man from Earth to come in and act as chief of the section. Captain +Murdoch was an unknown factor, and now was asking for more men. The +pressure was enough to get them for him.</p> + +<p>Gordon reported for work with a sense of the bottom falling out, mixed +with a vague relief.</p> + +<p>"You're going to be busy," Murdoch announced shortly in the dilapidated +building 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 run +this the way we would on Earth. Your job is to protect the citizens +here—and that means everyone not breaking the laws—whether you feel +like it or not. No graft. The first man making a shakedown will get the +same treatment we're going to use on the Stonewall boys. You'll get +double pay here, and you can live on it!"</p> + +<p>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 a +shaped grip on each, with a thong of leather to hold it over the wrist.</p> + +<p>He picked out five of the men, including Gordon "You five will come with +me. I'm going to show how we operate. The rest of you can team up any +way you want tonight, pick any route that's open. Okay, men, let's go."</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon grinned slowly as he swung the stick, and Murdoch's eyes +fell on him. "Earth cop!"</p> + +<p>"Two years," Gordon admitted.</p> + +<p>"Then you should be ashamed to be in this mess. But whatever your +reasons, you'll be useful. Take those two and give them some lessons, +while I do the same with these."</p> + +<p>For a second, Gordon cursed himself. Murdoch had fixed it so he'd be a +squad leader, and that meant he'd be unable to step out of line. At +double standard pay, with normal Mars expenses, he might be able to pay +for passage back to Earth in three years—if Security let him. +Otherwise, it would take thirty.</p> + +<p>He began wondering about Security, then. Nobody had tried to get in +touch with him. Were they waiting for him to get up on a soapbox?</p> + +<p>There was a crude lighting system here, put up by the citizens. At the +front of each building, a dim phosphor bulb glowed; when darkness fell, +they would have nothing else to see by.</p> + +<p>Murdoch bunched them together. "A good clubbing beats hanging," he told +them. "But it has to be <i>good</i>. Go in for business, and don't stop just +because the other guy quits. Give them hell!"</p> + +<p>Moving in two groups of threes, at opposite sides of the street, they +began their beat. They were covering an area of six blocks one way, and +two the other.</p> + +<p>They had traveled the six blocks and were turning down a side street +when they found their first case; it was still daylight. Two of the +Stonewall boys were working over a tall man in a newer airsuit. As the +police swung around, one of the thugs casually ripped the airsuit open.</p> + +<p>A thin screech like a whistle came from Murdoch's Marspeaker, and the +captain went forward, with Gordon at his heels. The hoodlums tossed the +man aside easily, and let out a yell. From the buildings around, an +assortment of toughs came at the double, swinging knives, picks, and +bludgeons.</p> + +<p>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 it +hit. A skilled man could knock a knife, or even a heavy club, out of +another's hand with a single flick of the wrist. And he'd had practice.</p> + +<p>He saw Murdoch's club dart in and take out two of the gang, one on the +forward swing, one on the recover. Gordon's eyes popped at that. The man +was totally unlike a Martian captain, and a knot of homesickness for +Earth ran through his stomach.</p> + +<p>He swallowed the sentiment; his own club was moving now. Standing beside +Murdoch, they were moving forward. The other four cops had come in +reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"Knock them out and kick them down!" Murdoch yelled. "And don't let them +get away!"</p> + +<p>Gordon was after a thug who was attempting to run away. He brought him +to the ground with a single blow across the kidneys.</p> + +<p>It was soon over. They rounded up the men of the gang, and one of the +cops started off. Murdoch called, "Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To find a phone and call the wagon."</p> + +<p>"We're not using wagons," Murdoch told him. "Line them up."</p> + +<p>When the hoods came to, they found themselves helpless, and facing +police with clubs. If they tried to run, they were hit from behind; if +they stood still, they were clubbed carefully. If they fought back, the +pugnaciousness was knocked out of them at once.</p> + +<p>Murdoch indicated one who stood with his shoulders shaking and tears +running down his cheeks. The captain's face was as sick as Gordon felt. +"Take him aside. Names."</p> + +<p>Gordon found a section away from the others. "I want the name of every +man in the gang you can remember," he told the man.</p> + +<p>Horror shot over the other's bruised features. "Colonel, they'd kill me! +I don't know."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Murdoch took his nod as evidence enough, and turned to the wretched +toughs. "He squealed," he announced. "If he should turn up dead, I'll +know you boys are responsible, and I'll find you. Now get out of this +district, or get honest jobs! Because every time one of my men sees one +of you, this will happen again. And you can pass the word along that the +Stonewall gang is dead!"</p> + +<p>He turned and moved off down the street, the others at his side. Gordon +nodded. "I've heard the theory, but never saw it in practice. Suppose +the whole gang jumps us at once?"</p> + +<p>Murdoch shrugged. "Then we're taken. The old book I got the idea from +didn't mention that."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Trouble began brewing shortly after, though. Men stood outside, studying +the cops on their beat. Murdoch sent one of the men to pick up a second +squad of six, and then a third. After that, the watchers began to melt +away.</p> + +<p>"We'd better shift to another territory," Murdoch decided. Gordon +realized that the gang had figured that concentrating the police here +meant other territories would be safe.</p> + +<p>Two more groups were given the treatment. In the third one, Bruce Gordon +spotted one of the men who'd been beaten before. He was a sick-looking +spectacle.</p> + +<p>Murdoch nodded. "Object lesson!"</p> + +<p>The one good thing about the captain, Gordon decided, was that he +believed in doing his own dirtiest work. When he was finished, he turned +to two of the other captives.</p> + +<p>"Get a stretcher, and take him wherever he belongs," he ordered. "I'm +leaving you two able to walk for that. But if <i>you</i> get caught again, +you'll get still worse."</p> + +<p>The squad went in, tired and sore; all had taken a severe beating in the +brawls. But there was little grumbling. Gordon saw grudging admiration +in their eyes for Murdoch, who had taken more punishment than they had.</p> + +<p>Gordon rode back in the official car with Murdoch and both were silent +most of the way. But the captain stirred finally, sighing. "Poor +devils!"</p> + +<p>Gordon jerked up in surprise. "The gang?"</p> + +<p>"No, the cops they're giving me. We're covered, Gordon. But the +Stonewall gang is backing Wayne. He's let me come in because he figures +it will get him more votes. But afterwards, he'll have me out; and then +the 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 can +always go back to Earth, and I'll try to take you along. But it's going +to be tough on them."</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon grimaced. "I've got a yellow ticket, from Security."</p> + +<p>Murdoch blinked. He dropped his eyes slowly. "So you're <i>that</i> Gordon? +But you're still a good cop."</p> + +<p>They rode on further in silence, until Gordon broke the ice to ease the +tension. He found himself liking the other.</p> + +<p>"What makes you think Wayne will be re-elected? Nobody wants him, except +a gang of crooks and those in power."</p> + +<p>Murdoch grinned bitterly. "Ever see a Martian election? No, you're a +firster. He can't lose! And then hell is going to pop, and this whole +planet may be blown wide open!"</p> + +<p>It fitted with the dire predictions of Security, and with the spying +Gordon was going to do—according to them.</p> + +<p>He discussed it with Mother Corey, who agreed that Wayne would be +re-elected.</p> + +<p>"Can't lose," the old man said. He was getting even fatter, now that he +was eating better food from the fair restaurant around the corner.</p> + +<p>"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 a +while, then opening up a few rooms for a good pusher or two, maybe a +high-class duchess. Cost 'em more, but they'd be respectable. Only now +I'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 the +way."</p> + +<p>"It didn't affect Honest Izzy," Gordon pointed out.</p> + +<p>"Nope. Because Izzy is always honest, according to how he sees it. But +you got Earth ideas of the stuff, like I had once. Too bad." He sighed +ponderously.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The week moved on. The groups grew more experienced, and Murdoch was +training a new squad every night. Gordon's own squad was equipped with +shields now, and they were doing better. The number of muggings and +holdups in the section was going down. They seldom saw a man after he'd +been treated.</p> + +<p>One of the squads was jumped by a gang of about forty, and two of the +men were killed before the nearest other squad could pull a rear attack. +That day the whole force worked overtime hunting for the men who had +escaped; and by evening the Stonewall boys had received proof that it +didn't pay to go against the police in large numbers.</p> + +<p>After that, they began to go hunting for the members of the gang. They +had the names of nearly all of them, and some pretty good ideas of their +hide-outs.</p> + +<p>It wasn't exactly legal; but nothing was, here. If a doctor's job was to +prevent illness, instead of merely curing it, then why shouldn't it be a +policeman's job to prevent crime? Here, that was best done by wiping out +the Stonewall gang to the last member.</p> + +<p>This could lead to abuses, as he'd seen on Earth. But there probably +wouldn't be time for it if Mayor Wayne was re-elected.</p> + +<p>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 were +appearing on the streets at night for the first time in years. And there +were smiles—hungry, beaten smiles, but still genuine ones—for the +cops.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_V" id="Chapter_V"></a>Chapter V</h2> + +<h3>RECALL</h3> + + +<p>It was night outside, and the phosphor bulbs at the corners glowed +dimly, giving him barely enough light by which to locate the way to the +extemporized precinct house. Bruce Gordon reached the outskirts of the +miserable business section, noticing that a couple of the shops were +still open. It had probably been years since any had dared risk it after +the sun went down. And the slow, doubtful respect on the faces of the +citizens as they nodded to him was even more proof that Haley's system +was working. Gordon nodded to a couple, and they grinned faintly at him. +Damn it, Mars could be cleaned up....</p> + +<p>He grinned at himself, then something needled at his mind, until he +swung back. The man who had just passed was carrying a lunch basket, and +was wearing the coveralls of one of the crop-prospector crews; but the +expression on his face had been wrong.</p> + +<p>Red hair, too heavily built, a lighter section where a mustache had been +shaved and the skin not quite perfectly powdered.... Gordon moved +forward quickly, until he could make out the thin scar showing through +the make-up over the man's eyes. He'd been right—this was O'Neill, head +of the Stonewall gang.</p> + +<p>Gordon hit the signal switch, and the Marspeaker let out a shrill +whistle. O'Neill had turned to run, and then seemed to think better of +it. His hand darted down to his belt, just as Gordon reached him.</p> + +<p>The heavy locust stick met the man's wrist before the weapon was half +drawn—another gun! Guns suddenly seemed to be flourishing everywhere. +The gun dropped from O'Neill's hand as the wrist snapped, and the +Stonewall chief let out a high-pitched cry of pain. Then another cop +came around a corner at a run.</p> + +<p>"You can't do it to me! I'm reformed; I'm going straight! You damned +cops can't...." O'Neill was blubbering. The small crowd that was +collecting 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 break +down in public.</p> + +<p>The other cop had yanked out O'Neill's wallet, and now tossed it to +Gordon. One look was enough—the work papers had the telltale +over-thickening of the signature that had showed up on other papers, +obviously forgeries. The cops had been passing them on the hope of +finding one of the leaders.</p> + +<p>Some turned away as Gordon and the other cop went to work, but most of +them weren't squeamish. When it was over, the two picked up their +whimpering captive. Gordon pocketed the revolver with his free hand. +"Walk, O'Neill!" he ordered. "Your legs are still whole. Use them!"</p> + +<p>The man staggered between them, whimpering at each step. If any members +of the gang were around, they made no attempt to rescue him.</p> + +<p>Jenkins, the other cop, had been holding the wallet. Now he held it out +toward Gordon. "The gee was heeled, Corporal. Must of been making a big +contact in something. Fifty-fifty?"</p> + +<p>"Turn it in to Murdoch," Gordon said, and then cursed himself. There +must have been over two thousand credits in the wallet.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The captain's face had been buried in a pile of papers, but now Murdoch +came around to stare at the gang leader. He inspected the forged work +papers, and jerked his thumb toward one of the hastily built cells where +a doctor would look O'Neill over—eventually. When Gordon and Jenkins +came back, Murdoch tossed the money to them. "Split it. You guys earned +it by keeping your hands off it. Anyhow, you're as entitled to it as he +was—or the grafters back at Police Headquarters. I never saw it. +Gordon, you've got a visitor!"</p> + +<p>His voice was bitter, but he made no opening for them to question him as +he picked up the papers and began going through them again. Gordon went +down the passage to the end of the hall, in the direction Murdoch had +indicated. Waiting for him was the lean, cynical little figure of Honest +Izzy, complete with uniform and sergeant's stripes.</p> + +<p>"Hi, gov'nor," the little man greeted him. "Long time no see. With you +out here and me busy nights doing a bit of convoy work on the side, we +might as well not both live at Mother's."</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon nodded, grinning in spite of himself. "Convoy duty, Izzy? +Or dope running?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever comes to hand, gov'nor. The Force pays for my time during the +day, and I figure my time's my own at night. Of course, if I ever catch +myself 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 up +the scratch to buy these stripes and get made sergeant—and that takes +the real crackle—I'm figuring on taking it easy."</p> + +<p>"Like this social call?" Gordon asked him.</p> + +<p>The little man shook his head, his ancient eighteen-year-old face +turning sober. "Nope. I've been meaning to see you, so I volunteered to +run 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 the +campaign fund, so I hadda fill in. A thousand, interest at ten per cent +a week, standard. Right?"</p> + +<p>Gordon had heard of the friendly interest charged on the side here, but +he shook his head. "Wrong, Izzy. If they want to collect that dratted +pledge of theirs, let them put me where I can make it. There's no graft +out here."</p> + +<p>"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 you +sign something, you gotta pay it. You <i>gotta</i>."</p> + +<p>"All right," Gordon admitted. He was suddenly in no mood to quibble with +Izzy's personal code. "So you paid it. Now show me where I signed any +agreement saying I'd pay <i>you</i> back!"</p> + +<p>For a second, Izzy's face went blank; then he chuckled. "Jet me! You're +right, gov'nor. I sure asked for that one. Okay; I'm bloody well +suckered, so forget it."</p> + +<p>Gordon shrugged and gave up. He pulled out the bills and handed them +over. "Thanks, Izzy."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, yourself." The kid pocketed the money cheerfully, nodding. "Buy +you a beer. Anyhow, you won't miss it. I came out to tell you I got the +sweetest beat in Marsport—over a dozen gambling joints on it—and I +need a right gee to work it with me. So you're it!"</p> + +<p>For a moment, Gordon wondered what Izzy had done to earn that beat, but +he 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 of +their own, Izzy was undoubtedly the man to find it out, and use the +information. With a beat such as that, even going halves, and with all +the graft to the upper brackets, he'd still be able to make his pile in +a matter of months.</p> + +<p>But he shook his head. "I'm assigned here, Izzy, at least for another +week, until after elections...."</p> + +<p>"Better take him up, Gordon," Murdoch told him bitterly. The captain +looked completely beaten as he came into the room and dropped onto the +bench. "Go on, accept, damn it. You're not assigned here any more. None +of us are. Mayor Wayne found an old clause in the charter and got a +rigged decision, pulling me back under his full authority. I thought I +had full responsibility to Earth, but he's got me. Wearing their uniform +makes me a temporary citizen! So we're being smothered back into the +Force, and they'll have their patsies out here, setting things up for +the Stonewall boys to come back by election time. So grab while the +grabbing's good, because by tomorrow morning I'll have this all closed +down!"</p> + +<p>He shook off Gordon's hand and stood up roughly, to head back up the +hallway. Then he stopped and looked back. "One thing, though, I've still +got enough authority to make you a sergeant. It's been a pleasure +working with you, Sergeant Gordon!"</p> + +<p>He swung out of view abruptly, leaving Gordon with a heavy weight in his +stomach. Izzy whistled, and began picking up his helmet, preparing to go +outside. "So that's the dope I brought out, eh? Takes it kind of hard, +doesn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah," Gordon answered. There was no use trying to explain it to Izzy. +"Yeah, we do. Come on."</p> + +<p>Outside, Gordon saw other cops moving from house to house, and he +realized that Murdoch must be sending out warnings to the citizens that +things would soon be rough again.</p> + +<p>Izzy held out a hand to Gordon. "Let's get a beer, gov'nor—on me!"</p> + +<p>It was as good an idea as any he had, Gordon decided. He might as well +enjoy what life he still had while he could. The Stonewall gang—what +was left of it—and all its friends would be gunning for him now. The +Force wouldn't have been fooled when Izzy paid his pledge, and they'd +mark him down as disloyal—if they didn't automatically mark down all +who'd served under Murdoch. And he didn't have the ghost of an idea as +to what Security wanted of him, or where they were hiding themselves.</p> + +<p>"Make it two beers, Izzy," he said. "Needled!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_VI" id="Chapter_VI"></a>Chapter VI</h2> + +<h3>SEALED LETTER</h3> + + +<p>In the few days at the short-lived Nineteenth Precinct, Bruce Gordon had +begun to feel like a cop again, but the feeling disappeared as he +reported in at Captain Isaiah Trench's Seventh Precinct. Trench had once +been a colonel in the Marines, before a court-martial and sundry +unpleasantnesses had driven him off Earth. His dark, scowling face and +lean body still bore a military air.</p> + +<p>He looked Bruce Gordon over sourly. "I've been reading your record. It +stinks. Making trouble for Jurgens—could have been charged as false +arrest. No co-operation with your captain until he forced it; out in the +sticks beating up helpless men. Now you come crawling back to your only +friend, Isaacs. Well, I'll give it a try. But step out of line and I'll +have you cleaning streets with your bare hands. All right, <i>Corporal</i> +Gordon. Dismissed. Get to your beat."</p> + +<p>Gordon grinned wryly at the emphasis on his title. No need to ask what +had happened to Murdoch's recommendation. He joined Izzy in the locker +room, summing up the situation.</p> + +<p>"Yeah." Izzy looked worried, his thin face pinched in. "Maybe I didn't +do you a favor, gov'nor, pulling you here. I dunno. I got some pics of +Trench from a guy I know. That's how I got my beat so fast in the +Seventh. But Trench ain't married, and I guess I've used up the touch. +Maybe I could try it, though."</p> + +<p>"Forget it," Gordon told him. "I'll work it out somehow."</p> + +<p>The beat was a gold mine. It lay through the section where Gordon had +first 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 as +rooming houses, though they made no bones about the fact that all their +permanent inhabitants were female. Then the beat swung off, past a row +of small businesses and genuine rooming houses, before turning back to +the main section.</p> + +<p>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 promote +good police service before it became a racket. But they were met +everywhere by sullen faces. Izzy explained it. The city had passed a new +poll tax—to pay for election booths, supposedly—and had made the +police collect it. Murdoch must have disregarded the order, but the rest +of the force had been busy helping the administration.</p> + +<p>But once they hit the main stem, things were mere routine. The gambling +joints took it for granted that beat cops had to be paid, and considered +it 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 too +welcome there.</p> + +<p>There was no sign of the thug, but Fats came out of his back office just +as Gordon reached the little bar. He came over, nodded, picked up a cup +and dice and began shaking them.</p> + +<p>"High man for sixty," he said automatically, and expertly rolled +bull's-eyes for a two. "Izzy said you'd be around. Sorry my man drew +that <i>knife</i> on you the last time, Corporal."</p> + +<p>Gordon rolled an eight, pocketed the bills, and shrugged. "Accidents +will happen, Fats."</p> + +<p>"Yeah." The other picked up the dice and began rolling sevens absently. +"How come you're walking beat, anyhow? With what you pulled here, you +should have bought a captaincy."</p> + +<p>Gordon told him briefly. The man chuckled grimly. "Well, that's Mars," +he said, and turned back to his private quarters.</p> + +<p>Mostly, it was routine work. They came on a drunk later, collapsed in an +alley. But the muggers had apparently given up before Izzy and Gordon +arrived, since the man had his wallet clutched in his hand. Gordon +reached for it, twisting his lips.</p> + +<p>Izzy stopped him. "It ain't honest, gov'nor. If the gees in the wagon +clean him, or the desk man gets it, that's their business. But I'm going +to run a straight beat, or else!"</p> + +<p>That was followed by a call to remove a berserk spaceman from one of the +so-called rooming houses. Gordon noticed that workmen were busy setting +up a heavy wooden gate in front of the entrance to the place. There were +a lot of such preparations going on for the forthcoming elections.</p> + +<p>Then the shift was over. But Gordon wasn't too surprised when his relief +showed up two hours late; he'd half-expected some such nastiness from +Trench. But he was surprised at the look on his tardy relief's face.</p> + +<p>The man seemed to avoid facing him, muttered, "Captain says report in +person at once," and swung out of the scooter and onto his beat without +further words.</p> + +<p>Gordon was met there by blank faces and averted looks, but someone +nodded toward Trench's office, and he went inside. Trench sat chewing on +a cigar. "Gordon, what does Security want with you?"</p> + +<p>"Security? Not a damned thing, if I can help it. They kicked me off +Earth on a yellow ticket, if that's what you mean."</p> + +<p>"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, his +face filled with suspicion and the vague fear most men had for Security.</p> + +<p>"Yeah," he said again. "Okay, probably routine. Only next time, Gordon, +put the <i>facts</i> on your record with the Force. If you're a deportee, it +should show up. That's all!"</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon went out, holding the envelope. The warning in Trench's +voice wasn't for any omission on his record, he knew. He shoved the +envelope into his belt pocket and waited until he was in his own room +before opening it.</p> + +<p>It was terse, and unsigned.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Report expected, overdue. Failure to observe duty will result in +permanent resettlement to Mercury.</i></p></div> + + +<p>He swore, coldly and methodically, while his stomach dug knots in +itself. The damned, stupid, blundering fools! That was all Trench and +the police gang had to see; it was obvious that the letter had been +opened. Sure, report at once. Drop a letter in the mailbox, and the next +morning it would be turned over to Commissioner Arliss' office. Report +or be kicked off to a planet that Security felt enough worse than Mars +to use as punishment! Report <i>and</i> find Mars a worse place than Mercury +could ever be.</p> + +<p>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 anything +wrong with the system here. Security might think it was enough for the +moment, and the local men might possibly decide it a mere required +formality. At least it would stall things off for a while....</p> + +<p>But Gordon knew now that he could never hope to get back to Earth +legally. That vague promise by Security was so much hogwash; yet it was +surprising how much he had counted on it.</p> + +<p>He tore the envelope from Security into tiny shreds, too small for +Mother Corey to make sense of, and went out to mail the letter, feeling +the few bills in his pocket. As usual, less than a hundred credits.</p> + +<p>He passed a sound truck blatting out a campaign speech by candidate +Nolan, 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 them +as Rafters—men from the biggest of the gangs supporting Wayne. The few +citizens on the street who drifted toward the truck took a good look at +them and moved on hastily.</p> + +<p>It seemed incredible that Wayne could be re-elected, though, even with +the power of the gangs. Nolan was probably a grafter, too; but he'd at +least be a change, and certainly the citizens were aching for that.</p> + +<p>The next day his relief was later. Gordon waited, trying to swallow +their petty punishments, but it went against the grain. Finally, he +began making the rounds, acting as his own night man. The owners of the +joints didn't care whether they paid the second daily dole to the same +man or another, but they wouldn't pay it again that same night. He'd +managed to tap most of the places before his relief showed. He made no +comment, but dutifully filled out the proper portion of both takes for +the Voluntary Donation box. It wouldn't do his record any good with +Trench, but it should put an end to the overtime.</p> + +<p>Trench, however, had other ideas. The overtime continued, but it was +dull after that—which made it even more tiring. But the time he took a +special release out to the spaceport was the worst. Seeing the big ship +readying for take-off back to Earth....</p> + +<p>Then it was the day before election. The street was already bristling +with barricades around the entrances, and everything ran with a last +desperate restlessness, as if there would be no tomorrow. The operators +all swore that Wayne would be elected, but seemed to fear a miracle. On +the poorer section of the beat, there was a spiritless hope that Nolan +might come in with his reform program. Men who would normally have been +punctilious about their payments were avoiding Bruce Gordon, if in hope +that, by putting it off a day or so, they could run into a period where +no such payment would ever be asked—or a smaller one, at least. And he +was too tired to chase them down. His collections had been falling off +already, and he knew that he'd be on the carpet for that, if he didn't +do better. It was a rich territory, and required careful mining; even as +the week had gone, he still had more money in his wallet than he had +expected.</p> + +<p>But there had to be still more before night.</p> + +<p>He was lucky; he came on a pusher working one of the better houses—long +after his collections should have been over. He knew by the man's face +that no protection had been paid higher up. The pusher was well-heeled; +Gordon confiscated the money.</p> + +<p>This time, Izzy made no protest. Lifting the roll of anyone outside the +enforced part of Mars' laws was apparently honest, in his eyes. He +nodded, and pointed to the man's belt. "Pick up the snow, too."</p> + +<p>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 have +some of that for myself!"</p> + +<p>Gordon grimaced. He couldn't work up any great sympathy for anyone who +made a living out of drugs.</p> + +<p>They cleaned the pusher, and left him sitting on the steps, a picture of +slumped misery. Izzy nodded approval. "Let him feel it a while. No sense +jailing him yet. Bloody fool had no business starting without lining the +groove. Anyhow, we'll get a bunch of credits for the stuff when we turn +it in."</p> + +<p>"Credits?" Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>"Sure." Izzy patted the little package. "We get a quarter value. Captain +probably gets fifty per cent from one of the pushers who's lined with +him. Everybody's happy."</p> + +<p>"Why not push it ourselves?" Gordon asked in disgust.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't be honest, gov'nor. Cops are supposed to turn it in."</p> + +<p>Trench was almost jovial when he weighed the package and examined it to +find how much it had been cut. He issued them slips, which they added as +part of the contributions. "Good work—you, too, Gordon. Best week in +the territory for a couple of months. I guess the citizens like you, the +way they treat you." He laughed at his stale joke, and Gordon was +willing to laugh with him. The credit on the dope had paid for most of +the contributions. For once, he had money to show for the week.</p> + +<p>Then Trench motioned Bruce Gordon forward, and dismissed Izzy with a nod +of his head. "Something to discuss, Gordon. Isaacs, we're holding a +little 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 good +men, but.... Oh, bother the soft soap. We're still short on election +funds, so there's a raffle. The two men holding winning tickets get +bucked up to sergeants. A hundred credits a ticket. How many?"</p> + +<p>He frowned suddenly as Gordon counted out three bills. "You have a +better chance with more tickets. A <i>much</i> better chance!"</p> + +<p>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 was +another matter.</p> + +<p>Trench counted the money and put it away. "Thanks, Gordon. That fills +<i>my</i> quota. Look, you've been on overtime all week. Why not skip the +meeting? Isaacs can brief you, later. Go out and get drunk, or +something."</p> + +<p>The comparative friendliness of the peace offering was probably the +ultimate in graciousness from Trench. Idly, Gordon wondered what kind of +pressures the captains were under; it must be pretty stiff, judging by +the relief the man was showing at making quota.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he said, but his voice was bitter in his ears. "I'll go home +and rest. Drinking costs too much for what I make. It's a good thing you +don't have income tax here."</p> + +<p>"We do," Trench said flatly; "forty per cent. Better make out a form +next week, and start paying it regularly. But you can deduct your +contributions here."</p> + +<p>Gordon got out before he learned more good news.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_VII" id="Chapter_VII"></a>Chapter VII</h2> + +<h3>ELECTIONEERING</h3> + + +<p>As Bruce Gordon came out from the precinct house, he noticed the sounds +first. Under the huge dome that enclosed the main part of the city, the +heavier air pressure permitted normal travel of sound; and he'd become +sensitive to the voice of the city after the relative quiet of the +Nineteenth Precinct. But now the normal noise was different. There was +an undertone of hushed waiting, with the sharp bursts of hammering and +last-minute work standing out sharply through it. Voting booths were +being finished here and there, and at one a small truck was delivering +ballots. Voting by machine had never been established here. Wherever the +booths were being thrown up, the nearby establishments were rushing +gates and barricades in front of the buildings.</p> + +<p>Most of the shops were already closed—even some of the saloons. To make +up for it, stands were being placed along the streets, carrying banners +that proclaimed free beer for all loyal administration friends. The few +bars that were still open had been blessed with the sign of some mob, +and obviously were well staffed with hoodlums ready to protect the +proprietor. Private houses were boarded up. The scattering of +last-minute shoppers along the streets showed that most of the citizens +were laying in supplies to last until after election.</p> + +<p>Gordon passed the First Marsport Bank and saw that it was surrounded by +barbed wires, with other strands still being strung, and with a sign +proclaiming that there was high voltage in the wires. Watching the +operation was Jurgens; it was obvious that his hoodlums had been hired +for the job.</p> + +<p>Toward the edge of the dome, where Mother Corey's place was, the +narrower streets were filling with the gangs, already half-drunk and +marching about with their banners and printed signs. Curiously enough, +all the gangs weren't working for Wayne's re-election. The big Star +Point gang had apparently grown tired of the increasing cost of +protection from the government, and was actively campaigning for Nolan. +Their home territory reached nearly to Mother Corey's, before it ran +into the no man's land separating it from the gang of Nick the Croop. +The Croopsters were loyal to Wayne.</p> + +<p>Gordon turned into his usual short-cut, past a rambling plastics plant +and through the yard where their trucks were parked. He had half +expected to find it barricaded, but apparently the rumors that Nick the +Croop owned it were true; it would be protected in other ways, with the +trucks used for street fighting, if needed. He threaded his way between +two of the trucks.</p> + +<p>Then a yell reached his ears, and something swished at him. An egg-sized +rock hit the truck behind him and bounced back, just as he spotted a +hoodlum drawing back a sling for a second shot.</p> + +<p>Gordon was on his knees between heartbeats, darting under one of the +trucks. He rolled to his feet, letting out a yell of his own, and +plunged forward. His fist hit the thug in the elbow, just as the man's +hand reached for his knife. His other hand chopped around, and the edge +of his palm connected with the other's nose. Cartilage crunched, and a +shrill cry of agony lanced out.</p> + +<p>But the hoodlum wasn't alone. Another came out from the rear of one of +the trucks. Gordon ducked as a knife sailed for his head; they were +stupid enough not to aim for his stomach, at least. He bent down to +locate some of the rubble on the ground, cursing his folly in carrying +his knife under his uniform. The new beat had given him a false sense of +security.</p> + +<p>He found a couple of rocks and a bottle and let them fly, then bent for +more.</p> + +<p>Something landed on his back, and fingernails were gouging into his +face, searching for his eyes!</p> + +<p>Instinct carried him forward, jerking down sharply and twisting. The +figure on his back sailed over his head, to land with a harsh thump on +the ground. Brassy yellow hair spilled over a girl's face, and her +breath slammed out of her throat as she hit. But the fall hadn't been +enough to do serious damage.</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon jumped forward, bringing his foot up in a savage swing, but +she'd rolled, and the blow only glanced against her ribs. She jerked her +hand down for a knife, and came to her knees, her lips drawn back +against her teeth. "Get him!" she yelled. Then he recognized her—Sheila +Corey.</p> + +<p>The two thugs had held back, but now they began edging in. Gordon +slipped back behind another truck, listening for the sound of their +feet. He'd half-expected another encounter with the Mother's +granddaughter.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Sheila was still on her knees, fumbling with something, and apparently +paying no attention to him. But now she jerked to her feet, her hand +going back and forward.</p> + +<p>It was a six-inch section of pipe, with a thin wisp of smoke, and the +throw was toward Gordon's feet. The hoodlums yelled, and ducked, while +Sheila broke into a run away from him. The little homemade bomb landed, +bounced, and lay still, with its fuse almost burned down.</p> + +<p>Gordon's heart froze in his throat, but he was already in action. He +spat savagely into his hand, and jumped for the bomb. If the fuse was +powder-soaked, he had no chance. He brought his palm down against it, +and heard a faint hissing. Then he held his breath, waiting.</p> + +<p>No explosion came. It had been a crude job, with only a wick for a fuse.</p> + +<p>Sheila Corey had stopped at a safe distance; now she grabbed at her +helpers, and swung them with her. The three came back, Sheila in the +lead with her knife flashing.</p> + +<p>Gordon side-stepped her rush, and met the other two head-on, his knife +swinging back. His foot hit some of the rubble on the ground at the last +second, and he skidded. The leading mobster saw the chance and jumped +for him. Gordon bent his head sharply, and dropped, falling onto his +shoulders and somersaulting over. He twisted at the last second, jerking +his arms down to come up facing the other.</p> + +<p>Then a new voice cut into the fracas, and there was the sound of +something landing against a skull with a hollow thud. Gordon got his +head up just in time to see a man in police uniform kick aside the first +hoodlum and lunge for the other. There was a confused flurry; then the +second went up into the air and came down in the newcomer's hands, to +land with a sickening jar and lie still. Behind, Sheila Corey lay +crumpled in a heap, clutching one wrist in the other hand and crying +silently.</p> + +<p>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 the +street, she could lose herself in the swarm of Nick's Croopsters; Gordon +turned back.</p> + +<p>The iron-gray hair caught his eyes first. Then, as the solidly built +figure turned, he grunted. It was Captain Murdoch—now dressed in the +uniform of a regular beat cop, without even a corporal's stripes. And +the face was filled with lines of strain that hadn't been there before.</p> + +<p>Murdoch threw the second gangster up into a truck after the first one +and slammed the door shut, locking it with the metal bar which had +apparently been his weapon. Then he grinned wryly, and came back toward +Gordon.</p> + +<p>"You seem to have friends here," he commented. "A good thing I was +trying to catch up with you. Just missed you at the Precinct House, came +after you, and saw you turn in here. Then I heard the rumpus. A good +thing for me, too, maybe."</p> + +<p>Gordon blinked, accepting the other's hand. "How so? And what happened?" +He indicated the bare sleeve.</p> + +<p>"One's the result of the other," Murdoch told him. "They've got me sewed +up, and they're throwing the book at me. The old laws make me a citizen +while I wear the uniform—and a citizen can't quit the Force. That puts +me out of Earth's jurisdiction. I can't even cable for funds, and I +guess I'm too old to start squeezing money out of citizens. I was coming +to ask whether you had room in your diggings for a guest—and I'm hoping +now that my part here cinches it."</p> + +<p>Murdoch had tried to treat it lightly, but Gordon saw the red creeping +up into the man's face. "Forget that part. There's room enough for two +in my place—and I guess Mother Corey won't mind. I'm damned glad you +were following me."</p> + +<p>"So'm I, Gordon. What'll we do with the prisoners?"</p> + +<p>"Leave 'em; we couldn't get a Croopster locked up tonight for anything."</p> + +<p>He started ahead, leading the way through the remaining trucks and back +to 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 been +going out nights to help the citizens organize against the Stonewall +gang. But that's over now—they gave me hell for inciting vigilante +action, and confined me inside the dome. The way they hate a decent cop +here, you'd think honesty was contagious."</p> + +<p>"Yeah." Gordon preferred to let it drop. Murdoch was being given the +business for going too far on the Stonewall gang, not for refusing to +take normal graft.</p> + +<p>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 of +efforts to protect it against the coming night and day. The entrance was +unprotected. Then his eyes caught the bright chalk marks around +it—notices to the gangs to keep hands off. Mother Corey evidently had +pull enough to get every mob in the neighborhood to affix its seal.</p> + +<p>As he drew near, though, two men edged across the street from a clump +watching the beginning excitement. Then, as they identified Gordon, they +moved back again. Some of the Mother's old lodgers from the ruin outside +the dome were inside now—obviously posted where it would do the most +good.</p> + +<p>Corey stuck his head out of the door at the back of the hall as Gordon +entered, and started to retire again—until he spotted Murdoch. Gordon +explained the situation hastily.</p> + +<p>"It's your room, cobber," the old man wheezed. He waddled back, to come +out with a towel and key, which he handed to Murdoch. "Number +forty-two."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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 the +spaceport, 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 of +the neighborhood. He still called me 'sir,' when my boy was walking +across 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."</p> + +<p>He rubbed a pasty hand over his chin, shaking his head and wheezing +heavily. Gordon chuckled. "Well, how—?"</p> + +<p>Something banged heavily against the entrance seal, and there was the +sound of a hot argument, followed by a commotion of some sort. Corey +seemed to prick up his ears, and began to waddle rapidly toward the +entrance.</p> + +<p>It broke open before he could reach it, the seal snapping back to show a +giant of a man outside holding the two guards from across the street, +while a scar-faced, dark man shoved through briskly. Corey snapped out a +quick word, and the two guards ceased struggling and started back across +the street. The giant pushed in after the smaller thug.</p> + +<p>"I'm from the Ajax Householders Protection Group," the dark man +announced officially. "We're selling election protection. And brother, +do you need it, if you're counting on those mugs. We're assessing you—"</p> + +<p>"Not long on Mars, are you?" Mother Corey asked. The whine was entirely +missing from his voice now, though his face seemed as expressionless as +ever. "What does your boss Jurgens figure on doing, punk? Taking over +<i>all</i> the rackets for the whole city?"</p> + +<p>The dark face snarled, while the giant moved a step forward. Then he +shrugged. "Okay, Fatty. So Jurgens is behind it. So now you know. And +I'm doubling your assessment, right now. To you, it's—"</p> + +<p>A heavy hand fell on the man's shoulder, and Mother Corey leaned forward +slightly. Even in Mars' gravity, his bulk made the other buckle at the +knees. The hand that had been reaching for the knife yanked the weapon +out and brought it up sharply.</p> + +<p>Gordon started to step in, then, but there was no time. Mother Corey's +free hand came around in an open-palmed slap that lifted the collector +up from the floor and sent him reeling back against a wall. The knife +fell from the crook's hand, and the dark face turned pale. He sagged +down the wall, limply.</p> + +<p>The giant opened his mouth, and took half a step forward; but the only +sound he made was a choking gobble. Mother Corey moved without seeming +haste, but before the other could make up his mind. There was a series +of motions that seemed to have no pattern. The giant was spun around, +somehow; one arm was jerked back behind him, then the other was forced +up to it. Mother Corey held the wrists in one hand, put his other under +the giant's crotch, and lifted. Carrying the big figure off the floor, +the old man moved toward the seal. His foot found the button, snapping +the entrance open. He pitched the giant out overhanded; holding the +entrance, he reached for the dark man with one hand and tossed him on +top of the giant.</p> + +<p>"To me, it's nothing," he called out. "Take these two back to young +Jurgens, boys, and tell him to keep his punks out of my house."</p> + +<p>The entrance snapped shut then, and Corey turned back to Gordon, wiping +the 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 I +was going to say, cobber," he said, "we've got a little social game +going upstairs—the room with the window. Fine view of the parades. We +need a fourth."</p> + +<p>Gordon started to protest that he was tired and needed his sleep; then +he shrugged. Corey's house was one of the few that had kept some +relation to Earth styles by installing a couple of windows in the second +story, and it would give a perfect view of the street. He followed the +old man up the stairs.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Two other men were already in the surprisingly well-furnished room, at +the little table set up near the window. Bruce Gordon recognized one as +Randolph, the publisher of the little opposition paper. The man's pale +blondness, weak eyes, and generally rabbity expression totally belied +the courage that had permitted him to keep going at his hopeless task of +trying to clean up Marsport. The <i>Crusader</i> was strictly a one-man +weekly, against Mayor Wayne's <i>Chronicle</i>, with its Earth-comics and +daily circulation of over a hundred thousand. Wayne apparently let the +paper stay in business to give himself a talking point about fair play; +but Randolph walked with a limp from the last working over he had +received.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Gordon," he said. His thin, high voice was cool and reserved, in +keeping with the opinion he had expressed publicly of the police as a +body. But he did not protest Corey's selection of a partner. "This is Ed +Praeger. He's an engineer on our railroad."</p> + +<p>Gordon acknowledged the introduction automatically. He'd almost +forgotten 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 really +is a surrounding countryside," he said.</p> + +<p>Praeger nodded. He was a big, open-faced man, just turning bald. His +handshake was firm and friendly. "There are even cities out there, +Gordon. Nothing like Marsport, but that's no loss. That's where the real +population of Mars is—decent people, men who are going to turn this +into a real planet some day."</p> + +<p>"There are plenty like that here, too," Randolph said. He picked up the +cards. "First ace deals. Damn it, Mother, sit down-wind from me, won't +you? Or else take a bath."</p> + +<p>Mother Corey chuckled, and wheezed his way up out of the chair, +exchanging places with Gordon. "I got a surprise for you, cobber," he +said, and there was only amusement in his voice. "I got me in fifty +gallons of water today, and tomorrow I do just that. Made up my mind +there was going to be a cleanup in Marsport, even if Wayne does win. And +stop examining the cards, Bruce. I don't cheat my friends. The readers +are put away for old-times' sake."</p> + +<p>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 at +least nine honest men to support a crook. They come up here to start +over—maybe spent half their life saving up for the trip. They hear a +man can make fifty credits a day in the factories, or strike it rich +crop prospecting. What they don't realize is that things cost ten times +as much here, too. They plan, maybe, on getting rich and going back to +Earth...."</p> + +<p>"Nobody goes back," Mother Corey wheezed. "<i>I</i> know." His eyes rested on +Gordon.</p> + +<p>"A lot don't want to," Praeger said. "I never meant to go back. I've got +me a farm up north. Another ten years, and I retire to it. My kids are +up there now—grandkids, that is. They're Martians; maybe you won't +believe me, but they can breathe the air here without a helmet."</p> + +<p>The others nodded. Gordon had learned that a fair number of +third-generation people got that way. Their chests were only a trifle +larger, and their heartbeat only a few points higher; it was an internal +adaptation, like the one that had occurred in test animals reared at a +simulated forty-thousand-feet altitude on Earth, before Mars was ever +settled.</p> + +<p>"They'll take the planet away from Earth yet," Randolph agreed. +"Marsport is strictly artificial. It's kept going only because it's the +only place where Earth will set down her ships. If Security doesn't do +anything, time will."</p> + +<p>"Security!" Gordon muttered bitterly. Security was good at getting +people in trouble, but he had seen no other sign of it.</p> + +<p>Randolph frowned over his cards. "Yeah, I know. The government set them +up, gave them a mixture of powers, and has been trying to keep them from +working ever since. But somehow they did clean up Venus; and every crook +here is scared to death of the name. How come a muckraking newspaperman +like you never turned up anything on them, Gordon?"</p> + +<p>Gordon shrugged. It was the first reference he'd heard to his +background, and he preferred to let it drop.</p> + +<p>But Mother Corey cut in, his voice older and hoarser, and the skin on +his jowls even grayer than usual. "Don't sell them short, cobber. I +did—once.... You forget them, here, after a while. But they're +around...."</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon felt something run down his armpit, and a chill creep up +his back....</p> + +<p>Out on the street, a sudden whooping began, and he glanced down. The +parade was on, the Croopsters in full swing, already mostly drunk. The +main body went down the street, waving fluorescent signs, while +side-guards preceded them, armed with axes, knocking aside the flimsier +barricades as they went. He watched a group break into a small grocery +store to come out with bundles. They dragged out the storekeeper, his +wife, and young daughter, and pressed them into the middle of the +parade.</p> + +<p>"If Security's so damned powerful, why doesn't it stop that?" he asked +bitterly.</p> + +<p>Randolph grinned at him. "They might do it, Gordon. They just might. But +are you sure you want it stopped?"</p> + +<p>"All right," Mother Corey said suddenly. "This is a social game, +cobbers."</p> + +<p>Outside, the parade picked up enthusiasm as smaller gangs joined behind +the main one. There were a fair number of plain citizens who had been +impressed into it, too, judging by the appearance of little frightened +groups in the middle of the mobsters.</p> + +<p>Gordon couldn't understand why the police hadn't at least been kept on +duty, until Honest Izzy came into the room. The little man found a chair +and bought chips silently; he looked tired.</p> + +<p>"Vacation?" Mother Corey asked.</p> + +<p>Izzy nodded. "Trench took forever giving it to us, Mother. But it's the +same 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 wear +civvies when we go out to vote for Wayne."</p> + +<p>Gordon looked down at the rioters, who were now only keeping up a +pretense of a parade. It would be worse tomorrow, he supposed; and there +would be no cops. The image of the old woman and her husband in the +little liquor store where he'd had his first experience came back to +him. He wondered how well barricaded they were.</p> + +<p>He felt the curious eyes of Mother Corey dancing from him to Izzy and +back, and heard the old man's chuckle. "Put a uniform on some men and +they begin to believe they're cops, eh, cobber?"</p> + +<p>He shoved up from the table abruptly and headed for his room, swearing +to himself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_VIII" id="Chapter_VIII"></a>Chapter VIII</h2> + +<h3>VOTE EARLY AND OFTEN</h3> + + +<p>Izzy was up first the next morning, urging them to hurry before things +began to hum. From somewhere, he dug up a suit of clothes that Murdoch +could wear. He found the gun that Gordon had confiscated from O'Neill +and filled it from a box of ammunition he'd apparently purchased.</p> + +<p>"I picked up some special permits," he said. "I knew you had this +cannon, gov'nor, and I figured it'd come in handy. Wouldn't be caught +dead with one myself. Knives, that's my specialty. Come on, Cap'n, we +gotta get out the vote."</p> + +<p>Murdoch shook his head. "In the first place, I'm not registered."</p> + +<p>Izzy grinned. "Every cop's registered in his own precinct; Wayne got the +honor system fixed for us. Show your papers and go into any booth in +your territory. That's all. And you'd better be seen voting often, too, +Cap'n. What's your precinct?"</p> + +<p>"Eleventh, but I'm not voting. I'd like to come along with you to +observe, but I wouldn't make any choice between Wayne and Nolan."</p> + +<p>Downstairs, the rear room was locked, with one of Mother Corey's guards +at the door. From inside came the rare sound of water splashing, mixed +with a wheezing, off-key caterwauling. Mother Corey was apparently +making good on his promise to take a bath. As they reached the hall, one +of Trench's lieutenants came through the entrance, waving his badge at +the protesting man outside.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>A small police car was waiting outside, and they headed for it. Bruce +Gordon looked at the debacle left behind the drunken, looting mob. Most +of the barricades were down. Here and there, a few citizens were rushing +about trying to restore them, keeping wary eyes on the mobsters who had +passed out on the streets.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a siren blasted out in sharp bursts, and the lieutenant jumped. +"Come on, you gees. I gotta be back in half an hour."</p> + +<p>They piled inside, and the little electric car took off at its top +speed. But now the quietness had been broken. There were trucks coming +out of the plastics plant, and mobsters were gathering up their drunks, +and chasing the citizens back into their houses. Some of them were +wearing the forbidden guns, but it wouldn't matter on a day when no +police were on duty.</p> + +<p>In the Ninth Precinct, the Planters were the biggest gang, and all the +others were temporarily enrolled under them. Here, there were less signs +of trouble. The joints had been better barricaded, and the looting had +been kept to a minimum.</p> + +<p>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 out +of—Oh, cops! Okay, better pin these on."</p> + +<p>He handed out gaudy arm bands, and the three fastened them in place. +Nearly everyone else already had them showing. The Planters were moving +efficiently. They were grouped around the booths, and they had begun to +line up their men, putting them in position to begin voting at once.</p> + +<p>Then the siren hooted again, a long, steady blast. The bunting in front +of the booths was pulled off, and the lines began to move. Izzy led the +way to the one at the rich end of their beat, and moved toward the head +of the line. "Cops," he said to the six mobsters who surrounded the +booth. "We got territory to cover."</p> + +<p>A thumb indicated that they could go in. Murdoch remained outside, and +one of the thugs reached for him. Izzy cut him off. "Just a friend on +the way to his own route. Eleventh Precinct."</p> + +<p>There were scowls, but they let it go. Then Gordon was in the little +booth. It seemed to be in order. There were the books of registration, +with a checker for Wayne, one for Nolan, and a third, supposedly +neutral, behind the plank that served as a desk. The Nolan man was +protesting.</p> + +<p>"He's been dead for ten years. I know him. He's my uncle."</p> + +<p>"There's a Mike Thaler registered, and this guy says he's Thaler," the +Wayne man said decisively. "He votes."</p> + +<p>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's +registered, so he votes."</p> + +<p>The next man Gordon recognized as being from one of the small shops on +his beat. The fellow's eyes were desperate, but he was forcing himself +to go through with it. "Murtagh," he said, and his voice broke on the +second syllable. "Owen Murtagh."</p> + +<p>"Murtang.... No registration!" The Wayne checker shrugged. "Next!"</p> + +<p>"It's Murtagh. M-U-R-T-A-G-H. Owen Murtagh, of 738 Morrisy—"</p> + +<p>"Protest!" The Wayne man cut off the frantic wriggling of the Nolan +checker's finger toward the line in the book. "When a man can't get the +name straight the first time, it's suspicious."</p> + +<p>The supposedly neutral checker nodded. "Better check the name off, +unless the real Murtagh shows up. Any objections, Yeoman?"</p> + +<p>The Nolan man had no objections—outwardly. He was sweating, and the +surprise in his eyes indicated that this was all new to him.</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon came next, showing his badge. He was passed with a nod, and +headed for the little closed-off polling place. But the Wayne man +touched his arm and indicated a ballot. There were two piles, and this +pile was already filled out for Wayne. "Saves trouble, unless you want +to do it yourself," he suggested.</p> + +<p>Gordon shrugged, and shoved it into the slot. He went outside and waited +for Izzy to follow. It was raw beyond anything he'd expected—but at +least it saved any doubt about the votes.</p> + +<p>The procedure was the same at the next booth, though they had more +trouble. The Nolan man there was a fool—neither green nor agreeable. He +protested vigorously, in spite of a suspicious bruise along his temple, +and finally made some of the protests stick.</p> + +<p>Gordon began to wonder how it could be anything but a clear unanimous +vote, at that rate. Izzy shook his head. "Wayne'll win, but not that +easy. The sticks don't have strong mobs, and they'll pile up a heavy +Nolan vote. And you'll see things hum soon!"</p> + +<p>Gordon had voted three times under the "honor system," before he saw. +They were just nearing a polling place when a heavy truck came careening +around a corner. Men began piling out of the back before it stopped—men +armed with clubs and stones. They were in the middle of the Planters at +once, striking without science, but with ferocity. The line waiting to +vote broke up, but the citizens had apparently organized with care. A +good number of the men in the line were with the attackers.</p> + +<p>There was the sound of a shot, and a horrified cry. For a second, the +citizens broke; then a wave of fury seemed to wash over them at the +needless risk to the safety of all. The horror of rupturing the dome was +strongly ingrained in every citizen of Marsport. They drew back, then +made a concerted rush. There was a trample of bodies, but no more shots.</p> + +<p>In a minute, the citizens' group was inside, ripping the fixed ballots +to shreds, filling out and dropping their own. They ignored the +registration clerks.</p> + +<p>A whistle had been shrilling for minutes. Now another group came onto +the scene, and the Planters' men began getting out rapidly. Some of the +citizens looked up and yelled, but it was too late. From the approaching +cars, pipes projected forward. Streams of liquid jetted out, and their +agonized cries followed.</p> + +<p>Even where he stood, Gordon could smell the fumes of ammonia. Izzy's +face tensed, and he swore. "Inside the dome! They're poisoning the air."</p> + +<p>But the trick worked. In no time, men in crude masks were clearing out +the booth, driving the last struggling citizens away, and getting ready +for business as usual.</p> + +<p>Murdoch turned on his heel. "I've had enough. I've made up my mind," he +said. "The cable offices must be open for the doctored reports on the +election to Earth. Where's the nearest?"</p> + +<p>Izzy frowned, but supplied the information. Bruce Gordon pulled Murdoch +aside. "Come off the head-cop role; it won't work. They must have had +reports on elections before this."</p> + +<p>"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, before +worse happens. I've still got connections back there—"</p> + +<p>"Okay," Gordon said bitterly. He'd liked Asa Murdoch, had begun to +respect him. It hurt to see that what he'd considered hardheadedness was +just another case of a fool fighting dragons with a paper sword.</p> + +<p>"Okay, it's your death certificate," he said, and turned back toward +Izzy. "Go send your sob stories, Murdoch."</p> + +<p>They taught a bunch of pretty maxims in school—even slum kids learned +that honesty was the best policy, while their honest parents rotted in +unheated holes, and the racketeers rode around in fancy cars. It had got +him once. He'd refused to take a dive as a boxer; he'd tried to play +honest cards; he'd tried honesty on his beat back on Earth. He'd tried +to help the suckers in his column, and here he was.</p> + +<p>And Gordon had been proud to serve under Murdoch.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Izzy," he said. "Let's vote!"</p> + +<p>Izzy shook his head. "It ain't right, gov'nor."</p> + +<p>"Let him do what he damn pleases," Gordon told him.</p> + +<p>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 to +vote. They been paying me off—and that's a retainer, you might say. Now +this gang tries to poison them. I'm still running an honest beat, and I +bloody well can't vote for that! Uniform or no uniform, I'm walking beat +today. And the first gee that gives trouble to the men who pay me gets a +knife where he eats. When I get paid for a job, I do the job."</p> + +<p>Gordon watched him head down the block, and started after the little +man. Then he grimaced. Rule books! Even Izzy had one.</p> + +<p>He went down the row, voting regularly. The Planters had things in +order. The mess had already been cleaned up when he arrived at the +cheaper end of the beat. It was the last place where he'd be expected to +do his duty by Wayne's administration; he waited in line.</p> + +<p>Then a voice hit at his ears, and he looked up to see Sheila Corey only +two places in front of him. "Mrs. Mary Edelstein," she was saying. The +Wayne man nodded, and there was no protest. She picked up a Wayne +ballot, and dropped it in the box.</p> + +<p>Then her eyes fell on Gordon. She hesitated for a second, bit her lips, +and finally moved out into the crowd.</p> + +<p>He could see no sign of her as he stepped out a minute later, but the +back of his neck prickled.</p> + +<p>He started out of the crowd, trying to act normal, but glancing down to +make sure the gun was in its proper position. Satisfied, he wheeled +suddenly and spotted her behind him, before she could slip out of sight.</p> + +<p>Then a shout went up, yanking his eyes around with the rest of those +standing near. The eyes had centered on the alleys along the street, and +men were beginning to run wildly, while others were jerking out their +weapons. He saw a big gray car coming up the street; on its side was +painted the colors of the Planters. Now it swerved, hitting a siren +button.</p> + +<p>But it was too late. Trucks shot out of the little alleys, jamming +forward through the people; there must have been fifty of them. One hit +the big gray car, tossing it aside. It was Trench himself who leaped +out, together with the driver. The trucks paid no attention, but bore +down on the crowd. From one of them, a machine gun opened fire.</p> + +<p>Gordon dropped and began crawling in the only direction that was open, +straight toward the alleys from which the trucks had come. A few others +had tried that, but most were darting back as they saw the colors of +Nolan's Star Point gang on the trucks.</p> + +<p>Other guns began firing; men were leaping from the trucks and pouring +into the mob of Planters, forcing their way toward the booth in the +center of the mess.</p> + +<p>It was a beautifully timed surprise attack, and a well-armed one, even +though guns were supposed to be so rare here. Gordon stumbled into +someone ahead of him, and saw it was Trench. He looked up, and straight +into the swinging muzzle of the machine gun that had started the +commotion.</p> + +<p>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, and +pulled the trigger. The man behind the machine gun dropped.</p> + +<p>Trench had his gun out now, and was firing, after a single surprised +glance at Gordon. He waved back toward the crowd.</p> + +<p>But Gordon had spotted the open trunk of the gray car. He shook his head +and tried to indicate it. Trench jerked his thumb and leaped to his +feet, rushing back.</p> + +<p>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 luggage +compartment, where the metal would shield him.</p> + +<p>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 cold +went away, to be replaced by shock. Between his spread knees lay +Murdoch, bound and gagged, his face a bloody mess.</p> + +<p>Gordon reached for the gag, but the other held up his hands and pointed +to the gun. It made sense. The knots were tight, but Gordon managed to +get his knife under the rope around Murdoch's wrists and slice through +it. The older man's hands went out for the gun; his eyes swung toward +the street, while Gordon attacked the rope around his ankles.</p> + +<p>The Star Point men were winning, though it was tough going. They had +fought their way almost to the booth, but there a V of Planters' cars +had been gotten into position somehow, and gunfire was coming from +behind 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.</p> + +<p>The gag had just come out when the Star Point man jumped into view +again, waving a rag over his head and yelling. Captain Trench followed +him out, and began pointing toward the gray car.</p> + +<p>"They want me," Murdoch gasped thickly. "Get out, Gordon, before they +gang up on us!"</p> + +<p>Gordon jerked his eyes back toward the alley on the other side. It went +at an angle and would offer some protection.</p> + +<p>He looked back, just as bullets began to land against the metal of the +car. Murdoch held up one finger and put himself into a position to make +a run for it. Then he brought the finger down sharply, and the two +leaped out.</p> + +<p>Trench's ex-Marine bellow carried over the fighting. "Get the old man!"</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon had no time to look back. He hit the alley in five +heart-ripping leaps and was around the bend. Then he swung, just as +Murdoch made it. Bullets spatted against the walls, and he saw blood +pumping from under Murdoch's right shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Keep going!" Murdoch ordered.</p> + +<p>A fresh cry from the street cut into his order, however. Gordon risked a +quick look, then stepped farther out to make sure.</p> + +<p>The surprise raid by the Star Pointers hadn't been quite as much of a +surprise as expected. Coming down the street, with no regard for men +trying to get out of their way, the trucks of the Croopsters were +battering aside the few who could not reach safety. There were no +machine guns this time.</p> + +<p>They smacked into the tangle of Star Point trucks, and came to a +grinding halt, men piling out ready for battle. Gordon nodded. In a few +minutes, Wayne's supporters would have the booth again; there'd be a +delay before any organized search could be made for the fugitives. He +looked down at Murdoch's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he said finally. "Or should I carry you?"</p> + +<p>Murdoch shook his head. "I'll walk. Get me to a place where we can +talk—and be damned to this. Gordon, I've got to talk—but I don't have +to live. I mean that!"</p> + +<p>Gordon started off, disregarding the words; a place of safety had to +come first. He picked his way down alleys and small streets. The older +man kept trying to stop to speak, but Gordon gave him no opportunity. +There was one chance....</p> + +<p>It was farther than he'd thought, and Gordon began to suspect he'd +missed the way, until he saw the drugstore. Now it all fell into +place—the first beat he'd had with Izzy.</p> + +<p>He ducked down back alleys until he reached the right section. He +scanned the street, jumped to the door of the little liquor store and +began banging on it. There was no answer, though he was sure the old +couple lived just over the store.</p> + +<p>He began banging again. Finally, a feeble voice sounded from inside. +"Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"A man in distress!" he yelled back. There was no way to identify +himself; he could only hope she would look.</p> + +<p>The entrance seal opened briefly; then it flashed open all the way. He +motioned to Murdoch, and jumped to help the failing man to the entrance. +The old lady looked, then moved quickly to the other side.</p> + +<p>"<i>Ach, Gott</i>," she breathed. Her hands trembled as she relocked the +seal. Then she brushed the thin hair off her face, and pointed. Gordon +followed her up the stairs, carrying Murdoch on his back. She opened a +door, passed through a tiny kitchen, and threw open another door to a +bedroom.</p> + +<p>The old man lay on the bed, and this time there was no question of +concussion. The woman nodded. "Yes. Pappa is dead, God forbid it. He +<i>would</i> try to vote. I told him and told him—and then ... With my own +hands, I carried him here."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>She lifted the frail body of the old man and lowered him onto the floor +with a strength that seemed impossible. Then her hands were gentle as +she helped lower Murdoch where the corpse had been. "I'll get alcohol +from below—and bandages and hot water."</p> + +<p>Asa Murdoch opened his eyes, breathing stertoriously. His face was +blanched, his clothes a mess. But he protested as Gordon tried to strip +them. "Let them go, kid. There's no way to save me now. And listen!"</p> + +<p>"I'm listening!"</p> + +<p>"With your <i>mind</i>, Gordon, not your ears. You've heard a lot about +Security. Well, I'm Security. Top level—policy for Mars. We never got a +top man here without his being discovered and killed—That's why we've +had to work under all the cover—and against our own government. Nobody +knew I was here—Trench was our man—Sold us out! We've got junior +men—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!</p> + +<p>"Gordon, you're a self-made louse, but you're a man underneath it +somewhere. That's why we rate you higher than you think you are. That's +why I'm going to trust you—because I have to."</p> + +<p>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 nobody +came, nobody called...."</p> + +<p>She went back to trying to bandage the bleeding bluish hole in his +chest. Murdoch nodded faintly.</p> + +<p>"Probably what happened to a lot—men like Trench, supposed to build an +organization, just leaving the loose ends hanging." He groaned; sweat +popped out on his forehead, but his eyes never left Gordon's. "Hell's +going to pop. The government's just waiting to step in; Earth <i>wants</i> to +take over."</p> + +<p>"It should," Gordon said.</p> + +<p>"No! We've studied these things. Mars won't give up—and Earth wants a +plum, not responsibility. You'll have civil war and the whole planetary +development ruined. Security's the only hope, Gordon—the only chance +Mars had, has, or will have! Believe me, I know. Security has to be +notified. There's a code message I had ready—a message to a +friend—even you can send it. And they'll be watching. I've got the +basic plans in the book here."</p> + +<p>He slumped back. Gordon frowned, then found the book and pulled it out +as gently as he could. It was a small black memo book, covered with +pages of shorthand. The back was an address book, filled with +names—many crossed out. A sheet of paper in normal writing fell out.</p> + +<p>"The message ..." Murdoch took another swallow of brandy. "Take it. +You're head of Security on Mars now. It's all authorized in the plans +there. You'll need the brains and knowledge of the others—but they +can't act. You can—we know about you."</p> + +<p>The old woman sighed. She put down the hot water and picked up the +bottle of brandy, starting down the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Gordon!" Murdoch said faintly.</p> + +<p>He turned to put his head down. From the stairs, a sudden cry and thump +sounded, and something hit the floor. Gordon jumped toward the sound, to +find the old lady bending over the inert figure of Sheila Corey.</p> + +<p>"I heard someone," the woman said. She stared at the brandy bottle +sickly. "<i>Gott in Himmel</i>, look at me. Am I a killer, too, that I should +strike a young and beautiful girl. She comes into my house, and I sneak +behind her ... It is an evil time, young man. Here, you carry her +inside. I'll get some twine to tie her up. The idea, spying on you!"</p> + +<p>Gordon picked the girl up roughly. That capped it, he thought. There was +no way of knowing how much she'd heard, or whether she'd tipped others +off. He dropped her near the bed, and went over to Murdoch. The man was +dying now.</p> + +<p>"So Security wants me to contact the others in the book and organize +things?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." Murdoch swallowed. "Not a good chance, then—but a chance. Still +time—I think. Gordon?"</p> + +<p>"What else can I do?" Bruce Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>He knew it was no answer, but Asa Murdoch apparently accepted it as a +promise. The gray-speckled head relaxed and rolled sideways on the +bloody pillow.</p> + +<p>"Dead," Gordon said to the woman, as she came up with the twine. "Dead, +fighting wind-mills. And maybe winning. I don't know."</p> + +<p>He turned toward Sheila—a split second too late. The girl came up from +the floor with a single push of her arm. She pivoted on her heel, hit +the door, and her heels were clattering on the stairs. Before Gordon +could reach the entrance, she was whipping around into an alley.</p> + +<p>He watched her go, sick inside, and the last he saw was the hand she +held up, waving the little black book at him!</p> + +<p>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 failed +Pappa; I failed the poor man who died—and now I have failed you. It is +better..."</p> + +<p>He caught her as she fell toward him. She relaxed after a second. +"Upstairs, please," she whispered, "beside Pappa. There was nothing +else. And these Martian poisons—they are so sure, they don't hurt. Five +minutes more, I think. Stay with me, I'll tell you how Pappa and I got +married. I want somebody should know how it was with us once, together."</p> + +<p>He stayed, then picked the two bodies up and moved them from the floor +onto the bed where he had first seen the old man. He moved Murdoch's +body aside, and covered the two gently. Finally, he went down the +stairs, 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 old +couple.</p> + +<p>He stopped finally ten blocks of narrow alleys away, and put Murdoch +down.</p> + +<p>Now he had no witnesses, except Sheila Corey. He had no book, no clues +as to whom to see and what to do.</p> + +<p>He heard the sound of a mobile amplifier, and strained his ears toward +it. He got enough to know that Wayne had won a thumping victory, better +than three to two.</p> + +<p>Isaiah Trench was still captain of the Seventh Precinct.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_IX" id="Chapter_IX"></a>Chapter IX</h2> + +<h3>CONTRABAND</h3> + + +<p>Elections were over, but the few dim lights along the street showed only +boarded-up and darkened buildings. There were sounds of stirring, but no +one was trusting that the election-day brawls were completely ended yet.</p> + +<p>Gordon hesitated, then swung glumly toward a corner where he could find +a police call box. He heard a tiny patrol car turn the corner and ducked +back into another alley to wait for it to go by. But they weren't +looking for him. Their spotlight caught a running boy, clutching a few +thin copies of the <i>Crusader</i> under a scrawny arm.</p> + +<p>After the cops had dumped the unconscious kid into the back of the small +squad car, and gone looking for more game, Gordon went over to look at +the tattered scraps left of the opposition paper.</p> + +<p>Randolph wasn't preaching this time, but was content to report the facts +he'd seen. There had been at least ninety known killings; mobs had +fought citizens outside the main market for three hours.</p> + +<p>Yet in spite of all the ballot-stuffing and intimidations, Wayne had +barely squeaked through, by a four per cent majority. It was obvious +that the current administration could never win another election.</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon lifted the cradled phone from the box. "Gordon reporting," +he announced.</p> + +<p>A startled grunt came from the instrument, followed by the clicks of +hasty switching. In less than fifteen seconds, Trench's voice barked out +of the phone. "Gordon? Where the hell you been?"</p> + +<p>"Up an alley between McCutcheon and Miles," Gordon told him. "With a +corpse. Murdoch's corpse. Better send out the wagon."</p> + +<p>Trench hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Okay, <i>I'll</i> be out in +ten minutes."</p> + +<p>Gordon clumped back to the alley and bent for a final inspection of +Murdoch's body, to make sure nothing would prove the flaws in his weakly +built story.</p> + +<p>Isaiah Trench was better than his word. He swung his gray car up to the +alley in seven minutes.</p> + +<p>The door slammed behind him, a beam snapped out from his flashlight into +the alley, and then he was beside Murdoch's body. He threw the light to +Gordon and stooped to run expert hands over the corpse and through the +pockets.</p> + +<p>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 he +was—"</p> + +<p>"Security?" Gordon filled in. "Yeah. Claimed he was head of it here, and +wanted me to send a message to Earth for him."</p> + +<p>Trench nodded, a touch of relief on his face. "Crazy!"</p> + +<p>Gordon grimaced faintly.</p> + +<p>"Crazy," Trench repeated. "He must have been to spin that story ... By +the way, thanks for killing that sniper. You're a good shot. I'd be dead +if you weren't, I guess."</p> + +<p>Gordon made no comment, and Trench said, "I could start a nasty +investigation, I guess. But I heard him raving, too. Give me a hand, and +I'll take care of all this ... Want me to drop you off?"</p> + +<p>They wangled the body into the trunk of the car. Then it was good to +relax while Trench drove along the rubble-piled and nearly deserted +streets. Gordon heard a sigh from beside him; Trench must have been +under tension, too.</p> + +<p>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 the +way. I forgot to tell you, but you won the lottery. You're a sergeant +from now on."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Inside, a thick effluvium hit his nose, and Gordon turned to see Mother +Corey's huge bulk waddling down the hall. The old man nodded. "We +thought you'd gone on the lam, cobber. But I guess, since Trench brought +you back, you've cooled. Good, good. As a respectable man now, I +couldn't have stashed you from the cops—though I might have been +tempted—mighty tempted." His face was melancholy. "Tell me, lad, did +they get Murdoch?"</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon nodded, and the old man sighed. Something suspiciously like +a tear glistened in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were taking a bath," Gordon commented.</p> + +<p>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 the +tub. Fifty gallons of water, all wasted!"</p> + +<p>He turned back toward the end of the hall, sighing again. Gordon went up +the stairs, noticing that Izzy's door was open. The little man was +stretched out on the bunk in his clothes, filthy; one side of his face +swollen.</p> + +<p>"Hi, gov'nor," he called out, his voice still cheerful. "I had odds +you'd beat the ticket, though the Mother and me were worried there for a +while. How'd you grease the fix?"</p> + +<p>Gordon sketched it in, without mentioning Security. "What happened to +you, Izzy?"</p> + +<p>"Price of being honest. But the gees who paid me protection didn't get +hurt, gov'nor." He winced, then grinned. "So they pay double tomorrow. +Honesty pays, gov'nor, if you squeeze it once in a while ... Funny, you +making sergeant; I thought two other gees won the lottery."</p> + +<p>So the promotion <i>had</i> come from Trench! It bothered him. When a turkey +sees corn on the menu, it's time to wonder about Thanksgiving.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>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 since +he'd landed here.</p> + +<p>He had become almost superstitious about the way he was always left with +no more than a hundred credits in his pockets. This time, he stripped +himself to that sum at once, depositing the rest in the First Marsport +Bank. Maybe it would break the jinx.</p> + +<p>They were one of the few teams in the Seventh Precinct to make full +quota. Trench was lavish in his praise. He was playing more than fair +with Bruce Gordon now, but there was a basic suspicion in his eyes.</p> + +<p>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. I +need two men who can keep their mouths shut."</p> + +<p>They idled around the station through the morning. In the late +afternoon, they left in a big truck capable of hauling what would have +been fifty tons on Earth. Trench drove. Outside the dome, the electric +motor carried them along at a steady twenty miles an hour, almost +silently.</p> + +<p>It was Gordon's first look at the real Mars. He saw small villages where +crop prospectors and hydroponic farmers lived, with a few small +industrial sections scattered over the desert. As they moved out, he saw +the slow change from the beaten appearance of Marsport to something that +seemed no worse than would be found among the share-croppers back on +Earth. It was obvious that Marsport was the poison center here.</p> + +<p>Some of the younger children were running around without helmets, +confirming Praeger's claim that third-generation Martians somehow +learned to adapt to the atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Darkness fell sharply, as it always did in Mars' thin air, but they went +on, heading out into the dunes of the desert. When they finally stopped, +they were beside a small, battered space ship. Boxes were piled all +around it, and others were being tossed out. Trent leaped from the +truck, motioning them to follow, and they began loading the crates +hastily. 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 to +one of the men from the ship, handed over an envelope, and came back to +start the truck back toward Marsport. As the dunes dwindled behind them, +Gordon could see the brief flare of the little rocket taking off.</p> + +<p>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 elevator +that took them three levels down. Trench climbed out and nodded in +satisfaction. "That's it. Take tomorrow off, if you want, and I'll fix +credit for you. But just remember you haven't seen anything. You don't +know any more than our old friend Murdoch!"</p> + +<p>He led them to another elevator, then swung back to the truck.</p> + +<p>"Guns," Gordon said slowly. "Guns and contraband ammunition for the +administration from Earth. And they must have paid half the graft +they've taken for that. What the hell do they want it for?"</p> + +<p>Izzy jerked a shoulder upwards and a twist ran across his pock-marked +face. "War, what else? Gov'nor, Earth must be boiling about the +election. Maybe Security's getting set to spring."</p> + +<p>The idea of Marsport rebelling against Earth seemed ridiculous. Even +with guns, they wouldn't have a chance if Earth sent a force of any +strength to back Security. But it was the only explanation.</p> + +<p>Gordon took the next day off to look for Sheila Corey, but nobody would +admit having seen her.</p> + +<p>He had seen crowds beginning to assemble all afternoon, but had paid no +attention to them. Now he found the way back to Corey's blocked by a +mob. 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. Gordon +managed 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 with +an improvised battering ram. As he watched, a pompous little man came to +the upper window over the door and began motioning for attention. The +crowd quieted almost at once, except for a single yell. "When do we get +our money?"</p> + +<p>"Please. Please." The voice reached back thinly as the bank president +got his silence. "Please. It won't do you any good. Not a bit. We're +broke. Not a cent left! And don't go blaming me. <i>I</i> didn't start the +rush. Your friends did that. They took all the money, and now we're +cleaned out. You can't—"</p> + +<p>A rope rose from the crowd and settled around him. In a second, he was +pulled down, and the crowd surged forward.</p> + +<p>Gordon dropped from the rubble, staring at the bank. He'd played it safe +this time—he'd put his money away, to make sure he'd have it!</p> + +<p>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, then +everything 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."</p> + +<p>The mob was beginning to break up now, but it was still in an ugly mood. +"But what started it?"</p> + +<p>"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—"</p> + +<p>Gordon found Izzy organizing the bouncers from the joints and some of +the citizens into a squad. Every joint was closed down tightly already. +Gordon began organizing his own squad.</p> + +<p>Izzy slipped over as he began to get them organized. "If we hold past +midnight, 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 know +where all the scratch went?"</p> + +<p>"Sure—guns from Earth! The damned fools!"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. But not fools. Just bloody well-informed, gov'nor. Earth's +sending a fleet—got official word of it. No way of telling how big, but +it's coming."</p> + +<p>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 section +alone, apparently scared off by the organized group ready and waiting +for them. But every street and alley had to be kept under constant +surveillance to drive out the angry, desperate men who were trying to +get something to hang onto before everything collapsed. He saw stores +being broken into, beyond his beat; and brawls as one drunken, crazed +crowd met another. But he kept to his own territory, knowing that there +was nothing he could do beyond it.</p> + +<p>By midnight, as Izzy had promised, the people had begun to quiet down, +however. The anger and hysteria were giving way to a sullen, beaten +hopelessness.</p> + +<p>Honest Izzy finally seemed satisfied to turn things over to the regular +night men. Gordon waited around a while longer, but finally headed back +to Mother Corey's place.</p> + +<p>Mother Corey put a cup of steaming coffee into his hands. "You look +worse than I do, cobber. Worse than even that granddaughter of mine. She +was looking for you!"</p> + +<p>"Sheila?" Gordon jerked the word out.</p> + +<p>"Yeah. She left a note for you. I put it up in your room." Mother Corey +chuckled. "Why don't you two get married and make your fighting legal?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks for the coffee," Gordon threw back at him. He was already +mounting the stairs.</p> + +<p>He tossed his door open and found the letter on his bed.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather go to Wayne," it said, "but I need money. If you want the +rest of this, you've got until three tonight to make an offer. If you +can find me, maybe I'll listen."</p> + +<p>The torn-off front cover of the notebook accompanied the letter. But it +was a quarter after three already, he was practically broke—and he had +no idea where she could be found.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_X" id="Chapter_X"></a>Chapter X</h2> + +<h3>MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE</h3> + + +<p>Bruce Gordon jerked the door open to yell for Izzy while he tucked the +bit of notebook cover into his pocket. Then he stopped as something +nibbled at his mind; the odor Gordon had smelled before registered. He +yanked out the bit of notebook and sniffed. It hadn't been close enough +for any length of time to be contaminated by Mother Corey, so the smell +could only come from one place.</p> + +<p>He checked the batteries on his suit and put it on quickly. There was no +point in wearing the helmet inside the dome, but it was better than +trying to rent one at the lockers. He buckled it to a strap. The knife +slid into its sheath, and the gun holster snapped onto the suit. As a +final thought, he picked up the stout locust stick he'd used under +Murdoch.</p> + +<p>There were no cabs outside tonight, of course. The streets were almost +deserted, except for some prowler or desperation-driven drug addict. He +proceeded cautiously, however, realizing that it would be just like +Sheila to ambush him. But he reached the exit from the dome with no +trouble.</p> + +<p>"Special pass to leave at this hour," the guard there reminded him. "Of +course, if it's urgent, pal..."</p> + +<p>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 the +hell out of my way."</p> + +<p>The guard thought it over, and reached for the release. Gordon swung +back as he passed through. "And you'd better be ready to open when I +come back."</p> + +<p>He was in comparative darkness almost at once, and tonight there was no +sign of the lights of patrolling cops. Then three specks of glaring blue +light suddenly appeared in the sky, jerking his eyes up. They were +dropping rapidly.</p> + +<p>Rockets that flamed bright blue—military rockets! Earth was finally +taking a hand!</p> + +<p>He crouched in a hollow that had once been some kind of a basement until +the ships had landed and cut off their jets. Then he stood up, blinking +his 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 was +the old Mother Corey's Chicken Coop showed up against the faint light.</p> + +<p>He moved in cautiously, as silently as he could, and located the +semi-secret entrance to the building without meeting anyone. Once in the +tunnel that led to the building, he felt a little safer.</p> + +<p>He removed his helmet, and strapped it to the back of his suit, out of +the way. The old hall was in worse shape than before. Mother Corey had +run a somewhat orderly place, with constant vigilance; Bruce Gordon +could never have come into the hallway without being seen in the old +days.</p> + +<p>Then a pounding sound came from the second floor, and Gordon drew back +into the denser shadows, staring upwards. A heavy voice picked up the +exchange of shouts.</p> + +<p>"You, Sheila, you come outa there! You come right out or I'm gonna blast +that there door down. You open up."</p> + +<p>Gordon was already moving up the stairs when a second voice reached him, +and this one was familiar. "Jurgens don't want <i>you</i>; all he wants is +this place—we got use for it. It don't belong to you, anyhow! Come out +now, and we'll let you go peaceful. Or stay in there and we'll blast you +out—in pieces."</p> + +<p>It was the voice of Jurgens' henchman who had called on Mother Corey +before elections. The thick voice must belong to the big ape who'd been +with him.</p> + +<p>"Come on out," the little man cried again. "You don't have a chance. +We've already chased all your boarders out!"</p> + +<p>Gordon tried to remember which steps had creaked the worst, but he +wasn't too worried, if there were only two of them. Then his head +projected above the top step, and he hesitated. Only the rat and the ape +were standing near a heavy, closed door. But four others were lounging +in the background. He lifted his foot to put it back down to a lower +step, just as Sheila's muffled voice shrilled out a fog of profanity. He +grinned, and then saw that he'd lifted his foot to a higher step.</p> + +<p>There was a sharp yell from one of the men in the background and a knife +sailed for him, but the aim was poor. Gordon's gun came out. Two of the +men were dropping before the others could reach for their own weapons, +and while the rat-faced man was just turning. The third dropped without +firing, and the fourth's shot went wild. Gordon was firing rapidly, but +not with such a stupid attempt at speed that he couldn't aim each shot. +And at that distance, it was hard to miss.</p> + +<p>Rat-face jerked back behind the big hulk of his partner, trying to pull +a gun that seemed to be stuck; a scared man's ability to get his gun +stuck in a simple holster was always amazing. The big guy simply lunged, +with his hands out.</p> + +<p>Gordon side-stepped and caught one of the arms, swinging the huge body +over one hip. It sailed over the broken railing, to land on the floor +below and crash through the rotten planking. He heard the man hit the +basement, even while he was swinging the club in his hand toward the +rat-faced man.</p> + +<p>There was a thin, high-pitched scream as a collarbone broke. He slumped +onto the floor, and began to try hitching his way down the steps. Gordon +picked up the gun that had fallen out of the holster as the man fell and +put it into his pouch. He considered the two, and decided they would be +no menace.</p> + +<p>"Okay, Sheila," he called out, trying to muffle his voice. "We got them +all."</p> + +<p>"Pie-Face?" Her voice was doubtful.</p> + +<p>He considered what a man out here who went under that name might be +like. "Sure, baby. Open up!"</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute. I've got this nailed shut." There was the sound of an +effort of some kind going on as she talked. "Though I ought to let you +stay out there and rot. Damn it ... uh!"</p> + +<p>The door heaved open then, and she appeared in it; then she saw him, and +her jaw dropped open slackly. "You!"</p> + +<p>"Me," he agreed. "And lucky for you, Cuddles."</p> + +<p>Her hand streaked to a gun in her belt. "Kill him!"</p> + +<p>This time, he didn't wait to be attacked. He went for the door, knocking +her aside. His knee caught the outside of her hip as she spun; she fell +over, dropping the gun.</p> + +<p>The two men in the room were both holding knives, but in the ridiculous +overhand position that seems to be an ingrained stupidity of the human +race, until it's taught better. A single flip of his locust club against +their wrists accounted for both of the knives. He grabbed them by the +hair of their heads, then, and brought the two skulls together savagely.</p> + +<p>Sheila lay stretched out on the floor, where her head had apparently +struck against the leg of a bed. Gordon shoved the bodies of the two men +aside and looked down at the wreck of a man who lay on the dirty +blanket. "Hello, O'Neill," he said.</p> + +<p>The former leader of the Stonewall gang stared up at the club swinging +from 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."</p> + +<p>Gordon's stomach knotted sickly. Doing something under the pressure of +necessity was one thing; but to see the sorry results of it later was +another. "All right," he said. "Just stay there until I get away from +this rat's nest and I won't hit you. I won't even touch you."</p> + +<p>He was sure enough that it was no act on O'Neill's part; he wasn't so +sure about Sheila. He checked the two men on the floor, who were still +out cold. Then he stepped through the door carefully, to make sure that +the big bruiser hadn't come back.</p> + +<p>His ears barely detected the sound Sheila made as she reached for the +knife 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 saw +her momentum carry her over him; she was at the edge of the rail, and +starting to fall.</p> + +<p>He caught her feet in his hands and yanked her back. There was nothing +phony this time as she hit the floor.</p> + +<p>"Just a matter of co-ordination, Cuddles," he told her. "Little girls +shouldn't play with knives; they'll grow up to be old maids that way."</p> + +<p>Fury blackened her face, but she still couldn't function. He picked her +up and tossed her back into the room. From the broken mattress on the +bed, he dug out a coil of wire and bound her hands and feet with it.</p> + +<p>"Can't say I think much of your choice of companions these days," he +commented, looking toward the bed where O'Neill was cowering. "It looks +as if your grandfather picks them better for you."</p> + +<p>"You filthy-minded hog! D'you think I'd—I'd—One room in the place with +a decent door, and you can't see why I'd choose that room to keep +Jurgens' devils back. You—You—"</p> + +<p>He'd been searching the room, but there was no sign of the notebook +there. He checked again to see that the wire was tight, and then picked +up the two henchmen who were showing some signs of reviving.</p> + +<p>"I'll watch them," a voice said from the door. Gordon snapped his head +up to see Izzy standing there. He realized he'd been a lot less cautious +than he'd thought.</p> + +<p>Izzy grinned at his confusion. "I got enough out of the Mother to case +the pitch," he said. "I knew I was right when I spotted the apeman +carrying a guy with a bad shoulder away from here. Jurgens' punks, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks for coming. What's it going to cost me?"</p> + +<p>"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 you +bunked before. I got around after I spotted you here."</p> + +<p>Sheila Corey forced herself to a sitting position and spat at Izzy. +"Traitor! Crooked little traitor!"</p> + +<p>"Shut up, Sheila," Izzy said. "Your retainer ran out."</p> + +<p>Surprisingly, she did shut up. Gordon went to the little space—and saw +that Izzy was right; there was a nearly used-up lipstick, a comb, and a +cracked mirror. There was also a small cloth bag containing a few scraps +of clothes.</p> + +<p>He turned the room upside down, but there was no sign of the notebook or +papers from it.</p> + +<p>He located her helmet and carried it down with him. "You're going +bye-bye, Cuddles," he told her. "I'm going to put this on you and then +unfasten your arms and legs. But if you start to so much as wiggle your +big toe, you won't sit down for a month."</p> + +<p>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 he +unfastened her legs.</p> + +<p>He tossed her over his shoulder, and started down the rickety stairs.</p> + +<p>There was a little light in the sky. Five minutes later, it was full +daylight, which should have been a signal for the workers to start for +their jobs. But today they were drifting out unhappily, as if already +sure there would be no jobs by nightfall.</p> + +<p>A few stared at Gordon and his burden, but most of them didn't even look +up. The two men trudged along silently.</p> + +<p>"Prisoner," he announced crisply to the guard, but there was no protest +this time. They went through, and he was lucky enough to locate a +broken-down tricycle cab.</p> + +<p>Mother Corey let them in, without flickering an eyelash as he saw his +granddaughter. Bruce Gordon dropped her onto her legs. "Behave +yourself," he warned her as he took off his helmet, and then unfastened +hers.</p> + +<p>Mother Corey chuckled. "Very touching, cobber. You have a way with +women, it seems. Too bad she had to wear a helmet, or you might have +dragged her here by her hair. Ah, well, let's not talk about it here. My +room is more comfortable—and private."</p> + +<p>Inside, Sheila sat woodenly on the little sofa, pretending to see none +of them. Mother Corey looked from one to the other, and then back to +Gordon. "Well? You must have had some reason for bringing her here, +cobber."</p> + +<p>"I want her out of my hair, Mother," Gordon tried to explain. "I can +lock her up—carrying a gun without a permit is reason enough. But I'd +rather you kept her here, if you'll take the responsibility. After all, +she's your granddaughter."</p> + +<p>"So she is. That's why I wash my hands of her. I couldn't control myself +at her age, couldn't control my son, and I don't intend to handle a +female of my line. It looks as if you'll have to arrest her."</p> + +<p>"Okay. Suppose I rent a room and put a good lock on it. You've got the +one that connects with mine vacant."</p> + +<p>"I run a respectable house now, Gordon," Mother Corey stated flatly. +"What you do outside my place is your own business. But no women, except +married ones. Can't trust 'em."</p> + +<p>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 her +without any rigmarole?"</p> + +<p>Izzy's face seemed to drop toward the floor. Sheila came up off the +couch with a choking cry and leaped for the door. Mother Corey's immense +arm moved out casually, sweeping her back onto the couch.</p> + +<p>"Very convenient," the old man said. "The two of you simply fill out a +form—I've got a few left from the last time—and get Izzy and me to +witness it. Drop it in the mail, and you're married."</p> + +<p>"If you think I'd marry you, you filthy—" Sheila began.</p> + +<p>Mother Corey listened attentively. "Rich, but not very imaginative," he +said thoughtfully. "But she'll learn. Izzy, I have a feeling we should +let them settle their differences."</p> + +<p>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—you +know that better than most people. And I'm up to my neck in it. If I've +got to marry you to keep you out of my hair, I will."</p> + +<p>Her face was pasty-white, but she bent her head, and fluttered her +eyelashes up at him. "So romantic," she sighed. "You sweep me off my +feet. You—Why, you—"</p> + +<p>"Me or Trench! I can take you to him and tell him you're mixed up in +Security, and that you either have papers on you or out at the Chicken +Coop to prove it. He won't believe <i>you</i> if I take you in. Well?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him a long time in silence, and there was surprise in her +eyes. "You'd do it! You really would.... All right; I'll sign your +damned papers!"</p> + +<p>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 be +hers. There were no windows here, and his own room had an excellent lock +on it already—one he'd put on himself. Izzy came back as Mother Corey +finished the door and began knocking a small panel out of the connecting +door. The old man was surprisingly adept with his hands as he fitted +hinges and a catch to the panel, and re-installed it so that Sheila +could swing it open.</p> + +<p>"They're married," Izzy said. "It's in the mail to the register, along +with the twenty credits. Gov'nor, we're about due to report in."</p> + +<p>Gordon nodded. "Be with you in a minute," he said as he paid Mother +Corey for the materials and work. He jerked his head and the two men +went out, leaving him alone with Sheila.</p> + +<p>"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 the +connecting door. "It's the only key there is."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_XI" id="Chapter_XI"></a>Chapter XI</h2> + +<h3>THE SKY'S THE LIMIT</h3> + + +<p>All that day, the three rocket ships sat out on the field. Nobody went +up to them, and nobody came from them; surprisingly, Wayne had found the +courage to ignore them. But rumors were circulating wildly. Bruce Gordon +felt his nerves creeping out of his skin and beginning to stand on end +to test each breeze for danger.</p> + +<p>With the credit they'd accumulated in the fund, nearly all their +collection was theirs. Gordon went out to do some shopping. He stopped +when his money was down to a hundred credits, hardly realizing what he +was doing. When he went out, the street was going crazy.</p> + +<p>Izzy had been waiting, and filled him in. At exactly sundown, the rocket +ships had thrown down ramps, and a stream of jeeps had ridden down them +and toward the south entrance to the dome. They had presented some sort +of paper and forced the guard to let them through. There were about two +hundred men, some of them armed. They had driven straight to the huge, +barnlike Employment Bureau, had chased out the few people remaining +there, and had simply taken over. Now there was a sign in front which +simply said <span class="smcap">Marsport Legal Police Force Headquarters</span>. Then the +jeeps had driven back to the rockets, gone on board, and the ships had +taken off.</p> + +<p>Gordon glanced at his watch, finding it hard to believe it could have +been done so quickly. But it was two hours after sundown.</p> + +<p>Now a car with a loudspeaker on top rolled into view—a completely +armored car. It stopped, and the speaker began operating.</p> + +<p>"Citizens of Marsport! In order to protect your interests from the +proven rapacity of the administration here, Earth has revoked the +independent charter of Marsport. The past elections are hereby declared +null and void. Your home world has appointed Marcus Gannett as mayor, +with Philip Crane as chief of police. Other members of the council will +be by appointment until legal elections can be held safely. The +Municipal Police Force is disbanded, and the Legal Police Force is now +being organized.</p> + +<p>"All police and officers who remain loyal to the legal government will +be accepted at their present grade or higher. To those who now leave the +illegal Municipal Force and accept their duty with the Legal Force, +there will be no question of past conduct. Nor will they suffer +financially from the change!</p> + +<p>"Banks will be reopened as rapidly as the Legal Government can extend +its control, and all deposits previously made will be honored in full."</p> + +<p>That brought a cheer from the crowd, as the sound truck moved on. Gordon +saw two of the police officers nearby fingering their badges +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>Then another truck rolled into view, and the Mayor's canned voice came +over it, panting as if he'd had to rush to make the recording. He began +directly:</p> + +<p>"Martians! Earth has declared war on us. She has denied us our right to +rule ourselves—a right guaranteed in our charter. We admit there have +been abuses; all young civilizations make mistakes. But we've developed +and grown.</p> + +<p>"This is an old pattern, fellow Martians! England tried it on her +colonies three hundred years ago. And the people rose up and demanded +their right to rule themselves. They had troubles with their +governments, too—and they had panics. But they won their freedom, and +it made them great—so great that now that <i>one</i> nation—not all Earth, +but that single nation!—is trying to do to us what she wouldn't permit +to herself.</p> + +<p>"Well, we don't have an army. But neither do they. They know the people +of this world wouldn't stand for the landing of foreign—that's right, +<i>foreign</i>—troops. So they're trying to steal our police force from us +and use it for their war.</p> + +<p>"Fellow Martians, they aren't going to bribe us into that! Mars has had +enough. I declare us to be in a state of revolution. And since they have +chosen the weapons, I declare our loyal and functioning Municipal Police +Force to be <i>our</i> army. Any man who deserts will be considered a +traitor. But any man who sticks will be rewarded more than he ever +expected. We're going to protect our freedom.</p> + +<p>"Let them open their banks—our banks—again. And when they have +established your accounts, go in and collect the money! If they give it +to you, Mars is that much richer. If they don't, you'll know they're +lying.</p> + +<p>"Let them bribe us if they like. We're going to win this war."</p> + +<p>Gordon felt the crowd's reaction twist again, and he had to admit that +Wayne had played his cards well.</p> + +<p>But it didn't make the question of where he belonged, or what he should +do, any easier. He waited until the crowd had thinned out a little and +began heading toward Corey's, with Izzy moving along silently beside +him, carrying half the packages.</p> + +<p>He remembered the promise of forgiveness for all sins on joining the new +Legal Force; but he'd read enough history to know that it was fine—as +long as the struggle continued. Afterwards, promises grew dim....</p> + +<p>He had no use for the present administration, but Earth had no right to +take over without a formal investigation, and a chance for the people to +state their choice.</p> + +<p>Then he grimaced at himself. He was in no position to move according to +right and wrong. The only question that counted was how he had the best +chance to ride out the storm, and to get back to Earth and a normal +life.</p> + +<p>He was still in a brown study as he took the bundles from Izzy and +dropped them on his bed. Izzy went out, and Gordon stood staring at the +wall. Trench? Or the new Commissioner Crane? If Earth should win—and +they had most of the power, after all—and Bruce Gordon had fought +against Security, the mines of Mercury were waiting.</p> + +<p>He picked up the stuff from his bed and started to sweep it aside before +he lay down. Then he remembered at last; he knocked on the panel, until +it finally opened a crack.</p> + +<p>"Here," he told her. "Food, and some other stuff. There are some refuse +bags, too. Yell when you want them removed."</p> + +<p>She took the bundles woodenly until she came to a plastic can. Then she +gasped. "Water! Two gallons!"</p> + +<p>"There are heat tablets, and a skin tub." The salesgirl had explained +how one gallon was enough in the plastic bag that served as a tub; he +had his doubts. "Detergent. The whole works."</p> + +<p>She hauled the stuff in and started to close the panel. Then she +hesitated. "I suppose I should thank you, but I don't like to be told I +stink so much you can't stand me in the next room!"</p> + +<p>"Hell, I've gotten so I can stand your grandfather," he answered. "It +wasn't that." The panel slammed shut.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He still hadn't solved his problem in the morning; out of habit, he put +on his uniform and went across to Izzy's room. But Izzy was already +gone.</p> + +<p>Gordon fished into the pocket of his uniform for paper and a pencil to +leave a note in case Izzy came back. His fingers found the half notebook +cover instead. He drew it out, scowling at it, and started to crumple +it. Then he stopped, staring at the piece of imitation leather and paper +that wouldn't bend.</p> + +<p>His fingers were still stiff as he began tearing off the thin covering +with his knife; the paper backing peeled away easily.</p> + +<p>Under it lay a thin metal plate that glowed faintly even in the dim +light of Izzy's room! Gordon nearly dropped it. He'd seen such an +identification plate once before.</p> + +<p>The printing on it leaped at him: "This will identify the bearer, BRUCE +IRVING GORDON, as a PRIME agent of the Office of Solar Security, +empowered to make and execute any and all directives under the powers of +this office." The printing in capitals was obviously done by hand, but +with the same catalytic "ink" as the rest of the badge. Murdoch must +have prepared it, hidden it in the notebook, then died before the secret +could be revealed.</p> + +<p>A knock sounded from across the hall. Gordon thrust the damning badge as +deep into his pouch as he could cram it and looked out. It was Mother +Corey.</p> + +<p>"You've got a visitor—outside," he announced. "Trench. And I don't like +the stench of that kind of cop in my place. Get him away, cobber, get +him away!"</p> + +<p>Gordon found Trench pacing up and down in front of the house, scowling +up at it. But the ex-Marine smiled as he saw Bruce Gordon in uniform. +"Good. At least some men are loyal. Had breakfast, Gordon?"</p> + +<p>Gordon shook his head, and realized suddenly that the decision seemed to +have been taken out of his hands. They crossed the street and went down +half a block. "All right," he said, when the coffee began waking him. +"What's the angle?"</p> + +<p>Trench dropped the eyes that had been boring into him. "I'll have to +trust you, Gordon. I've never been sure. But either you're loyal now or +I can't depend on anyone being loyal."</p> + +<p>During the night, it seemed, the Legal Force had been recruiting. Wayne, +Arliss, and the rest of the administration had counted on self-interest +holding most of the cops loyal to them. They'd been wrong. Legal forces +already controlled about half the city.</p> + +<p>"So?" Gordon asked. He could have told Trench that the fund was +good-enough reason for most police deserting.</p> + +<p>Trench put his coffee down and yelled for more. It was obvious he'd +spent the night without sleep. "So we're going to need men with guts. +Gordon, you had training under Murdoch—who knew his business. And you +aren't a coward, as most of these fat fools are. I've got a proposition, +straight from Wayne."</p> + +<p>"I'm listening."</p> + +<p>"Here." Trench threw across a platinum badge. "Take that—captain at +large—and conscript any of the Municipal Force you want, up to a +hundred. Pick out any place you want, train them to handle those damned +Legals the way Murdoch handled the Stonewall boys. In return, the sky's +the limit. Name your own salary, once you've done the job. And no +kickbacks, either!"</p> + +<p>Gordon picked up the badge slowly and buckled it on, while a grim, +satisfied smile spread over Trench's features. The problem seemed to +have been solved. Gordon should have been satisfied, but he felt like +Judas picking up the thirty pieces of silver. He tried to swallow them +with the dregs of his coffee, and they stuck in his throat.</p> + +<p>Comes the revolution and we'll all eat strawberries and scream!</p> + +<p>A hubbub sounded outside, and Trench grimaced as a police whistle +sounded, and a Municipal cop ran by. "We're in enemy territory," he +said. "The Legals got this precinct last night. Captain Hendrix and some +of his men wanted to come back with full battle equipment and chase them +out. I had a hell of a time getting them to take it easy. I suppose that +was some damned fool who tried to go back to his beat."</p> + +<p>"Then you'd better look again," Gordon told him. He'd gone to the door +and was peering out. Up the narrow little street was rolling a group of +about seventy Municipal police and half a dozen small trucks. The men +were wearing guns. And up the street a man in bright green uniform was +pounding his fist up and down in emphasis as he called in over the +precinct box.</p> + +<p>"The idiot!" Trench grabbed Gordon and spun out, running toward the +advancing men. "We've got to stop this. Get my car—up the street—call +Arliss on the phone—under the dash. Or Wayne. I'll bring Hendrix."</p> + +<p>Trench's system made some sense, and this business of marching as to war +made none at all. Gordon grabbed the phone from under the dash. A sleepy +voice answered to say that Commissioner Arliss and Mayor Wayne were +sleeping. They'd had a hard night, and...</p> + +<p>"Damn it, there's a rebellion going on!" Gordon told the man. Rebellion, +rebellion! He'd meant to say revolution, but...</p> + +<p>Trench was arguing frantically with the pompous figure of Captain +Hendrix. From the other end of the street, a group of small cars +appeared; and men began piling out, all in shiny green.</p> + +<p>"Who's this?" the phone asked. When Gordon identified himself, there was +a snort of disgust. "Yes, yes, congratulations. Trench was quite right; +you're fully authorized. Did you call me out of bed just to check on +that, young man?"</p> + +<p>"No, I—" Then he hung up. Hendrix had dropped to his knees and fired +before Trench could knock the gun from his hands.</p> + +<p>There was no answering fire. The Legals simply came boiling down the +street, equipped with long pikes with lead-weighted ends. And Hendrix +came charging up, his men straggling behind him. Gordon was squarely in +the middle. He considered staying in Trench's car and letting it roll +past him. But he'd taken the damned badge.</p> + +<p>"Hell," he said in disgust. He climbed out, just as the two groups met. +It all had a curious feeling of unreality.</p> + +<p>Then a man jumped for him, swinging a pike, and the feeling was suddenly +gone. His hand snapped down sharply for a rock on the street. The pike +whistled over his head, barely missing, and he was up, squashing the big +stone into the face of the other. He jerked the pike away, kicked the +man in the neck as he fell, and unsheathed his knife with the other +hand.</p> + +<p>Trench was a few feet away. The man might be a louse, but he was also a +fighting machine of first order, still. He'd already captured one of the +pikes. Now he grinned tightly at Gordon and began moving toward him. +Gordon nodded—in a brawl such as this, two working together had a +distinct advantage.</p> + +<p>Then a yell sounded as more Legals poured down the street. One of them +was obviously Izzy, wearing the same green as the others!</p> + +<p>Gordon felt something hit his back, and instinctively fell, soaking up +the blow. He managed to bend his neck and roll, coming to his feet. His +knife slashed upwards, and the Legal fell—almost on top of the Security +badge that had dropped from Gordon's pouch.</p> + +<p>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 entrance +to Mother Corey's house—with Sheila Corey coming out of the seal!</p> + +<p>Gordon threw himself back; he had to get to her.</p> + +<p>He hadn't been watching as closely as he should. He saw the pike coming +down and tried to duck...</p> + +<p>He was vaguely conscious later of looking up, to see Sheila dragging him +into some entrance, while Trench ran toward them. Sheila and Trench +together—and the Security badge was still in his pouch!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_XII" id="Chapter_XII"></a>Chapter XII</h2> + +<h3>WIFE OR PRISONER?</h3> + + +<p>Something cold and damp against his forehead brought Gordon part way out +of his unconsciousness finally. There was the softness of a bed under +him and the bitter aftertaste of Migrainol on his tongue. He tried to +move, but nothing happened. The drug killed pain, but only at the +expense of a temporary paralysis of all voluntary motion.</p> + +<p>There was a sudden withdrawal of the cooling touch on his forehead, and +then hasty steps that went away from him, and the sound of a door +closing.</p> + +<p>Steps sounded from outside; his door opened, and there was the sound of +two men crossing the room, one with the heavy shuffle of Mother Corey.</p> + +<p>"No wonder the boys couldn't find where you'd stashed him, Mother. Must +be a bloody big false section you've got in that trick mattress of +yours!"</p> + +<p>"Big enough for him and for Trench, Izzy," Mother Corey's wheezing voice +agreed. "Had to be big to fit me."</p> + +<p>"You mean you hid Trench out, too?" Izzy asked.</p> + +<p>There was a thick chuckle and the sound of hands being rubbed together. +"A respectable landlord has to protect himself, Izzy. For hiding and a +convoy back, our Captain Trench gave me a paper with immunity from the +Municipal Force. Used that, with a bit of my old reputation, to get your +Mayor Gannett to give me the same from the Legals. Gannett didn't want +Mother Corey to think the Municipals were kinder than the Legals, so +you're in the only neutral territory in Marsport. Not that you deserve +it."</p> + +<p>"Lay off, Mother," Izzy said sharply. "I told you I had to do it. I take +care of the side that pays my cut, and the bloody administration pulled +the plug on my beat twice. Only honest thing to do was to join the +Legals."</p> + +<p>"And get your rating upped to a lieutenant," Mother Corey observed. +"Without telling cobber Gordon!"</p> + +<p>"Like I say, honesty pays, Mother—when you know how to collect. Hell, I +figured Bruce would do the same. He's a right gee."</p> + +<p>Mother Corey chuckled. "Yeah, when he forgets he's a machine. How about +a game of shanks?"</p> + +<p>The steps moved away; the door closed again. Bruce Gordon got both eyes +open 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. His +fingers, clumsy and uncertain, groped back and forth for a badge that +wasn't there!</p> + +<p>He heard the door open softly, but made no effort to look up. The +reaction from his effort had drained him.</p> + +<p>Fingers touched his head carefully, brushing the hair back delicately +from the side of his skull. Then there was the biting sting of +antiseptic, sharp enough to bring a groan from his lips. Sheila's hair +fell over her face as she bent to replace his bandages.</p> + +<p>Her eyes wandered toward his, and the scissors and bandages on her lap +hit the floor as she jumped to her feet. She turned toward her room, +then hesitated as he grinned crookedly at her. "Hi, Cuddles," he said +flatly.</p> + +<p>She bit her lips and turned back, while a slow flush ran over her face. +Her voice was uncertain. "Hello, Bruce. You okay?"</p> + +<p>"How long have I been like this?"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen hours, I guess. It's almost midnight." She bent over to pick up +the bandages and to finish with his head. "Are you hungry? There's some +canned soup—I took the money from your pocket. Or coffee..."</p> + +<p>"Coffee." He forced himself up again; Sheila propped the flimsy pillow +behind him, then went into her room to come back with a plastic cup +filled with brown liquid that passed for coffee here. It was loaded with +caffeine, at least.</p> + +<p>"Why'd you come back?" he asked suddenly. "You were anxious enough to +pick the lock and get out."</p> + +<p>"I didn't pick it—you forgot to lock it."</p> + +<p>He couldn't remember what he'd done after he found the badge. "Okay, my +mistake. But why the change of heart?"</p> + +<p>"Because I needed a meal ticket!" she said harshly. "When I saw that +Legal 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!"</p> + +<p>It rocked him back on his mental heels. He'd thought that she had been +attacking him on the street; but it made more sense this way, at that.</p> + +<p>"You're a fool!" he told her bitterly. "You bought a punched meal +ticket. Right now, I probably have six death warrants out on me, and +about as much chance of making a living as—"</p> + +<p>"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'll +support her. Just remember, it was your idea."</p> + +<p>He'd had a lot of ideas, it seemed. "I've got a wife who's holding onto +a notebook that belongs to me, then. Where is it?"</p> + +<p>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't +bother looking..." She went into the other room and shut the door. +There was the sound of the lock being worked, and then silence.</p> + +<p>He stared at the door foolishly, swearing at all women; then grimaced +and turned back to the chair where his uniform still lay. He could stay +here fighting with her, or he could face his troubles on the outside. +The whole thing hinged on Trench; unless Trench had shown the badge to +others, his problem boiled down to a single man.</p> + +<p>Gordon found one tablet of painkiller left in the bottle and swallowed +it with the dregs of the coffee. He made sure his knife was in its +sheath and that the gun at his side was loaded. He found his police +club, checked the loop at its end, and slipped it onto his wrist.</p> + +<p>At the door to the hall, he hesitated, staring at Sheila's room. Wife or +prisoner? He turned it over in his mind, knowing that her words couldn't +change the facts. But in the end, he dropped the key and half his money +beside her door, along with a spare knife and one of his guns.</p> + +<p>He went by Izzy's room without stopping; technically, the boy was an +enemy to all Municipals. This might be neutral territory, but there was +no use pressing it. Gordon went down the stairs and out through the seal +onto the street entrance, still in the shadows.</p> + +<p>His eyes covered the street in two quick scans. Far up, a Legal cop was +passing beyond the range of the single dim light. At the other end, a +pair of figures skulked along, trying the door of each house they +passed. With the cops busy fighting each other, this was better pickings +than outside the dome.</p> + +<p>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 the +nearest alley, which led through the truckyard of Nick the Croop.</p> + +<p>The entrance was in nearly complete darkness. Gordon loosened his knife +and tightened his grip on the locust stick.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a whisper of sound caught his ears. He stopped, not too +quickly, and listened, but everything was still. A hundred feet farther +on, and within twenty yards of the trucks, a swishing rustle reached his +ears 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 boot +lifted, and the flashlight spun aside, broken and dark. With a +continuous motion, he switched the knife to his left hand in a thumb-up +position and brought it back. There was a grunt of pain; he stepped +backwards and twisted. His hands caught the man behind, lifted across a +hip, and heaved, just before the front man reached him.</p> + +<p>The two ambushers were down in a tangled mess. There was just enough +light to make out faint outlines, and Gordon brought his locust club +down twice, with the hollow thud of wood on skulls.</p> + +<p>His head was swimming in a hot maelstrom of pain, but it was quieting as +his breathing returned to normal. As long as his opponents were slower +or less ruthless, he could take care of himself.</p> + +<p>The trouble, though, was that Isaiah Trench was neither slow nor +squeamish.</p> + +<p>Gordon gathered the two hoodlums under his arms and dragged them with +him. He came out in the truckyard and began searching. Nick the Croop +had ridden his reputation long enough to be careless, and the third +truck had its key still in the lock. He threw the two into the back and +struck a cautious light.</p> + +<p>One of them was Jurgens' apelike follower, his stupid face relaxed and +vacant. The other was probably also one of Jurgens' growing mob of +protection racketeers. Gordon yanked out the man's wallet, but there was +no identification; it held only a small sheaf of bills.</p> + +<p>He stripped out the money—and finally put half of it back into the +wallet and dropped it beside the hoodlum. Even in jail, a man had to +have smokes.</p> + +<p>He stuck to the alleys, not using the headlights, after he had locked +the two in and started the electric motor. He had no clear idea of how +the battles were going, but it looked as if the Seventh Precinct was +still in Municipal hands.</p> + +<p>There was no one at the side entrance to Seventh Precinct Headquarters +and only two corporals on duty inside; the rest were probably out +fighting the Legals, or worrying about it. One of the corporals started +to stand up and halt him, but wavered at the sight of the captain's star +that was still pinned to his uniform.</p> + +<p>"Special prisoners," Gordon told him sharply. "I've got to get +information to Trench—and in private!"</p> + +<p>The corporal stuttered. Gordon knocked him out of the way with his +elbow, reached for the door to Trench's private office, and yanked it +open. He stepped through, drawing it shut behind him, while his eyes +checked the position of his gun at his hip. Then he looked up.</p> + +<p>There was no sign of Trench. In his place, and in the uniform of a +Municipal captain, sat the heavy figure of Jurgens. "Outside!" he +snapped. Then his eyes narrowed, and a stiff smile came onto his lips as +he laid the pen down. "Oh, it's you, Gordon?"</p> + +<p>"Where's Captain Trench?"</p> + +<p>The heavy features didn't change as Jurgens chuckled. "Commissioner +Trench, Gordon. It seems Arliss decided to get rid of Mayor Wayne, but +didn't count on Wayne's spies being better than his. So Trench got +promoted—and I got his job for loyal service in helping the Force +recruit. My boys always wanted to be cops, you know."</p> + +<p>Gordon tried to grin in return as he moved closer, slipping the heavy +locust club off his wrist.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Gordon shook his head slightly, while the nerves bunched and tingled in +his neck. "They hadn't arrived when I left the house," he said +truthfully enough.</p> + +<p>Jurgens reached out for tobacco and filled a pipe. He fumbled in his +pockets, as if looking for a light. "Too bad. I knew you weren't in top +shape, so I figured a convoy might be handy. Well, no matter. Trench +left some instructions about you, and—"</p> + +<p>His voice was perfectly normal, but Gordon saw the hand move suddenly +toward the drawer that was half-open. And the cigarette lighter was +attached to the other side of the desk.</p> + +<p>The locust stick left Gordon's hand with a snap. It cut through the air +a scant eight feet, jerked to a stop against Jurgens' forehead and +clattered onto the top of the desk, while Jurgens folded over, his mouth +still open, his hand slumping out of the drawer. The club rolled toward +Gordon, who caught it before it could reach the floor.</p> + +<p>But Jurgens was only momentarily out. As Gordon slipped the loop over +his wrist again, one of the new captain's hands groped, seeking a button +on the edge of the desk.</p> + +<p>The two corporals were at the door when Gordon threw it open, but they +drew back at the sight of his drawn gun. Feet were pounding below as he +found the entrance that led to the truck. He hit the seat and rammed +down the throttle with his foot before he could get his hands on the +wheel.</p> + +<p>It was a full minute before sirens sounded behind him, and Nick the +Croop had fast trucks. He spotted the squad car far behind, ducked +through a maze of alleys, and lost it for another few precious minutes. +Then a barricade lay ahead.</p> + +<p>The truck faltered as it hit the nearly finished obstacle, and Gordon +felt his stomach squashing down onto the wheel. He kept his foot to the +floor, strewing bits of the barricade behind him, until he was beyond +the range of the Legal guns that were firing suddenly. Then he stopped +and got out carefully, with his hands up.</p> + +<p>"Captain Bruce Gordon, with two prisoners—bodyguards of Captain +Jurgens," he reported to the three men in bright new Legal uniform who +were approaching warily. "How do I sign up with you?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_XIII" id="Chapter_XIII"></a>Chapter XIII</h2> + +<h3>ARREST MAYOR WAYNE!</h3> + + +<p>The Legal forces were shorthanded and eager for recruits. They had +struck quickly, according to plans made by experts on Earth, and now +controlled about half of Marsport. But it was a sprawling crescent +around the central section, harder to handle than the Municipal +territory. Bruce Gordon was sworn in at once.</p> + +<p>Then he cooled his heels while the florid, paunchy ex-politician +Commissioner Crane worried about his rating and repeated how corrupt +Mars was and how the collection system was over—absolutely over. In the +end, 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.</p> + +<p>Gordon's credits were changed to Legal scrip, and he was issued a +trim-fitting green uniform. Then a surprisingly competent doctor +examined his wound, rebandaged it, and sent him home for the day. The +change was finished—and he felt like a grown man playing with dolls.</p> + +<p>He walked back, watching the dull-looking people closing off their +homes, as they had done at elections. Here and there, houses had been +broken into during the night. There were occasional buzzes of angry +conversation that cut off as he approached.</p> + +<p>Marsport had learned to hate all cops, and a change of uniform hadn't +altered that; instead, the people seemed to resent the loss of the +familiar symbol of hatred.</p> + +<p>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 'em +give you my beat?"</p> + +<p>He seemed genuinely pleased as Gordon nodded, and then dropped it, to +point to Randolph. "Guess what, gov'nor. The Legals bought Randy's +<i>Crusader</i>. Traded him an old job press and a bag of scratch for his +reputation."</p> + +<p>"You'll be late, Izzy," Randolph said quietly. Gordon suddenly realized +that Randolph, like everyone else, seemed to be Izzy's friend. He +watched the little man leave, and reached out for the menu. Randolph +picked it out of his hand. "You've got a wife home, muckraker. You don't +have to eat this filth."</p> + +<p>Gordon got up, grimacing at the obvious dismissal. But the publisher +motioned him back again.</p> + +<p>"Yeah, the Legals want the <i>Crusader</i> for their propaganda," he said +wearily. "New slogans and new uniforms, and none of them mean anything. +Here!" He drew a small golden band from his little finger. "My mother's +wedding ring. Give it to her—and if you tell her it came from me, I'll +rip out your guts!"</p> + +<p>He got up suddenly and hobbled out, his pinched face working. Gordon +turned the ring over, puzzled. Finally he got up and headed for his +room, a little surprised to find the door unlocked. Sheila opened her +eyes at his uniform, but made no comment. "Food ready in ten minutes," +she told him.</p> + +<p>She'd already been shopping, and had installed the tiny cooking +equipment used in half Marsport. There was also a small iron lying +beside 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 was +no mockery on her face—and oddly, it felt good to him. Maybe her idea +of married life was different from his.</p> + +<p>She was sanding the dishes and putting them away when he finally +remembered the ring. He studied it again, then got up and dropped it +beside her. He was surprised as she fumbled it on to see that it +fitted—and more surprised at the sudden realization that she was +entitled to it.</p> + +<p>She studied it under the glare of the single bulb, and then turned to +her room. She was back a few seconds later with a small purse. "I got a +duplicate key. Yours is in there," she said thickly. "And—something +else. I guess I was going to give it to you anyway. I was afraid someone +else might find it—"</p> + +<p>He cut her off brusquely, his eyes riveted on the Security badge he'd +been sure Trench had taken. "Yeah, I know. Your meal ticket was in +danger. Okay, you've done your nightly duty. Now get the hell out of my +room, will you?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The week went on mechanically, while he gradually adjusted to the new +angles of being a Legal. The banks were open, and deposits honored, as +promised. But it was in the printing-press scrip of Legal currency, +useful only through Mayor Gannett's trick Exchanges. Water went up from +fourteen credits to eighty credits for a gallon of pure distilled. Other +things were worse. Resentment flared, but the scrip was the only money +available, and it still bound the people to the new regime.</p> + +<p>Supplies were scarce, salt and sugar almost unavailable. Earth had cut +off all shipping until the affair was settled, and nobody in the +outlands would deal in scrip.</p> + +<p>He came home the third evening to find that Sheila had managed to find +space for her bunk in his room, cut off by a heavy screen, and had +closed the other room to save the rent. It led to some relaxation +between them, and they began talking impersonally.</p> + +<p>Gordon watched for a sign that Trench had passed on his evidence of the +murder of Murdoch, but there was none. The pressure of the beat took his +mind from it. Looting had stepped up.</p> + +<p>Izzy had co-operated—reluctantly, until Gordon was able to convince him +that it was the people who paid his salary. Then he nodded. "It's a +helluva roundabout way of doing things, gov'nor, but if the gees pay for +protection any old way, then they're gonna get it!"</p> + +<p>They got it. Hoodlums began moving elsewhere, toward easier pickings.</p> + +<p>Gordon turned his entire pay over to Sheila; at current prices, it would +barely keep them in food for a week. "I told you you had a punched meal +ticket," he said bitterly.</p> + +<p>"We'll live," she answered him. "I got a job today—barmaid, on your +beat, where being your wife helps."</p> + +<p>He could think of nothing to say to it; but after supper, he went to +Izzy's room to arrange for a raid on Municipal territory. Such small +raids were nominally on the excuse of extending the boundaries, but +actually they were out-and-out looting.</p> + +<p>He came back to find her cleaning up, and shoved her away. "Go to bed. +You look beat. I'll sand these."</p> + +<p>She started to protest, then let him take over.</p> + +<p>They never made the looting raid. The next morning, they arrived at the +Precinct house to find men milling around the bulletin board, buzzing +over an announcement there. Apparently, Chief Justice Arliss had broken +with the Wayne administration, and the mimeographed form was a legal +ruling that Wayne was no longer Mayor, since the charter had been +voided. He was charged with inciting a riot, and a warrant had been +issued for his arrest.</p> + +<p>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 legal +now! Every odd-numbered shield goes from every precinct. Gordon, +Isaacs—you two been talking big about law and order. Here's the +warrant. Take it and arrest Wayne!"</p> + +<p>It took nearly an hour to get the plans settled, but finally they headed +for the trucks that had been arriving. Most of them belonged to Nick the +Croop, who had apparently decided the Legals would win.</p> + +<p>Gordon and Izzy found the lead truck and led the way. They neared the +bar where Sheila was working, and Bruce Gordon swore. She was running +toward the center of the street, frantically trying to flag him down, +and he barely managed to swerve around her. "Damned fool!" he muttered.</p> + +<p>Izzy's pock-marked face soured for a second as he stared at Gordon. "The +princess? She sure is."</p> + +<p>The crew at the barricade had been alerted, and now began clearing it +aside hastily, while others kept up a covering fire against the few +Municipals. The trucks wheeled through, and Gordon dropped back to let +scout trucks go ahead and pick off any rash enough to head for the call +boxes. They couldn't prevent advance warning, but they could delay and +minimize it.</p> + +<p>They were near the big Municipal building when they came to the first +real opposition, and it was obviously hastily assembled. The scouts took +care of most of the trouble, though a few shots pinged against the truck +Gordon was driving.</p> + +<p>"Rifles!" Izzy commented in disgust. "They'll ruin the dome yet. Why +can't they stick to knives?"</p> + +<p>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 grounds +around it and began bulling their way through the groups that were +trying to organize a defense. Gordon found his way cleared and shot +through, emerging behind the defense and driving at full speed toward +the entrance Izzy pointed out.</p> + +<p>"Cut speed! Left sharp!" Izzy shouted. "Now, in there!"</p> + +<p>They sliced into a small tunnel, scraping their sides where it was +barely big enough for the truck. Then they reached a dead end, with just +room for them to squeeze through the door of the truck and into an +entrance marked with a big notice of privacy.</p> + +<p>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 remotely +controlled, and up a narrow flight of stairs, down a hallway, and up +another flight. A Municipal corporal at the top grabbed for a warning +whistle, but Gordon clipped him with a hasty rabbit punch and shoved him +down the stairs. Then they were in front of an ornate door, with their +weapons ready.</p> + +<p>Izzy yanked the door open and dropped flat behind it. Bullets from a +submachine gun clipped out, peppering the entrance and the door, and +ricocheting down the hall. The yammering stopped, finally, and Izzy +stuck his head and one arm out with a snap of his knife. Gordon leaped +in, to see a Municipal dropping the machine gun.</p> + +<p>There were about thirty cops inside, gathered around Mayor Wayne, with +Trench standing at one side. The fools had obviously expected the +machine gun to do all the work.</p> + +<p>Izzy leaped for the machine gun and yanked it from dead hands, while the +cops slowly began raising their arms. Wayne sat petrified, staring +unbelievingly, and Gordon drew out the warrant. "Wayne, you're under +arrest!"</p> + +<p>Trench moved forward, his hands in the air, but with no mark of surprise +or fear on his face. "So the bad pennies turn up. You damned fools, you +should have stuck. I had big plans for you, Gordon. I've still got them, +if you don't insist..."</p> + +<p>His hands whipped down savagely toward his hips and came up sharply! +Gordon spun, and the gun leaped in his hands, while the submachine gun +jerked forward and clicked on an empty chamber. Trench was tumbling +forward to avoid the shot, but he twitched as a bullet creased his +shoulder. Then he was upright, waving empty hands at them, with the thin +smile on his face deepening. He'd had no guns.</p> + +<p>Gordon jerked around, but Wayne was already disappearing through a heavy +door. And the cops were reaching for their guns. Gordon estimated the +chances of escape and then leaped forward into their group, with Izzy at +his side, seeking close quarters where guns wouldn't work.</p> + +<p>Gun butts, elbows, fists, and clubs were pounding at him, while his own +club lashed out savagely. In ten seconds, things began to haze over, but +his arms went on mechanically, seeking the most damage they could work.</p> + +<p>Then a heavy bellow sounded, and a seeming mountain of flesh thundered +across the huge room. There was no shuffle to Mother Corey now. The huge +legs pumped steadily, and the great arms were reaching out to flail +aside clubs and knives. Men began spewing out of the brawl like straw +from a thresher as the old man grabbed arms, legs, or whatever was +handy. He had one cop in his left arm, using him as a flail against the +others.</p> + +<p>The Municipals broke. And at the first sign, Mother Corey leaped +forward, dropping his flail and gathering Izzy and Gordon under his +arms. He hit the heavy door with his shoulder and crashed through +without breaking stride. Stairs lay there, and he took them three at a +time.</p> + +<p>He dropped them finally as they came to a side entrance. There was a +sporadic firing going on there, and a knot of Municipals were clustered +around a few Legals, busy with knives and clubs. Corey broke into a run +again, driving straight into them and through, with Gordon and Izzy on +his heels. The surprise element was enough to give them a few seconds.</p> + +<p>Then they were around a small side building, out of danger. Sheila was +holding the door of a large three-wheeler open. They ducked into it, +while she grabbed the wheel.</p> + +<p>They edged forward until they could make out the shape of the fight +going 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.</p> + +<p>They were through too fast to draw fire from the busy groups of +battle-crazed men, leaping across the square and into the first side +street they could find. Then she slowed, and headed for the main street +back to Legal territory.</p> + +<p>"Lucky we found a good car to steal," Mother Corey wheezed. He was +puffing now, mopping rivulets of perspiration from his face. "I'm +getting old, cobbers. Once I broke every strong-man record on +Earth—still stand, too. But not now. Senile!"</p> + +<p>"You didn't have to come," Izzy said.</p> + +<p>"When my own granddaughter comes crying for help? When she finally +admits she <i>needs</i> her old grandfather?"</p> + +<p>Gordon was staring back at the straggling of trucks he could see +beginning to break away. The raid was over, and the Legals had lost. +Trench had tricked him.</p> + +<p>Izzy grunted suddenly. "Gov'nor, if you're right, and the plain gees pay +my salary, who's paying me to start fighting other cops? Or is it maybe +that somebody isn't being exactly honest with the scratch they lift from +the gees?"</p> + +<p>"We still have to eat," Gordon said bitterly. "And to eat, we'll go on +doing what we're told."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_XIV" id="Chapter_XIV"></a>Chapter XIV</h2> + +<h3>FULL CIRCLE</h3> + + +<p>Hendrix had been wounded lightly, and was out when Gordon and Izzy +reported. But the next day, they were switched to a new beat where +trouble had been thickest and given twelve-hour duty—without special +overtime.</p> + +<p>Izzy considered it slowly and shook his head. "That does it, gov'nor. It +ain't honest, treating us this way. If the crackle comes from the +people, and these gees give everybody a skull cracking, then they're +crooks. It ain't honest, and I'm too sick to work. And if that bloody +doctor won't agree..."</p> + +<p>He turned toward the dispensary. Gordon hesitated, and then swung off +woodenly to take up his new beat. Apparently, his reputation had gone +ahead of him, since most of the hoodlums had decided pickings would be +easier on some beat where the cops had their own secret rackets to +attend to, instead of head busting. But once they learned he was +alone...</p> + +<p>But the second day, two of the citizens fell into step behind him almost +at 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 come +over from his old beat. Something began to burn inside him, but he held +himself in, confining his talk to vague comments on the rumors going +around.</p> + +<p>There were enough of them, mostly based on truth. Part of Jurgens' old +crowd had broken away from him and established a corner on most of the +drugs available; they had secretly traded a supply to Wayne, who had +become an addict, for a stock of weapons.</p> + +<p>Gordon remembered the contraband shipment of guns, and compared it to +the increase he'd noticed in weapons, and to the impossible prices the +pushers were demanding. It made sense.</p> + +<p>All kinds of supplies were low, and the outlands beyond Marsport had cut +off all shipments. Scrip was useless to them, and the Legals were +raiding all cargoes destined for Wayne's section. And the Municipals had +imposed new taxes again.</p> + +<p>He came back from what should have been his day off to find Izzy in +uniform, waiting grimly. Behind the screen, there was a rustling of +clothes, and a dress came sailing from behind it. While he stared, +Sheila came out, finishing the zipping of her airsuit. She moved to a +small bag and began drawing out the gun she had used and a knife. He +caught her shoulders and shoved her back, pulling the weapons from her.</p> + +<p>"Get out of my way, you damned Legal machine!" she spat.</p> + +<p>"Easy, princess," Izzy said. "He hasn't seen it yet, I guess. Here, +gov'nor!"</p> + +<p>He picked up a copy of Randolph's new little <i>Truth</i> and pointed to the +headline: SECURITY DENOUNCES RAPE OF MARSPORT!</p> + +<p>The story was somewhat cooler than that, but not much. Randolph simply +quoted what was supposed to be an official cable from Security on Earth, +denouncing both governments and demanding that both immediately +surrender. It listed the crimes of Wayne, then tore into the Legals as a +bunch of dupes, sent by North America to foment trouble while they +looted the city, and to give the Earth government an excuse for seizing +military control of Marsport officially. Citizens were instructed not to +co-operate; all members of either government were indicted for high +treason to Security!</p> + +<p>He crushed the paper slowly, tearing it to bits with his clenched hands; +he'd swallowed the implication that the Legals <i>were</i> Security...</p> + +<p>Then it hit him slowly, and he looked up. "Where's Randolph?"</p> + +<p>"At his plant. At least he left for it, according to Sheila."</p> + +<p>Gordon picked up Sheila's gun and buckled it on beside his own. She +grabbed at it, but he shoved her back again. "You're staying here, +Cuddles. You're supposed to be a woman now, remember!"</p> + +<p>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 of +the few remaining cabs. He stopped it with his whistle, and dumped the +passenger out unceremoniously, while Izzy gave the address.</p> + +<p>"The damned fool opened up on the border—figured he'd circulate to both +sections," Izzy said. "We'd better get out a block up and walk. And I +hope we ain't <i>too</i> bloody late!"</p> + +<p>The building was a wreck, outside; inside it was worse. Men in the +Municipal uniform were working over the small job press and dumping the +hand-set type from the boxes. On the floor, a single Legal cop lay under +the wreckage, apparently having gotten there first and been taken care +of by the later Municipals. Randolph had been sitting in a chair between +two of the cops, but now he leaped up and tried to flee through the back +door.</p> + +<p>Izzy started forward, but Gordon pulled him back, as the cops reached +for their weapons. The gun in his hand picked them out at quarters too +close for a miss, starting with the cop who had jumped to catch +Randolph. Izzy had ducked around the side, and now came back, leading +the little man.</p> + +<p>Randolph paid no attention to the dead men, nor to the bruises on his +own body. He moved forward to the press, staring at it, and there were +tears in his eyes as he ran his hands over the broken metal. Then he +looked up at them. "Arrest or rescue?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Arrest!" a voice from the door said harshly, and Bruce Gordon swung to +see six Legals filing in, headed by Hendrix himself. The captain nodded +at Gordon. "Good work, Sergeant. By jinx, when I heard the Municipals +were coming, I was scared they'd get him for sure. Crane wants to watch +this guy shot in person!"</p> + +<p>He grabbed Randolph by the arm.</p> + +<p>"You're overlooking something, Hendrix," Gordon cut in. He had moved +back 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 them +up, Izzy."</p> + +<p>Hendrix was faster than Gordon had thought. He had his gun almost up +before Gordon could fire. A bluish hole appeared on the man's forehead; +he dropped slowly. The others made no trouble as Izzy bound them with +baling wire.</p> + +<p>"And I hope nobody finds them," he commented. "All right, Randy, I guess +we're a bunch of refugees heading for the outside, and bloody lucky at +that. Proves a man shouldn't have friends."</p> + +<p>Randolph's face was still greenish-white, but he straightened and +managed a feeble smile. "Not to me, Izzy. Right now I can appreciate +friends. But you two better get going. I've got some unfinished business +to tend to." He moved to one corner and began dragging out an old +double-cylinder mimeograph. "Either of you know where I can buy stencils +and ink and find some kind of a truck to haul this paper along?"</p> + +<p>Izzy stopped and stared at the rabbity, pale little man. Then he let out +a sudden yelp of laughter. "Okay, Randy, we'll find them. Gov'nor, you'd +better tell my mother I'll be using the old sheets. Go on. You've got +the princess to worry about. We'll be along later."</p> + +<p>He grabbed Randolph's hand and ducked out the back before Gordon could +protest.</p> + +<p>Izzy could only have meant that they were going to hole up in Mother +Corey's old Chicken Coop. Bruce Gordon had now managed to make a full +circle, back to his beginnings on Mars. He'd started at the Coop with a +deck of cards; now he was returning with a club.</p> + +<p>He had counted on at least some regret from Mother Corey, however. But +the old man only nodded after hearing that Randolph was safe. "Fanatics, +crusaders and damned fools!" he said. He shook his head sadly and went +shuffling back to his room, where two of his part-time henchmen were +sitting.</p> + +<p>Sheila had been sitting on the bunk, still in her airsuit. Now she +jerked upright, then sank back with a slow flush. Her hands were +trembling 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 he +was going back outside the dome.</p> + +<p>"I'm all packed," she said. "And I packed your things, too."</p> + +<p>He shot his eyes around the room, realizing that it was practically +bare, except for a few of her dresses. She followed his gaze, and shook +her head. "I won't need them out there," she said. Her voice caught on +that. "They'll be safe here."</p> + +<p>"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 little +while ago just where you stand. Remind me to tell you sometime how much +fun it's been."</p> + +<p>"Your mother was good with a soldering iron, wasn't she? You even look +human." She bent to pick up a shoulder pack and a bag, and her face was +normal when she stood up again. "You might guess that the cops would be +happy to get hold of your wife now, though. Come on, it's a long walk."</p> + +<p>He left the car beyond the gate, and they pushed through the locker room +toward the smaller exit, stopping to fasten down their helmets. The +guard halted them, but without any suspicion.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>It made no sense to Gordon, but he wasn't going to argue. They went +through and out into the waste and slums beyond the domes, heading out +until there were only the few phosphor bulbs to guide their way.</p> + +<p>Gordon was moving cautiously, using his helmet light only occasionally, +gun ready in his hand. But it was Sheila who caught the faint sound. He +heard her cry out, and turned to see her crash into the stomach of a man +with a half-raised stick. He went down with almost no resistance. Sheila +shot the beam of her light on the thin, drawn face. "Rusty!"</p> + +<p>"Hi, princess." He got up slowly, trying to grin. "Didn't know who it +was. Sorry. Ever get that louse you were out for?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. "Yeah, I got him. That's him—my husband! What's wrong with +you, Rusty? You've lost fifty pounds, and—"</p> + +<p>"Things are a mite tough out here, princess. No deliveries. Closed my +bar, been living sort of hand to mouth, but not much mouth." His eyes +bulged greedily as she dug into a bag and began to drag out the +sandwiches she must have packed for the trip. But he shook his head. "I +ain't so bad off. I ate something yesterday. But if you can spare +something for the Kid—Hey, Kid!"</p> + +<p>A thin boy of about sixteen crept out from behind some rubble, staring +uncertainly. Then, at the sight of the food, he made a lunge, grabbed +it, and hardly waited to get it through the slits of his suit before +gulping it down. Rusty sat down, his lined old face breaking into a +faint grin. He hesitated, but finally took some of the food.</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't oughta. You'll need it. Umm." He swallowed slowly, as if +tasting the food all the way down. "Kid can't talk. Cop caught him +peddling one of Randolph's pamphlets, cut out part of his tongue. But +he's all right now. Come on, Kid, hurry it up. We gotta convoy these +people."</p> + +<p>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 was +no hostile move from the big truck. He studied it, trying to decide what +a truck would be doing here. Then a Marspeaker-amplified voice shouted +from it. "Any muckrakers there?"</p> + +<p>"One," Gordon shouted back, and ran toward it, motioning the others to +follow. 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 did +the actual lifting.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you two wait?" Mother Corey asked, his voice booming out of +his 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."</p> + +<p>"What in hell brings you back?" Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>The huge man shrugged ponderously. "A man gets tired of being +respectable, cobber. And I'm getting old and sentimental about the +Chicken Coop." He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "But not so old +that I can't handle a couple of guards that are stubborn about trucks, +eh, Izzy?"</p> + +<p>"Messy, but nice," Izzy agreed from the pile above them. "Tell those +trained apes of yours to cut the lights, will you, Mother? Somebody must +be using the Coop."</p> + +<p>They stopped the truck before reaching the old wreck. In the few dim +lights, the old building still gave off an air of mold and decay. Gordon +shuddered faintly, then followed Izzy and the Mother into the +semi-secret entrance.</p> + +<p>Izzy went ahead, almost silent, with a thin strand of wire between his +hands, his elbows weaving back and forth slowly to guide him. He was +apparently as familiar with the garrote as the knife. But they found no +guard. Izzy pressed the seal release and slid in cautiously, while the +others followed.</p> + +<p>In the beam of Gordon's torch, a single figure lay sprawled out on the +floor halfway to the rickety stairs to the main house. Mother Corey +grunted, and moved quickly to the coughing, battered old air machine. +His fingers closed a valve equipped with a combination lock.</p> + +<p>"They're all dead, cobbers," he wheezed. "Dead because a crook had to +try his hand on a lock. Years ago, I had a flask of poison gas attached, +in case a gang should ever squeeze me out."</p> + +<p>In the filthy rooms above, Gordon found the corpses—about fifteen of +them, and some former members of the Jurgens organization. He found the +apelike bodyguard stretched out on a bunk, a vacant smile on his face.</p> + +<p>A yell from the basement called him back down to where Izzy was busily +going through piles of crates and boxes stacked along one wall. He was +pointing to a lead-foil-covered box. "Dope! And all that other stuff's +ammunition!"</p> + +<p>He shivered, staring at the fortune in his hands. Then he grimaced and +shoved the open can back in its case. He threw it back and began +stacking ammunition cases in front of the dope. Gordon went out to get +the others and start moving in the supplies and transferring the corpses +to the truck for disposal. Randolph scurried off to start setting up his +makeshift plant in the basement.</p> + +<p>Mother Corey was staring about when they returned. "Filthy," he wailed. +"A pigpen. They've ruined the Coop, cobber. Smell that air—even <i>I</i> can +smell it!" He sniffed dolefully.</p> + +<p>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..."</p> + +<p>Gordon found what had been his old room and dumped his few things into +it. Sheila watched him uncertainly, and then took possession of the next +room. 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?"</p> + +<p>He shook his head, and started back down the stairs. He hurried down +into the basement where Randolph was arranging his mimeograph.</p> + +<p>The printer listened only to the first sentence, and shook his head +impatiently. "I was afraid you'd think of that, Gordon. Look, you never +were a reporter—you ran a column. I've read the stuff you wrote. You +killed and maimed with words. But you never dug up news that would help +people, or tell them what they didn't suspect all along. And that's what +I've got to have."</p> + +<p>"Thanks!" Gordon said curtly. "Too bad Security didn't think I was as +lousy a reporter as you do!"</p> + +<p>"Okay. I'll give you a job, for one week. See what outer Marsport is +like. Find what can be done, if anything, and do it if you can. Then +come back and give me six columns on it. I'll pay Mother Corey for your +food—and for your wife's—and if I can find one column's worth of news +in it, maybe I'll give you a second week. I can't see a man's wife +starve because he doesn't know how to make an honest living!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Rusty and one of Mother Corey's men were on guard, and the others had +turned in. Gordon went up the stairs and threw himself onto the bed in +disgust.</p> + +<p>"Bruce!" Sheila stood outlined in the doorway against the dim glow of a +phosphor bulb. Her robe was partly open, and hunger burned in him; then, +before he could lift himself, she bent over and began unfastening his +boots. "You all right, Bruce? I heard you tossing around."</p> + +<p>"I'm fine," he told her mechanically. "Just making plans for tomorrow."</p> + +<p>He watched her turn back slowly, then lay quietly, trying not to disturb +her again. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he'd find some kind of an +answer; and it wouldn't be Randolph's charity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_XV" id="Chapter_XV"></a>Chapter XV</h2> + +<h3>MURDOCH'S MANTLE</h3> + + +<p>There were three men, each with a white circle painted on chest and left +arm, talking to Mother Corey when Bruce Gordon came down the rickety +steps. He stopped for a second, but there was no sign of trouble. Then +the words of the thin man below reached him.</p> + +<p>"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 you +found. Now, where's this Gordon fellow?"</p> + +<p>"Here!" Gordon told the man. He'd recognized him finally as Schulberg, +the little grocer from the Nineteenth Precinct.</p> + +<p>The man swung suspiciously, then grinned weakly. There was hunger and +strain on his face, but an odd authority and pride now. "I'll be +doggoned. Whyn't you say he was with Murdoch?"</p> + +<p>"They want someone to locate Ed Praeger and see about getting some food +shipped in from outside, cobber," Mother Corey told him. "They got some +money scraped together, but the hicks are doing no business with +Marsport. You know Ed—just tell him I sent you. I'd go myself, but I'm +getting too old to go chasing men out there."</p> + +<p>"What's in it?" Gordon asked, reaching for his helmet.</p> + +<p>There was a surprised exchange of glances from the others, but Mother +Corey chuckled. "Heart like a steel trap, cobber," he said, almost +approvingly. "Well, you'll be earning your keep here—yours and that +granddaughter's, too. Here—you'll need directions for finding Praeger."</p> + +<p>He handed the paper with his scrawled notes on it over to Gordon and +went shuffling back. Gordon stuck it into his pouch, and followed the +three. Outside, they had a truck waiting; Rusty and Corey's two henchmen +were busy loading it with ammunition from the cellar.</p> + +<p>Schulberg motioned him into the cab of the truck, and the other two +climbed into the closed rear section. "All right," Gordon said, "what +goes on?"</p> + +<p>The other began explaining as he picked a way through the ruin and +rubble. Murdoch had done better than Gordon had suspected; he'd laid out +a program for a citizens' vigilante committee, and had drilled enough in +the ruthless use of the club to keep the gangs down. Once the police +were all busy inside the dome with their private war, the committee had +been the only means of keeping order in the whole territory beyond. It +was now extended to cover about half the area, as a voluntary police +organization.</p> + +<p>He pointed outside. It was changed; there were fewer people outside. +Gordon had never seen group starvation before....</p> + +<p>They passed a crowd around a crude gallows, and Schulberg stopped. A man +was already dead and dangling. "Should turn 'em over to us cops," +Schulberg said. "What's he hanged for?"</p> + +<p>"Hoarding," a voice answered, and others supplied the few details. The +dead man had been caught with a half bag of flour and part of a case of +beans. Schulberg found a scrap of something and penciled the crime on +it, together with a circle signature, and pinned it to the body.</p> + +<p>"All food should be turned in," he explained to Gordon as they climbed +back into the truck. "We figure community kitchens can stretch things a +bit more. And we give a half extra ration to the guys who can find +anything useful to do. We got enough so most people won't starve to +death for another week, I guess. But you'd better get Praeger to send +something, Gordon. Here, here's the scratch we scraped up."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>He pulled up to shout a report through the big Marspeaker as they passed +the old building Murdoch had used as a precinct house. It now had a +crude sign proclaiming it voluntary police HQ and outland government +center. Then he went on until they came to a spur of the little electric +monorail system, with three abandoned service engines parked at the end.</p> + +<p>"Extra air inside, and the best we could do for food. Was gonna try +myself, but I don't know Praeger," Schulberg said. He handed over a key, +and nodded toward the first service engine. "Good luck, Gordon—and damn +it, we're—we gotta eat, don't we? You tell him that! It ain't much—but +get what you can!"</p> + +<p>He swung the truck, and was gone. Gordon climbed into the enclosed cab +and pulled back questioningly on the only lever he could see. The engine +backed briefly; he reversed the control. Then it moved forward, picking +up speed. Apparently there was still power flowing in from the automatic +atomic generators.</p> + +<p>He got off to puzzle out a switch, using Mother Corey's scrawled +instructions.</p> + +<p>He had vaguely expected to see more of Mars, but for eight hours there +was only the bare flatness and dunes of unending sandy surface and +scraggly, useless native plants, opened out to the sun. Marsport had +been located where the only vein of uranium had been found on Mars, and +the growing section was closer to the equator.</p> + +<p>Then he came to villages. Again there was the sight of children running +around without helmets. He stopped once for directions, and a man stared +at him suspiciously and finally threw a switch reluctantly.</p> + +<p>He was finally forced to stop again, sure that he was near, now. This +time, it was in what seemed to be a major shipping center in the heart +of the lines that ran helter-skelter from village to village. Another +suspicious-eyed man studied him. "You won't find Praeger on his +farm—couldn't reach it in that, anyhow," he said finally. Then he +turned up his Marspeaker. "Ed! Hey, Ed!"</p> + +<p>Down the street, the seal of a building opened, and the big, bluff +figure of Praeger came out. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Gordon; then +he grinned and waved his visitor forward.</p> + +<p>Inside, there was evidence of food, and a rather pretty girl brought out +another platter and set it before Gordon. He ate while they exchanged +uncertain, rambling information; finally, he got down to his errand.</p> + +<p>Praeger seemed to read his mind. "I can get the stuff sent, Gordon. I'm +head of the shipping committee for this quadrant. But why in hell should +I? The last time, every car was looted in Outer Marsport. If they won't +let us get the oil and chemicals we need, why should we feed them?"</p> + +<p>"Ever see starvation?" Gordon asked, wishing again someone else who'd +felt it could carry the message. He told about a man who'd committed +suicide for his kids, not stopping as Praeger's face sickened slowly. +"Hell, who wouldn't loot your trains if that's going on?"</p> + +<p>"All right, if Mother Corey'll back up this volunteer police group. I've +got kids of my own.... Look, you want food, we want to ship. Get your +cops to give us an escort for every shipment through to the dome, and +we'll drop off one car out of four for the outlands."</p> + +<p>Gordon sat back weakly. "Done!" he said. "Provided the first shipment +carries the most we can get for the credits I brought."</p> + +<p>"It will—we've got some stuff that's about to spoil, and we can let you +have a whole train of it." He took the sack of credits and tossed it +toward a drawer, uncounted. "A damned good thing Security's sending a +ship. Credits won't be worth much until they get this mess straightened +out."</p> + +<p>Gordon felt the hair at the base of his neck tingle. "What makes you +think Security can do anything? They haven't shown a hand yet."</p> + +<p>"They will," Praeger said. "You guys in Marsport feed yourselves so many +lies you begin to believe them. But Security took Venus—and I'm not +worried here, in the long run. Don't ask me how."</p> + +<p>His voice was a mixture of bitterness and an odd certainty. "They set +Security up as a nice little debating society, Gordon, to make it easy +for 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 has +played one nation against another enough to keep any from daring to +swipe power on the planets. And this latest trick folded up, too. North +America figured on Marsport folding up once they got a police war +started, with a bunch of chiseling profiteers as their front; they +expected the citizens to yell uncle all the way back to Earth. But out +here, nobody thinks of Earth as a place to yell to for help, so they +missed. And now Security's got Pan-Asia and United Africa balanced +against North America, so the swipe won't work. We got the dope from our +southern receiver. North America's called it all a mistaken emergency +measure and turned it back to Security."</p> + +<p>"Along with how many war rockets?" Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>"None. They never gave any real power, never will. The only strength +Security's ever had comes from the fact that it always wins, somehow. +Forget the crooks and crooked cops, man! Ask the people who've been +getting kicked around about Security, and you'll find that even most of +Marsport doesn't hate it! It's the only hope we've got of not having all +the planets turned into colonial empires! You staying over, or want me +to give you an engineer and drag car so you can ride back in comfort?"</p> + +<p>Gordon stared at the room, where almost everything was a product of the +planet, at Praeger, and at the girl. Here was the real Mars—the men who +liked it here, who were sure of their future. "I'll take the drag car."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He found Randolph waiting in a scooter outside the precinct house after +he'd reported his results. He climbed in woodenly, leaving his helmet on +as he saw the broken window. "A good job," the little man said. "And +news for the paper, if I ever publish it again. I came over because I +wasn't much use at the Coop, and everyone else was busy."</p> + +<p>"Doing what?" Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>Randolph grinned crookedly. "Running Outer Marsport. The Mother's the +only man everybody knows, I guess—and his word has never been broken +that anyone can remember. So he's helping Schulberg make agreements with +the sections the volunteers don't handle. Place is lousy with people +now. Heard about Mayor Wayne?"</p> + +<p>Gordon shook his head, not caring, but the man went on. "He must have +had his supply of drugs lifted somehow. He holed up one day, until it +really hit him that he couldn't get any more. Then he went gunning for +Trench, with some idea Trench had swiped the stuff—so Trench is now +running the Municipals. And I hear the gangs are just about in control +of both sections, lately."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Chicken Coop was filled, as Randolph had said, but he slipped in and +up the stairs, leaving the news to the publisher. The place had been +cleaned up more than he had expected, and there must have been new +plants installed beside the blower, since the air was somewhat fresher.</p> + +<p>He found his own room, and turned in automatically...</p> + +<p>"Bruce?" A dim light snapped on, and he stared down at Sheila. Then he +blinked. His bunk had been changed to a wider one, and she lay under the +thin covering on one side. Down the center, crude stitches of heavy cord +showed where she had sewed the blanket to the mattress to divide it into +two sections. And in one corner, a couple of blanket sections formed a +rough screen.</p> + +<p>She caught his stare and reddened slowly. "I had to, Bruce. The Coop is +full, and they needed rooms—and I couldn't tell them that—that—"</p> + +<p>"Forget it," he told her. He dropped to his own side, with barely enough +room to slide between the bed and the wall, and began dragging off his +boots and uniform. She started up to help him, then jerked back, and +turned her head away. "Forget all you're thinking, Cuddles. I'm still +not bothering unwilling women—and I'll even close my eyes when you +dress."</p> + +<p>She sighed, and relaxed. There was a faint touch of humor in her voice +then. "They called it bundling once, I think. I—Bruce, I know you don't +like me, so I guess it isn't too hard for you. But—sometimes ... Oh, +damn it! Sometimes you're—nice!"</p> + +<p>"Nice people don't get to Mars. They stay on Earth, being careful not to +find out what it's like up here," he told her bitterly. For a second he +hesitated, and then the account of the newsboy and his would-be killers +came rushing out.</p> + +<p>She dropped a hand onto his, nodding. "I know. The Kid—Rusty's +friend—wrote down what they did to him."</p> + +<p>Gordon grunted. He'd almost forgotten about the tongueless Kid. For a +second, his thoughts churned on. Then he got up and began putting on his +uniform again. Sheila frowned, staring at him, and began sliding from +her side, reaching for her robe. She followed him down the creaking +stairs, and to the room where Schulberg, Mother Corey, and a few others +were still arguing some detail.</p> + +<p>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 myself +in!" he told them coldly. "You know enough about Security badges to know +they 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?"</p> + +<p>Randolph picked it up, and fumbled in his pocket, drawing out a tiny +badge and comparing them. He nodded. "I lost connection years ago, +Gordon. But this makes you my boss."</p> + +<p>"Then give it all the publicity you can, and tell them Security has just +declared war on the whole damned dome section! Mother, I want all the +dope we found!" With that—about the only supply of any size left—he +could command unquestioning loyalty from every addict who hadn't already +died from lack of it. Mother Corey nodded, instant understanding running +over his puttylike face.</p> + +<p>Schulberg shrugged. "After your deal with Praeger, we'd probably follow +you anyhow. I don't cotton to Security, Gordon—but those devils in +there are making our kids starve!"</p> + +<p>Mother Corey heaved his bulk up slowly, wheezing, and indicated his +chair at the head of the table. But Gordon shook his head. He'd made his +decision. His head was emptied for the moment, and he wanted nothing +more than a chance to hit the bed and forget the whole business until +morning.</p> + +<p>Sheila was staring at him as he shucked off his outer clothes +mechanically and crawled under the blanket. She let the robe fall to the +floor and slid into the bed without taking her eyes off him. "Is it true +about Security sending a ship?" she asked at last. He nodded, and her +breath caught. "What happens when they arrive, Bruce?"</p> + +<p>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. Stop +worrying about it."</p> + +<p>She threw herself sideways, as far from him as she could get. Her voice +was thick, muffled in the blanket. "Damn you, Bruce Gordon. I <i>should</i> +have killed you!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_XVI" id="Chapter_XVI"></a>Chapter XVI</h2> + +<h3>GET THE DOME!</h3> + + +<p>To Gordon's surprise, the publicity Randolph wrote about his being a +Security Prime seemed to bring the other sections of Outer Marsport +under the volunteer police control even faster. But he was too busy to +worry about it. He left general co-ordination in the hands of Mother +Corey, while Izzy and Schulberg ran the expanding of the police force.</p> + +<p>Praeger arrived with the first load of food, and came storming up to +him. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Security Prime! I'm grade three +myself."</p> + +<p>"And I suppose that would have meant you'd have shipped in all the food +we needed free?" Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>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 all +away now. Well, we'll get in enough food this way to keep you going for +a while—couple of weeks, at least."</p> + +<p>It sounded good, and might have worked if there had been the normal food +reserve, or if the other three quadrants had been willing to do as much. +But while the immediate pressure of starvation was lifted, Gordon's own +stomach told him that it wasn't an adequate diet. Signs of scurvy and +pellagra were increasing.</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon whipped himself into forgetting some of that. His army was +growing. Or rather, his mob. There was no sense in trying to get more +than the vaguest organization.</p> + +<p>It was the eighth day when he led them out in the early dawn. He had +issued extra dope and managed a slight increase in the ration, so they +made a brave showing—until they reached the dome.</p> + +<p>There were no rifles opposed to him, as he had expected, and the guard +at the gate was no heavier. But the warning had somehow been given, and +both forces were ready.</p> + +<p>Stretching north from the gate were the Municipals with members of some +of the gangs; the other gangmen were with the Legals to the south. And +they stood within inches of the dome, holding axes and knives.</p> + +<p>A big Marspeaker ran out from the gate, and the voice of Gannett came +over it. "Go back! If just one of you gets within ten feet of the dome +or entrance, we're going to rip the dome! We'll destroy Marsport before +we'll give in to a doped-up crowd of riffraff! You've got five minutes +to get out of sight, before we come out with rifles and knock you off! +Now beat it!"</p> + +<p>Gordon got out of the car the Kid was driving and started toward the +entrance, just as the moaning wail of the crowd behind him built up.</p> + +<p>"You fools!" he yelled. "They're bluffing. They wouldn't dare destroy +the dome! Come on!"</p> + +<p>But already the men were evaporating. He stared at the rout, and +suddenly stopped fighting the hands holding him. Beside him, the Kid was +crying, 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 and +Municipals wildly scrambling for cover from each other.</p> + +<p>Mother Corey met him, dragging him back to a small room where he dug up +an impossibly precious bottle of brandy. "Drink it all, cobber. So one +of your Security badges had the wrong man attached to it, and word got +back. Couldn't be helped. You just ran into the sacred law of +Marsport—the one they teach kids. Be bad, and the dome'll collapse. The +dome made Marsport, and it's taboo!"</p> + +<p>Gordon nodded. Maybe the old man was right. "If the dome gives them a +perfect cover, why let me make a jackass of myself, Mother?" he asked +numbly.</p> + +<p>Corey shook his head, setting the heavy folds of flesh to bouncing. +"Gave them something to live for here, cobber. And when you get over +this, you're gonna announce new plans to try again. Yes, you are! But +right now, you get yourself drunk!"</p> + +<p>He left Gordon and the bottle. After a while, the bottle was gone. He +felt number, but no better, by the time Izzy came in.</p> + +<p>"Trench is outside in a heavy-armored car, Bruce. Says he wants to see +you. Something to discuss—a proposition!"</p> + +<p>Gordon stood up, wobbling a little, trying to think. Then he swore, and +headed for his room. "Tell him to go to hell!"</p> + +<p>He saw Izzy and Sheila leave, wondering vaguely where she had been. +Through the opening in the seal, he spotted them moving toward the big +car outside. Then he shrugged. He finally made the stairs and reached +his bed before he passed out.</p> + +<p>Sheila was standing over him when he finally woke. She dumped a headache +powder into her palm and held it out, handing him a small glass of +water. He swallowed the fast-acting drug, and sat up, trying to +remember. Then he wished he couldn't.</p> + +<p>"What did Trench want?" he asked thickly.</p> + +<p>"He wanted to show you a badge—a Security badge made out for him," she +answered. "At least he said he wanted to show you something, and it was +about that size. He wouldn't talk with us much. But I remember his name +in the book—"</p> + +<p>Gordon shook his head and sat up. The book, he thought, trying to focus +his thoughts. The book with all the names...</p> + +<p>"All right, Cuddles," he said finally. "You got your meal ticket, and +you've outgrown it in this mess. Now I want that damned book! I've been +operating in the dark. It's time I found out how to get in touch with +some of those people. Where is it?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head. "It isn't. Bruce—I don't have it. That time I gave +you 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 burned +it. I lied to you about using it to make you keep me."</p> + +<p>"You burned it!" He turned it over, staring at her. "Okay, Cuddles, you +burned it. You were trying to kill me then, so you burned it to keep +Jurgens from getting it and putting the finger on me! Where is it, +Sheila? On you?"</p> + +<p>She backed away, biting her lips. "No, Bruce. I burned it. I don't know +why. I just did! No!"</p> + +<p>She turned toward the door as he pushed up from the bed, but his arm +caught her wrist, dragging her back. She whimpered once, then shrieked +faintly as his hand caught the buttons on the dress, jerking them off. +Then suddenly she was a writhing, biting, scratching fury. He tightened +his hand and lifted her to the bed, dropping a knee onto her throat and +beginning to squeeze, while he jerked the dress and thin slip off.</p> + +<p>She sat up as he released his knee, her hoarse voice squeezed from +between her writhing lips. "Are you satisfied now, you mechanical beast! +Do you still think I have it on me?"</p> + +<p>He grinned, twisting the corners of his mouth. "You don't. Don't you +know a <i>wife</i> shouldn't keep secrets from her <i>husband</i>? A warm-blooded, +affectionate husband, to boot." He bent down, knocking aside her +flailing arms, and pulled her closer to him. "Better tell your husband +where the book is, Cuddles!"</p> + +<p>She cursed and he drew her closer. He bent down, forcing her head back +and setting his lips on hers.</p> + +<p>From somewhere, wetness touched his cheek; he lifted his head and looked +down. The wetness came from tears that spilled out of her eyes and ran +off onto the mattress. She was making no sound, and there was no +resistance, but the tears ran out, one drop seeming to trip over +another.</p> + +<p>"All right, Sheila," he said. His voice was cracked in his ears. +"Another week of being a failure on this planet of failures, and I +might. Go ahead and tell me I'm the same as your first husband. If I +can't even keep my word to you, I can at least get out and stay out." He +shook his head, waiting for her denunciation. "For your amusement, I'm +going to miss having you around!"</p> + +<p>He stood up. Something touched his hand, and he looked down to see her +fingers.</p> + +<p>"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 touched +her 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't +want you to go!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Two worlds. One huddled under its dome, forever afraid of losing that +protection and having to face the life the other led; and yet driven to +work together or to perish together. The sacred dome!</p> + +<p>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 been +blind—the whole damned planet has been blind."</p> + +<p>She blinked and then frowned. "Bruce—"</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"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 the +air we'd die on, and they're doing fine at it. Probably +second-generation ones can keep going after we'd pass out. It's just as +true out here as it is on the frontier. But Marsport has that sacred +dome over it. It's still trying to be Earth. And it can't do it. It's +never had a chance to adjust here, and it's afraid to try."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," she agreed doubtfully. "But what about this part of Marsport?"</p> + +<p>"Obvious. Here, they grow up under the shadow of it. They live in a +half-world, and they have to live on the crumbs the dome tosses them. +Sheila, if something happened to that dome—"</p> + +<p>"We'd be killed," she said. "How do we do it?"</p> + +<p>He frowned, and then grinned slowly. "Maybe not!"</p> + +<p>They spent the rest of the night discussing it. Sometime during the +discussion, she made coffee, and first Randolph, then the Kid came in +for briefing. Randolph was a natural addition, and the Kid had been +alternately following Gordon and Sheila around since he'd first heard +they were fighting against the men who'd robbed him of his right to +speak. In the end, as the night spread into day, there were more people +than they felt safe with, and less than they needed.</p> + +<p>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 even +the webbing straps that gave it added strength were frail things. But it +was strong enough to hold up the pressure of over ten pounds per square +inch, and the webbing was anchored in a metal sleeve that went too high +for cutting. They could rip it, but not ruin it completely; and it had +to be done so that no repair could ever be made.</p> + +<p>Under it, and anchoring it, was a concrete wall all around the city.</p> + +<p>Izzy came back from a careful exploration. "We can work enough powder +under those webbing supports, and lay the fuse wire beside the plastic +ring that keeps it airtight," he reported. "But God help us, gov'nor, if +any gee spots us."</p> + +<p>They worked through the night, while Rusty went back to requisition more +explosives from the dwindling supply, and while the Kid and Izzy took +time off to break into a closed converter plant and find wire enough to +connect the charges. But dawn caught them with less done than they had +hoped. Gordon went to connect a wire and switch from the battery and +coil they had installed, but jerked backwards as he saw a suspicious +guard staring at him.</p> + +<p>"Let him think we're just scouting," Randolph advised.</p> + +<p>There were suspicious looks as the group came back to the Coop, but +Mother Corey waddled over to meet them. "Did you find them, cobber?" he +asked quickly, and one of his eyelids flickered.</p> + +<p>Izzy answered before Gordon could rise to it. "Not yet, Mother. May have +to go back tonight."</p> + +<p>Gordon left them discussing the mythical search for certain supplies +that Mother Corey had apparently used as an alibi for their absence from +the building. Sheila started to make coffee, but he shook his head and +headed for the bed. She yawned and nodded, fingering the stitches that +still ran down the blanket to divide it. Then she grimaced faintly and +dropped down beside him on top of the blanket. Her head hit his arm, and +she seemed to be asleep almost at once.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"The princess took off in a car three hours ago," he said. "She said it +was something that had to be done, gov'nor, so I figured you'd know +about it."</p> + +<p>Gordon shrugged, and let it pass. He found the rest of the group ready, +with Mother Corey wishing them better luck tonight. The Mother obviously +knew something; but he kept his suspicions to himself, and gave them a +cover from the others.</p> + +<p>There was no sign of Sheila near the dome. But inside, there were guards +pacing along it. Gordon spotted them first, and drew the others back. If +they'd found the carefully worked-in powder...</p> + +<p>The Kid ducked down and out of the car, worming his way around the +building that concealed them. He waited for the guard to vanish, and +then went crawling forward. Gordon swore, but there was no sense in two +of them risking themselves, only to attract more attention. And at last +the Kid came back. He ducked into the truck, nodding.</p> + +<p>"Wire and explosive still there?" Gordon asked.</p> + +<p>The Kid made the sound he used for assent.</p> + +<p>It made no sense; there was no reason for the sudden vigilance inside +the dome.</p> + +<p>"We might be able to run the wire in," Izzy said doubtfully.</p> + +<p>Gordon grunted. "And tip them off to where it is, probably. No, we'll +have to do it under some kind of covering, the way I had it planned in +the first place, only with one more damned complication. We'll pull +another false raid on the dome. As soon as we get chased off, I'll +manage to set it off while they're relaxing and laughing at us."</p> + +<p>"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 to +ribbons for knocking off the dome."</p> + +<p>Then he stopped suddenly, staring. Bruce Gordon leaned forward, with +Izzy's hands grabbing for him. But he'd seen it, too.</p> + +<p>Standing next to the dome was Trench, talking to one of the guards. And +beside him stood Sheila, with one hand resting on the man's elbow!</p> + +<p>He could feel the thickness of the silence and misery in the truck, but +he pushed it away, with all the other things. "Get us back, Izzy," he +ordered. "We've got to round up whatever group we can and get them back +here on the double. They must be counting on our original time, so +they're in no hurry to remove the powder and wiring. But we can't count +on any more time."</p> + +<p>"You're going through with it?" Randolph asked doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"In one hour. And you might pass the word along that we're doing it to +save the dome. Tell the men we just found out that Trench is losing and +intends to blow it up instead of letting the Legals win."</p> + +<p>Rumor would travel fast enough, he hoped. And it should give him a few +extra seconds before his forces cracked.</p> + +<p>He lifted the switch in his hands and stared at it. It wasn't necessary +now. All he had to do was to reach the battery and drop any metal across +the two terminals there—if they could get back before Trench—and +Sheila—could remove the battery.</p> + +<p>It was a period of complete fog to him, but it wasn't until his motley +army reached the dome, straggling up in trucks and on foot, that he +snapped into focus again. There was no sign of Sheila this time, and he +didn't look for her. His whole mind was concentrated down to a single +point: Get the dome!</p> + +<p>This time, there was no scattering of Municipals and Legals. The +Municipal forces were rushing up toward the dome, and surprised Legals +were frantically arriving in trucks. There was the beginning of a +pitched battle right at the spot where Gordon needed his own cover.</p> + +<p>It made no sense to him, and he didn't care. He marched his men up, with +the thin wailing of a banshee in his ears.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>He grabbed for it, but Gordon held firmly to the copper strap. And now +the men inside caught sight of the approaching force. For a second, +consternation seemed to reign.</p> + +<p>Then a huge truck with a speaker on top drove into the struggling group, +and the thin whisper of unintelligible words reached Gordon. The whole +development made no more sense than any part of it to him, but he saw +the Municipals and Legals suddenly begin to turn as a single man to face +the outside menace that had crept up on them while they were boiling +into a fight.</p> + +<p>And suddenly the Marspeaker over the entrance blasted into life. "Get +back! The dome is mined! Any man comes near it, it'll blow! Get back! +The dome is mined!"</p> + +<p>By Gordon's side, a sudden gargling sound came from the Kid. His hand +snaked out, caught the strap from Gordon's hand, and jerked it free. +Then he was running frantically forward.</p> + +<p>Rifles lifted inside, and shots rang out, clipping bullets through the +dome. In one place it began to tear, and there was a sudden savage roar +from the men around Gordon. He had started forward after the Kid, but +Izzy was in front of him, holding him back.</p> + +<p>The Kid stumbled and slid across the ground, while blood spurted out +from a gash across his head, and the helmet fell into pieces. Then, with +a jerk, he was up. His hand reached out, the strap hit the terminals...</p> + +<p>And where the dome had been, a clap of thunder seemed to take visible +form. The webbing straps broke, and the dome jerked upwards, twisting +outwards, and then falling into ribbons. The shock wave hit Gordon, +knocking him from his feet into the crowd around him.</p> + +<p>He struggled to his feet to see helmeted men pouring out of the houses +around, and other men pouring forward from his own group. The few of +either police force still standing and helmeted broke into a wild run, +but they had no chance! The mob had decided that they had mined and +exploded the dome.</p> + +<p>He turned back toward the Coop, sick with the death of the Kid and the +violence. For once, he'd had more than his fill of it.</p> + +<p>Then a small truck drew up, and an arm went out to draw him inside the +cab. He stared into the face of Isaiah Trench. And driving the truck was +Sheila.</p> + +<p>"Your wife took a helluva chance, Gordon," Trench said heavily. "And I +took quite a chance, too, to set this up so nobody could ever believe +you were behind it. Getting that fight started in time, after you first +showed 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 where +I stood."</p> + +<p>Gordon stared at them slowly, not quite believing it, even though it was +no crazier than anything else during the past few hours.</p> + +<p>Trench shrugged. "I was railroaded here by Security, told to be good and +they'd let me go home. A lot of men got that treatment. So when Wayne +was still talking about building a perfect Marsport, I joined up. He +treated me right, and I took orders. But a man gets sick of working with +punks and cheap hoods; he gets sicker of killing off a planet he's +learned to like. I learned to take orders, though—and I took them until +Wayne tried to put a bullet through me. That ended that, and I came out +to join up with you. You were soused, I hear—but your wife guessed +enough to take the chance of coming to me, when she thought you were +going to get yourself killed. Well, I guess you get out here."</p> + +<p>He indicated the Coop. Gordon got down, followed by Sheila as Trench +took the wheel. "What happens to you now?" Gordon asked. "They'll be +blaming you for the end of the dome."</p> + +<p>"Let them. I planned on that. Too bad Trench got torn to bits by the +mob, isn't it? And it's a good thing I've always kept myself a place +under a safe incognito out in the sticks. Got a wife and two kids out +there that even Wayne didn't know about." He stuck out a hand. "You're +like Security, Gordon. You do all the wrong things, but you get the +right results. Goodbye!"</p> + +<p>Sheila watched him go, shaking her head. "He likes you, Bruce. But he +can't say it. Men!"</p> + +<p>"Women!" Gordon answered.</p> + +<p>Then he stiffened. Coming down through the thin air of Mars was the +bright blue exhaust of a rocket. The real Security was arriving!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Chapter_XVII" id="Chapter_XVII"></a>Chapter XVII</h2> + +<h3>SECURITY PAYOFF</h3> + + +<p>It was three days before Bruce Gordon made up his mind to hunt up +Security; another four days passed after they had sent him back to wait +until they received orders from Headquarters for him. There was a man +coming from Earth on a second ship who would see him. They gave him a +chauffeur back to the Chicken Coop, and politely indicated that it would +be better if he stayed within reach.</p> + +<p>The dome had been down a full week when he watched the last of +Randolph's equipment packed onto a truck and hauled away. The little +publisher was back at the <i>Crusader</i> again. Rusty was busy opening his +bar, and the others were all busy. Only Gordon and Sheila were left.</p> + +<p>He heard her coming down the old stairs, and ducked out through the +private 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 no +attempt to follow. She'd asked no questions and hadn't even tried to +convince him that he'd be sent back to Earth now.</p> + +<p>He muttered to himself as he headed over the rubble toward the +previously domed section.</p> + +<p>Out at the spaceport, ships were dropping down from Deimos with the +supplies that had been held up so long, and a long line of trucks went +snaking by. Credit had been established again, and the businesses were +open.</p> + +<p>For the time being, the hoods and punks were having a tough time of it, +with working papers demanded as constant identification. And while it +lasted, at least, Marsport was beginning to have its face lifted. Wrecks +were being broken up, with salvageable material used for newer homes. +Gordon came to a row of temporary bubbles, individual dwellings built +like the dome, but opaque for privacy.</p> + +<p>As Gordon drew closer to the old foundation of the dome, the feeling +around began to clarify into something halfway between what he had seen +on the real frontier and what he had known as a kid in Earth's slums.</p> + +<p>They had been lucky. The dome had exploded outwards, with only bits of +it falling back; and the buildings had come through the outward +explosion of the pressure with little damage. Gordon grinned wryly. +Schulberg's volunteers were official, now. Izzy was acting as chief of +police, Schulberg was head of the reconstruction corps, and Mother Corey +was temporary Mayor of all Marsport. The old charter for Marsport from +North America was dead, and the whole city was now under Security +charter, like the rest of the planet. But the dozen Security men had +left most of the control in the Mother's hands, and the old man was up +to his fat jowls in business.</p> + +<p>Gordon moved automatically toward the Seventh Ward. Fats' Place was +still open, though the crooked tables had been removed. Gordon dropped +to a stool, slipping off his helmet. He reached automatically for the +glass of ether-needled beer. This time, it even tasted good to him.</p> + +<p>"On the house, copper," Fats' voice said. The man dropped to another +stool, 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 old +friends!"</p> + +<p>"Friends and other things," Gordon said, remembering his first visit +here. "Maybe you should have got me that night, Fats."</p> + +<p>The other shrugged. "That's Mars." He rolled the dice out, then picked +them up again. "Guess I'll have to stick to selling meals, mostly—for a +while, at least. Somebody told me you'd joined Security and got banged +up trying to keep Trench from blowing up the dome. Thought you'd be in +the chips!"</p> + +<p>"That's Mars," Gordon echoed the other's comment. "Why don't you pull +off the planet, Fats? You could go back to Earth, I'd guess."</p> + +<p>The other nodded. "Yeah. I went back, about ten years ago. Spent four +weeks 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 ships +come in, and bill this as a real old Martian den of sin! Get a barker +out at the port, run special busses, charge the suckers a mint for a +cheap thrill."</p> + +<p>Gordon grinned wryly; Fats would probably make more than ever.</p> + +<p>He finished the meal, accepted a pack of the Earth cigarettes that sold +at a luxury price here, and went out into the thin air of Mars. It was +almost good to get out into the filth of the slums, and be heading back +to the still-standing monument of the old Chicken Coop. He headed for +the private entrance out of habit, and then shrugged as he realized it +was a needless precaution now. He moved up the front steps and through +the battered seal.</p> + +<p>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 was +waiting.</p> + +<p>There was a grin on the other's face. "Hello, Gordon. Finally got our +orders for you. It's Mercury!"</p> + +<p>Bruce Gordon nodded slowly. "All right. I suppose you know I ruined the +dome, was supposed to have killed Murdoch, pretended I was a Security +agent..."</p> + +<p>"You <i>were</i> one," the man said. He grinned again. "We know about +Murdoch, and we know where Trench is—but he's a good citizen now, so he +can stay there. We're not throwing the book at you, Bruce. Damn it, we +sent you here to get results, and you got them. We sent twenty others +the same way—and they failed. You were a bit drastic—that I have to +admit—but we're one step closer to keeping nationalism off the planets, +and that's all we care about."</p> + +<p>"I wonder if it's worth it," Gordon said slowly.</p> + +<p>The other shook his head. "We can't know in our lifetime. All we can do +is to hope. We'll probably get this Mother Corey and Isaacs elected +properly; and for a while, things will improve. But there'll be pushers +as long as weak men turn to drugs, and graft as long as voters allow the +thing to get out of their hands. Let's say you've shifted some of the +misery around a bit, and given them a chance to do better. It's up to +them to take it or lose it."</p> + +<p>"So I get sent to Mercury?"</p> + +<p>"You can't stay here. They'll find out too much eventually." He paused, +estimating Gordon. "You <i>can</i> go back to Earth, Bruce, but you won't +like it now. You're a fighter. And there's hell brewing on +Mercury—worse than here. We've got permission to send you there, if +you'll go. With a yellow ticket, again—but without any razzle-dazzle +this time. The only thing you'll get out of it is a chance to fight for +a better chance for others some day—and a promise that there'll be +more, until you get old enough to sit at a desk on Earth and fight +against every bickering nation there to keep the planets clean. There's +a rocket waiting to transship you to the Moon on the way to Mercury +right now."</p> + +<p>Gordon sighed. "All right. But I wish you'd tell my wife sometime +that—well, that I didn't just run out on her. She's had bad luck with +men."</p> + +<p>"She already knows," the Security man said. "I've been waiting for you +quite a while, you know. And I've paid her the pay we owe you from the +time you began using your badge. She's out shopping!"</p> + +<p>The car pulled up to the waiting rocket, and the Security man helped him +up the steps with a perfunctory wish for good luck. Then Bruce Gordon +stopped as great arms surrounded him.</p> + +<p>Mother Corey was immaculate, though not much prettier. But his old eyes +were glinting. "Did you think we'd let you go without seeing you off, +cobber?" he asked. "And after I took a <i>bath</i> to celebrate? I—I—Oh, +drat it, I'm getting old. Izzy, you tell him."</p> + +<p>He grabbed Gordon's hand and waddled down the landing plank. Izzy shook +his head.</p> + +<p>"I can't say it, either, gov'nor—but some day, I'm going to have one of +those badges myself. Like I always said, honesty sure pays, even if it +kills you. Here!"</p> + +<p>He followed Mother Corey, leaving behind his favorite knife and a +brand-new deck of reader cards, marked exactly as the ones Gordon had +first used.</p> + +<p>Gordon dropped into his seat, while the sounds outside indicated +take-off time. He had less than a hundred credits, a knife, a deck of +phony cards, and a yellow ticket. Mars was leaving him what he'd +brought....</p> + +<p>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 the +black of Mercury on the bottom.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Bruce," Sheila said softly. "I've been shopping and I spent the +money the man gave me. This is all I have left. Do you think it's worth +it? Or should I take it back?"</p> + +<p>He turned it over in his hands slowly, and the smile came back to his +face gradually.</p> + +<p>"You got a bargain, Cuddles," he said. "A lot better than the meal +ticket you bought. Let's keep it."</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Police Your Planet, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLICE YOUR PLANET *** + +***** This file should be named 20212-h.htm or 20212-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/2/1/20212/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Police Your Planet + +Author: Lester del Rey + +Release Date: December 29, 2006 [EBook #20212] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLICE YOUR PLANET *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + 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 the +electric bus that shuttled between the rocket field and Marsport. Ten +men, the driver--and Bruce Gordon. + +He sat apart from the others, as he had kept to himself on the ten-day +trip between Earth and Mars, with the yellow stub of his ticket still +stuck defiantly in the band of his hat, proclaiming that Earth had paid +his passage without his permission being asked. His big, lean body was +slumped slightly in the seat. There was no expression on his face. + +He listened to the driver explaining to a couple of firsters that they +were actually on what appeared to be one of the mysterious canals when +viewed from Earth. Every book on Mars gave the fact that the canals were +either an illusion or something which could not be detected on the +surface of the planet. + +He glanced back toward the rocket that still pointed skyward back on the +field, and then forward toward the city of Marsport, sprawling out in a +mess of slums beyond the edges of the dome that had been built to hold +air over the central part. And at last he stirred and reached for the +yellow stub. + +He grimaced at the ONE WAY stamped on it, then tore it into +bits and let the pieces scatter over the floor. He counted them as they +fell; thirty pieces, one for each year of his life. Little ones for the +two years he'd wasted as a cop. Shreds for the four years as a kid in +the ring before that--he'd never made the top. Bigger bits for two years +also wasted in trying his hand at professional gambling; and the six +final pieces that spelled his rise from a special reporter helping out +with a police shake-up coverage, through a regular leg-man turning up +rackets, and on up like a meteor until.... He'd made his big scoop, all +right. He'd dug up enough about the Mercury scandals to double +circulation. + +And the government had explained what a fool he'd been for printing half +of a story that was never supposed to be printed until all could be +revealed. They'd given Bruce Gordon his final assignment. + +He shrugged. He'd bought a suit of airtight coveralls and a helmet at +the 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 never +been exported to Mars. With them and the knife he'd selected, he might +get by. + +The Solar Security office had given him the knife practice, to make sure +he could use it, just as they'd made sure he hadn't taken extra money +with him beyond the regulation amount. + +"You're a traitor, and we'd like nothing better than seeing your guts +spilled," the Security man had told him. "That paper you swiped was +marked 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 bound +for Mars, rather than the Mercury mines. If..." + +It was a big _if_, and a vague one. They needed men on Mars who could +act as links in their information bureau, and be ready to work on their +side when the expected trouble came. They wanted men who could serve +them loyally, even without orders. If he did them enough service, they +might let him back to Earth. If he caused trouble enough, they could +still 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 yellow +scandal 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 settled +faster than it was ready to receive. Temporary buildings had been thrown +up, and then had remained, decaying into deathtraps. It wasn't a pretty +view that visitors got as they first reached Mars. But nobody except the +romantic fools had ever thought frontiers were pretty. + +The drummer who had watched Gordon tear up his yellow stub moved forward +now. "First time?" he asked. + +Gordon nodded, mentally cataloguing the drummer as the cockroach type, +midway between the small-businessman slug and the petty-crook spider +types that weren't worth bothering with. But the other took it as +interest. + +"Been here dozens of times, myself. Risking your life just to go into +Marsport. Why Congress doesn't clean it up, _I'll_ never know!" + +Gordon's mind switched to the readers in his bag. The cards were +plastic, and should be good for a week or so of use before they showed +wear. During that time, by playing it carefully, he should have his +stake. Then, if the gaming tables here were as crudely run as an +oldtimer 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's +something! Even the cops are afraid to go in there. See it? There, to +your left!" + +The name was vaguely familiar as one of the sore spots of Marsport. +Bruce Gordon looked, and spotted the ragged building, half a mile +outside the dome. It had been a rocket-maintenance hangar once, then had +been turned into temporary dwelling for the first deportees, when Earth +began flooding Mars. Now, seeming to stand by habit alone, it radiated +desolation and decay. + +He stood up, grabbing for his bag, and spinning the drummer aside. He +jerked forward, and caught the driver's shoulder. "Getting off!" + +The driver shrugged his hand away. "Don't be crazy, mister! They--" He +turned, 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 minutes +to get into coveralls and helmet and out through the airlock." + +Gordon needed less than that; he'd practiced all the way from Earth. The +transparent plastic of the coveralls went on easily enough, and his +hands found the seals quickly. He slipped his few possessions into a bag +at his belt, slid the knife into a spring holster above his wrist, and +picked up the bowl-shaped helmet. It seated on a plastic seal, and the +little air compressor at his back began to hum, ready to turn the thin +wisp of Mars' atmosphere into a barely breathable pressure. He tested +the Marspeaker--an amplifier and speaker in another pouch, designed to +raise the volume of his voice to a level where it would carry through +even the air of Mars. + +The driver swore at the lash of sound, and grabbed for the airlock +switch. + + * * * * * + +Gordon moved down unpaved streets that zig-zagged along, thick with the +filth of garbage and poverty--the part of Mars never seen in the +newsreels, outside the shock movies. Thin kids with big eyes and sullen +mouths crowded the streets in their airsuits, yelling profanity. The +street was filled with people watching with a numbed hunger for any kind +of excitement. + +It was late afternoon, obviously. Men were coming from the few bus +routes, lugging tools and lunch baskets, slumped and beaten from labor +in the atomic plants, the Martian conversion farms, and the industries +that had come inevitably where inefficiency was better than the high +prices of imports. The saloons were doing well enough, apparently, from +the number that streamed in through their airlock entrances. But Gordon +saw one of the bartenders paying money to a thickset person with an +arrogant sneer; he knew then that the few profits from the cheap beer +were never going home with the man. Storekeepers in the cheap little +shops had the same lines on their faces as they saw on those of their +customers. + +Poverty and misery were the keynotes here, rather than the evil +half-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 out +some of the smell which the thin air carried. He'd thought he was +familiar with human misery from his own Earth slum background. But there +was no attempt to disguise it here. + +Ahead, Mother Corey's reared up--a huge, ugly half-cylinder of pitted +metal and native bricks, showing the patchwork of decades, before +repairs had been abandoned. There were no windows, though once there had +been; 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 opened +and closed. He waited, then drew his knife and began prying at the worn +cement around the airseal, looking for the lock that had been there. + +The seal suddenly quivered, indicating that metal inside had been +withdrawn. Gordon grinned tautly, stepped through, and pushed the blade +against the inner plastic. + +"All right, all right," a voice whined out of the darkness. "You don't +have 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'll +last me two weeks in the dome. I figure on making it last six here, and +don't let my being a firster give you hot palms. My brother was Lanny +Gordon!" + +It happened to be true, though Bruce Gordon hadn't seen his brother from +the time the man had left the family, as a young punk, to the day they +finally convicted him on his twenty-first murder. But here, if it was +like 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 face +contorting its doughy fat into a yellow-toothed grin, and a filthy hand +waved back the others. There were a few wisps of long, gray hair on the +head 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 Corey +kicked four grumbling men out of a four-by-seven hole on the second +floor. Gordon's money had carried more weight than his brother's +reputation; for that, Corey humored his guest's wish for privacy. "All +yours, cobber, while your crackle's blue." + +It was a filthy, dark place. In one corner was an unsheeted bed. There +was a rusty bucket for water, a hole kicked through the floor for waste +water. Plumbing, and such luxuries, apparently hadn't existed for +years--except for the small cistern and worn water-recovery plant in the +basement, beside the tired-looking weeds in the hydroponic tanks that +tried 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. One +credit a week, and you get Mother Corey's word nobody busts in. And it +sticks, 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 Corey +stood staring at the pack while Bruce Gordon changed out of his airsuit, +gagging faintly as the full effluvium of the place hit him. "Where does +a man eat around here?" + +Mother Corey pried his eyes off the cards and ran a thick tongue over +heavy 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 vote +money 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 clouded +eyes. "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." He +shook 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 when +your 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, once +long ago. Gordon followed him, staring at the surrounding filth. + +His thoughts were churning so busily that he didn't see the blonde girl +until she had forced her way past them on the stairs. Then he turned +back, 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. It +was exactly ten days later. Bruce Gordon stood in the motley crowd +inside the barnlike room where Fats ran a bar along one wall, and filled +the rest of the space with assorted tables--all worn. Gordon was +sweating slightly as he stood at the roulette table, where both zero and +double-zero were reserved for the house. + +The croupier was a little wizened man wanted on Earth. His eyes darted +down to the point of the knife that showed under Gordon's sleeve, and he +licked his lips, showing snaggled teeth. The wheel hesitated and came to +a halt, with the ball trembling in a pocket. + +"Twenty-one wins again." He pushed chips toward Gordon, as if every one +of them came out of his own pay. "Place your bets." + +Two others around the table watched narrowly as Gordon left his chips +where they were; they then exchanged looks and shook their heads. In a +Martian roulette game, numbers with that much riding just didn't turn +up. The croupier shifted his weight, then caught the wheel and spun it +savagely. + +Gordon's leg ached from his strained position, but he shifted his weight +onto it more heavily, and sweat popped out on the croupier's face. His +eyes darted down, to where the full weight of Gordon seemed to rest on +the heel that was grinding into his instep. He tried to pull his foot +off the button that was concealed in the floor. + +The heel ground harder, bringing a groan from him. And the ball hovered +over Twenty-one and came to rest there once more. + +Slowly, painfully, the little man counted stacks of chips and moved them +across 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 then +holding the croupier down, had left him momentarily weak, but Gordon +could still feel the tensing of the crowd. Now he let his eyes run over +them--the night citizens of Marsport, lower-dome section. Spacemen who'd +missed their ships; men who'd come here with dreams, and stayed without +them--the shopkeepers who couldn't meet their graft and were here to try +to win it on a last chance; street women and petty grifters. The air was +thick with their unwashed bodies--all Mars smelled, since water was +still too rare for frequent bathing--and their cheap perfume, and +clouded with cheap Marsweed cigarettes. + +Gordon swung where their eyes pointed, until he saw Fats Eller sidling +through the groups, then let the knife slip into the palm of his hand as +the crowd seemed to hold its breath. Fats plucked a sheaf of Martian +bank notes from his pocket and tossed them to the croupier. + +"Cash in his chips." Then his pouchy eyes turned to Gordon. "Get your +money, punk, and get out! And stay out!" + +For a moment, as he began pocketing the bills, Gordon thought he was +going to get away that easily. Fats watched him dourly, then swung on +his heel, just as a shrill, strangled cry went up from someone in the +crowd. + +The deportee let his glance jerk to it, then froze. His eyes caught the +sight of a hand pointing behind him, and he knew it was too crude a +trick to bother with. But he paused, shocked to see the girl he'd seen +on Mother Corey's stairs gazing at him in well-feigned warning. In spite +of his better judgment, she caught his eyes and drew them down over +curves and swells that would always be right for arousing a man's +passion. + +He glanced back at Fats, who had started to turn again. Gordon took a +step backwards, preparing to duck. Again the girl's finger motioned +behind 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 his +shoulders up and his head down. Fast as his reaction was, it was almost +too late. The weapon crunched against his shoulder and slammed over the +back of his neck, almost knocking him out. + +His heel lashed back and caught the shin of the man behind him. Gordon's +other leg spun him around, still crouching; the knife in his hand +started coming up, sharp edge leading, and aimed for the belly of the +bruiser who confronted him. The pug saw the blade and tried to check his +lunge. + +Gordon felt the blade strike; but he was already pulling his swing, and +it 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 and +into the night in two soaring leaps. After only a few days on Mars, his +legs were still hardened to Earth gravity, and he had more than a double +advantage over the others. + +Outside, it was the usual Martian night in the poorer section of the +dome, which meant near-darkness. Most of the street lights had never +been installed--graft had eaten up the appropriations, instead--and the +nearest one was around the corner, leaving the side of Fats' Place in +the shadow. Gordon checked his speed, threw himself flat, and rolled +back against the building, just beyond the steps that led to the street. + +Feet pounded out of the door above as Fats and the bouncer broke +through. Gordon's hand had already knotted a couple of coins into his +kerchief; he waited until the two turned uncertainly up the street and +tossed it. It struck the wall near the corner, sailed on, and struck +again 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 had +hit. "Around the corner!" Fats yelled. "After him, and shoot!" + +In the shadows, Gordon jerked sharply. It was rare enough to have a gun +here; 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 sheet +that was held up by air pressure and reinforced with heavy webbing. It +was the biggest dome ever built--large enough to cover all of Marsport +before the slums sprawled out beyond it; it still covered half the city, +and made breathing possible here without a helmet. But the dome wasn't +designed to stand stray bullets; and having firearms inside it--except +for a few chosen men--was a crime punishable by death. + +Fats had swung back, and was now herding the crowd inside his place. He +might have been only a small gambling-house owner, but within his own +circle his words carried weight. + +Gordon got to his hands and knees and began crawling away from the +corner. He came to a dark alley, smelling of decay where garbage had +piled up without being carted away. Beyond lay a lighted street, and a +sign that announced _Mooney's Amusement Palace--Drinks Free to Patrons!_ +He looked up and down the street, then walked briskly toward the +somewhat plusher gambling hall there. Fats couldn't touch him in a +competitor's place. + +Inside Mooney's, he headed quickly for the dice table. He lost steadily +on 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 Gordon +bemoaned 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 another +policeman at a Canfield game. He was obviously winning, and now he got +up and came over to cash in his chips. + +"You'd think they'd lose count once in a while," he complained to his +companion. "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 the +edge of the dome and the entrance where he'd parked his airsuit and +helmet. 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 the +locker building. He threaded through the maze of the lockers with his +knife ready in his hand, trying not to attract suspicion. At this hour, +though, most of the place was empty. The crowds of foremen and +deliverymen who'd be going in and out through the day were lacking. + +He found his suit and helmet and clamped them on quickly, transferring +the knife to its spring sheath outside the suit. He checked the tiny +batteries that were recharged by generators in the soles of the boots +with every step. Then he paid his toll for the opening of the private +slit 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 on +numbers for safety; some of the very poor, stumbling about and hoping +for a drink somehow; and probably hoods from the gangs that ruled the +nights here. + +Gordon left his torch unlighted, and moved along; there was a little +illumination from the phosphorescent markers at some of the corners, and +from the stars. He could just make his way without marking himself with +a light. + +Damn it, he should have hired a few of the younger bums from Mother +Corey's. Here he couldn't hear footsteps. He located a pair of +patrolling cops, and followed them down one street, until they swung +off. 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 eighteen +behind him, carrying a torch that was filtered to bare visibility. It +swung up, and he saw a pock-marked face that was twisted in a smile +meant to be ingratiating. + +"You've got a pad on your tail," the kid said, again as low as his +amplifier would permit. "Need a convoy?" + +Gordon studied him briefly, and grinned. Then his grin wiped out as the +kid's arm flashed to his shoulder and back, a series of quick jerks that +seemed almost a blur. Four knives stood buried in the ground at Gordon's +feet, 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 them +expertly back into shoulder sheaths. The kid's hand shaped a C quickly, +and Gordon slipped his arm through a self-sealing slit in the airsuit +and brought out two of them. + +"Thanks, gov'nor," the kid said, stowing them away. "You won't regret +it." Gordon started to turn. Then the kid's voice rose sharply to a +yell. "Okay, honey, he's the Joe!" + +Out of the darkness, ten to a dozen figures loomed up. The kid had +jumped aside with a lithe leap, and now stood between Gordon and the +group moving in for the kill. Gordon swung to run, and found himself +surrounded. His eyes flickered around, trying to spot something in the +darkness that would give him shelter. + +A bludgeon was suddenly hurtling toward him, and he ducked it, his blood +thick in his throat and his ears ringing with the same pressure of fear +he'd always known just before he was kayoed in the ring. Then he +selected what he hoped was the thinnest section of the attackers and +leaped forward. With luck, he might jump over them, using his Earth +strength. + +There was a flicker of dawnlight in the sky, now, however; and he made +out others behind, ready for just such a move. He changed his lunge in +mid-stride, and brought his arm back with the knife. It met a small +round shield on the arm of the man he had chosen, and was deflected at +once. + +"Give 'em hell, gov'nor," the kid's voice yelled, and the little figure +was beside him, a shower of blades seeming to leap from his hand in the +glare of his bare torch. Shields caught them frantically, and then the +kid 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 the +ground, seizing the first rocks he could find, and threw them. One of +the hoods dropped his club in ducking; Gordon caught it up and swung in +a single motion that stretched the other out. + +Then it was a melee. The kid's open torch, stuck on his helmet, gave +them light enough, until Gordon could switch on his own. Then the kid +dropped behind him, fighting back-to-back. Here, in close quarters, the +attackers 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, but +she 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. He +tried to bring his club up--but knew it was too late. A dull weight hit +the side of his head, and he felt himself falling. + + * * * * * + +It took only minutes for dawn to become day on Mars, and the sun was +lighting up the messy section of back street when Bruce Gordon's eyes +opened and the pain of sight struck his aching head. He groaned, then +looked frantically for the puff of escaping air. But his suit was still +sealed. Ahead of him, the kid lay sprawled out, blood trickling from an +ugly bruise along his jaw. + +Then Gordon felt something on his suit, and his eyes darted to hands +just finishing an emergency patch. His eyes darted up and met those of +the blonde vixen! + +Amazement kept him motionless for a second. There were tears in the eyes +of the girl, and a sniffling sound reached him through her Marspeaker. +Apparently, she hadn't noticed that he had revived, though her eyes were +on him. She finished the patch, and ran perma-sealer over it. Then she +began putting her supplies away, tucking them into a bag that held notes +that could only have been stolen from his pockets--her share of the +loot, apparently. + +He was still thinking clumsily as she got to her feet and turned to +leave. 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 stand +the pain in his head. He came to his feet, and leaped after her. In the +thin air, his lunge was silent, and he was grabbing her before she knew +he 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 toward +him. Then he had her firmly, bringing her arm back and up, until the +knife fell from her fingers. + +She screamed and began writhing, twisting her hard young body like a boa +constrictor in his hands. But he was stronger. He bent her back over his +knee, until a mangled moan was coming from her speaker; then his foot +kicked out, knocking her feet out from under her. He let her hit the +ground, caught both her wrists in his, and brought his knee down on her +throat, applying more pressure until she lay still. Then he reached for +the pouch. + +"Damn you!" Her cry was more in anguish then it had been when he was +threatening to break her back. "You damned firster, I'll kill you if +it'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 kill +a man for his money, he doesn't feel very grateful for your reviving +him." + +He started to count the money. About a tenth of what he had won--not +even enough to open a cheap poker den, let alone bribe his way back to +Earth. + +The girl was out from under his knee at the first relaxation of +pressure. Her hand scooped up the knife, and she came charging toward +him, her mouth a taut slit across half-bared teeth. Gordon rolled out of +her swing, and brought his foot up. It caught her squarely under the +chin, and she went down and out. + +He picked up the scattered money and her knife, then made sure she was +still breathing. He ran his hands over her, looking for a hiding place +for more money; there was none. + +"Good work, gov'nor," the kid's thin voice approved, and Gordon swung to +see 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 then +dropped it. A grin writhed onto his face, and broke into sudden grudging +laughter. + +"Okay, Izzy," he admitted. "For this stinking planet, I guess you're +something of a saint. Come along, and we'll both apply for that +job--after I get my stuff." + +He might as well join the law. Security had wanted him to police their +damned planet for them--and he might as well do it officially. + +He tossed the girl's knife down beside her, motioned to Izzy, and began +heading for Mother Corey's. + + + + +Chapter III + +THE GRAFT IS GREEN + + +Izzy seemed surprised when he found that Gordon was turning in to the +quasi-secret entrance to Mother Corey's. "Coming here myself," he +explained. "Mother got ahold of a load of snow, and sent me out to +contact a big pusher. Coming back, the goons picked me up and gave me +the job on you. Hey, Mother!" + +Bruce Gordon didn't ask how Mother Corey had acquired the dope. When +Earth had deported all addicts two decades before, it had practically +begged 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 wheezing +behind, while the rotten wood of the stairs groaned under his grotesque +bulk. 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. Pretty +soon, they'll be trick-proof, anyhow; they're changing over to electric +eyes. Eh, you haven't forgotten me, cobber?" + +Gordon hadn't. The old wreck had demanded five per cent of his winnings +for tipping him off. Mother Corey had too many cheap hoods among his +friends 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. "Enough +to buy a corporal's job, pay for your suit, and maybe get by," he +decided. "Don't do it, cobber. You're the wrong kind. You take what +you're doing serious. When you set out to tinhorn a living, you're a +crook. Get you in a cop's outfit, and you'll turn honest. No place here +for an honest cop--not with elections coming up, cobber. Well, I guess +you gotta find out for yourself. Want a good room?" + +Gordon's lips twitched. "Thanks, Mother, but I'll be staying inside the +dome, I guess." + +"So'll I," the old man gloated. "Setting in a chair all day, being an +honest citizen. Cobber, I already own a joint there--a nice one, they +tell me. Lights. Two water closets. Big rooms, six-by-ten--fifty of +them, 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 from +the pusher, I can buy off that hot spot on the police blotter. I can go +in the dome and walk around, just like you." His eyes watered, and a +tear went dripping down his nose. "I'm getting old. They'll be calling +me 'Grandmother' pretty soon. So I'm turning my Chicken House over to my +granddaughter and I'm going honest. Want a room?" + +Gordon grinned, and nodded. Mother Corey knew the ropes, and could be +trusted. "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, looking +for me. I sold her to the head of the East Point gang. Since she killed +him, she's been doing pretty well on her own. Mostly. Except when she +makes a fool of herself, like she did with you. But she'll come around +to 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 pass +the 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 begin +applying for a police job by carrying in narcotics. He wondered how +they'd go about contacting the commissioner. + +But that turned out to be simple enough. After collecting, Izzy led the +way into a section marked "Special Taxes" and whispered a few casual +words. The man at the desk went into an office marked private, and came +back a few minutes later. + +"Your friend has no record with us," he said in a routine voice. "I've +checked through his tax forms, and they're all in order. We'll confirm +officially, of course." + + * * * * * + +In the Applications section of the big Municipal Building, at the center +of the dome, there was a long form to fill out at the desk; but the +captain 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--and +stamped their forms. "And you'll want suits. Isaacs? Good, here's your +receipt. 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 fair +fit in his suit. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be in +uniform. + +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 first +few 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 the +edge of the dome--proved to be livable, though it was a shock to see +Mother Corey himself in a decent suit, and using perfume. + +The beat was in a shabby section where clerks and skilled laborers +worked. It wasn't poor enough to offer the universal desperation that +gave the gang hoodlums protective coloring, nor rich enough to have +major rackets of its own. + +Izzy was disgusted. "Cripes! Hope they've got a few cheap pushers around +that 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 the +synthetics that replaced honest Earth foods were compounded into sweet +and sticky messes for the neighborhood kids. He looked up as Gordon came +in; then his face fell. "New cop, eh? No wonder Gable collected +yesterday, ahead of time. All right, you can look at my books. I've been +paying fifty, but you'll have to wait until Friday." + +Gordon nodded and swung on his heel, surprised to find that his stomach +was turning. The man obviously couldn't afford fifty credits a week. But +it was the same all along the street. Even Izzy admitted finally that +they'd have to wait. + +"That damned cop before us! He really tapped them! And we can't take +less, so I guess we gotta wait until Friday." + + * * * * * + +The next day, Bruce Gordon made his first arrest. It was near the end of +his shift, just as darkness was falling and the few lights were going +on. He turned a corner and came to a short, heavy hoodlum backing out of +a small liquor store with a knife in throwing position. The crook +grunted as he started to turn and stumbled onto Gordon. His knife +flashed up. + +Without the need to worry about an airsuit, Gordon moved in, his arm +jerking forward. He clipped the crook on the inside of the elbow, while +grabbing the wrist with his other hand. The man went sailing over +Gordon's head, to crash into the side of the building. He let out a +yell. + +Gordon rifled the hood's pockets, and located a roll of bills stuffed +in. He dragged them out, before snapping cuffs on the man. Then he +pulled the crook inside the store. + +A woman stood there, moaning over a pale man on the floor; blood oozed +from a welt on the back of his head. There was both gratitude and +resentment as she looked up at Gordon. + +"You'd better call the hospital," he told her sharply. "He may have a +concussion. I've got the man who held you up." + +"Hospital?" Her voice broke into another wail. "And who can afford +hospitals? All week we work, all hours. He's old, he can't handle the +cases. 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 sees +a doctor, he buys medicine. Then Gable comes. This man comes. We can't +pay him! So what do we get--we get knifes in the faces, saps on the +head--a concussion, you tell me! And all the money--the money we had to +pay to get stocks to sell to pay off from the profits we don't make--all +of it, he wants! Hospitals! You think they give away at the hospitals +free?" + +She fell to her knees, crying over the injured man. + +Gordon tossed the roll of bills onto the floor beside her; the injury +seemed only a scalp wound, and the old man was already beginning to +groan. He opened his eyes and saw the bills in front of him, at which +the 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 to +straighten up before the doorway was filled with two knife-men and a +heavier one behind them. + +His hands dropped to the handcuffed man on the floor, and he caught him +up with a jerk, slapping his body back against the counter. He took a +step forward, jerking his hands up and putting his Earth-adapted +shoulders behind it. The hood sailed up and struck the two knife-men +squarely. + +There was a scream as their automatic attempts to save themselves buried +both 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, then +shook 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, and +mark it down as a robbery attempt. I'm going to have to book you and +your men, Mr. Jurgens!" + +The heavy leader of the two angry knife-men grinned. "Okay, Captain. But +it's going to slow down the work I'm doing on the Mayor's campaign for +re-election! Damn that Maxie--I told him to be discreet. Hey, you know +what you've got, though--a real considerate man! He gave the old guy his +money 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 of +having slept well, he must have been out almost as soon as he was +booked. Two other men stood behind Gordon, while Jurgens explained that +he didn't like being interrupted on business calls "about the Mayor's +campaign, or anything else," and that next time there'd be real hard +feelings. Gordon was surprised when he wasn't beaten, but not when the +racketeer suggested that any money found at a crime was evidence and +should go to the police. The captain had told him the same. + +By Friday, he had learned. He made his collections early. Gable had sold +him the list of what was expected, and he used it, though he cut down +the figures in a few cases. There was no sense in killing the geese that +laid the eggs. + +The couple at the liquor store had their payment waiting, and they +handed it over, looking embarrassed. It wasn't until he was gone that he +found a small bottle of fairly good whiskey tucked into his pouch. He +started to throw it away, and then lifted it to his lips. Maybe they'd +known how he felt better than he had. Mother Corey's words about his +change of attitude came back. Damn it, he had to dig up enough money to +get back to Earth. + +He collected, down to the last account. It was a nice haul; at that +rate, he'd have to stand it only for a few months. Then Gordon's lips +twisted, as he realized it wasn't all gravy. There were angles, or the +price of a corporalcy would have been higher. + +One of the older men answered his questions. "Fifty per cent of the take +to the Orphan's and Widow's fund. Better make it more than Gable turned +in, if you want to get a better beat." + +The envelopes were lying on a table marked "Voluntary Donations"; Gordon +filled 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 him +carefully, settled back and smiled. + +"Widows and Orphans sure appreciate a good man," he said. "I was kind of +worried about you, Gordon, but you got a nice touch. One of my new +boys--Isaacs, you know him--was out checking up after you, and the dopes +seem to like you." + +Gordon had wondered why Izzy had been pulled off the beat. As he turned +to leave, the captain held up a hand. "Special meeting tomorrow. We +gotta see about getting out a good vote. Election only three weeks +away." + +Gordon went home. He'd learned by now that the native Martians--those +who'd been here for at least thirty years, or had been born here--were +backing a reform candidate and new ticket. But Mayor Wayne had all of +the rest of the town in his hand. He'd been in twice, and had lifted the +graft take by a truly remarkable figure. From where Gordon stood, it +looked like a clear victory for the reformer, Nolan. + +He went into the meeting willing to agree to anything. He applauded all +the speeches about how much Mayor Wayne had done for them, and signed +the pledge expressing his confidence, along with the implied duty he had +to 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 show +how well we like the Mayor. Just remember, he got us our jobs! Now I +figure we can all kick in a little to help his campaign. I'm going to +start it off with five thousand credits, two thousand of them right +now." + +They fell in line, though there was no cheering. The price might have +been fixed in advance. A thousand for a plain cop, fifteen hundred for a +corporal, and so on, each contributing a third of it now. Gordon +grimaced; 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. My +wife 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 strapped +now. 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 need +extra money. The boys out in Ward Three are shorthanded. Afraid I'll +have to order you out there!" + + * * * * * + +Ward Three was the hangout of a cheap gang of hoodlums, numbering some +four hundred, who went in for small crimes mostly. But they had recently +declared war on the cops. + +After eight hours of overtime, Gordon reported in with every bone sore +from small missiles, and his suit filthy from assorted muck. He had a +beautiful shiner where a stone had clipped him. + +The captain smiled. "Rough, eh? But I hear robbery went down on your +beat 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 can +trust with the job!" + +Gordon stuck it out, somehow, but it wasn't worth it. He reported back +to the precinct with the five hundred in his hand, and his pen itching +for the donation agreement. + +The captain took it, and nodded. "I wasn't kidding about your being a +good 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 slum +area beyond the dome, out near the rocket field. Here all the riffraff +that had been unable to establish itself in better quarters had found +some sort of a haven. At one time, there had been a small dome and a +tiny city devoted to the rocket field. But Marsport had flourished +enough to kill it off. The dome had failed from neglect, and the +buildings inside had grown shabbier. + +Bruce Gordon was trapped; he couldn't break his job with the police--if +he did, he'd be brought back as a criminal. Some of Mars' laws dated +from 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 members +to other gangs, during the frequent wars. Between times, they picked up +what they could by mugging and theft, with a reasonable amount of murder +thrown in at a modest price. + +Even derelicts and failures had to eat; there were stores and shops +throughout the district which eked out some kind of a marginal living. +They were safe from protection racketeers there--none bothered to come +so far out. And police had been taken off the beats there after it grew +unsafe even for men in pairs to patrol the area. + +The shopkeepers, and some of the less unfortunate people there, had +protested loud enough to reach clear back to Earth. Marsport had hired a +man from Earth to come in and act as chief of the section. Captain +Murdoch was an unknown factor, and now was asking for more men. The +pressure was enough to get them for him. + +Gordon reported for work with a sense of the bottom falling out, mixed +with a vague relief. + +"You're going to be busy," Murdoch announced shortly in the dilapidated +building 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 run +this the way we would on Earth. Your job is to protect the citizens +here--and that means everyone not breaking the laws--whether you feel +like it or not. No graft. The first man making a shakedown will get the +same treatment we're going to use on the Stonewall boys. You'll get +double 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 a +shaped 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 with +me. I'm going to show how we operate. The rest of you can team up any +way 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 eyes +fell on him. "Earth cop!" + +"Two years," Gordon admitted. + +"Then you should be ashamed to be in this mess. But whatever your +reasons, 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 a +squad leader, and that meant he'd be unable to step out of line. At +double standard pay, with normal Mars expenses, he might be able to pay +for 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 in +touch 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 the +front 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 told +them. "But it has to be _good_. Go in for business, and don't stop just +because the other guy quits. Give them hell!" + +Moving in two groups of threes, at opposite sides of the street, they +began their beat. They were covering an area of six blocks one way, and +two the other. + +They had traveled the six blocks and were turning down a side street +when they found their first case; it was still daylight. Two of the +Stonewall boys were working over a tall man in a newer airsuit. As the +police swung around, one of the thugs casually ripped the airsuit open. + +A thin screech like a whistle came from Murdoch's Marspeaker, and the +captain went forward, with Gordon at his heels. The hoodlums tossed the +man aside easily, and let out a yell. From the buildings around, an +assortment of toughs came at the double, swinging knives, picks, and +bludgeons. + +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 it +hit. A skilled man could knock a knife, or even a heavy club, out of +another'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 the +forward swing, one on the recover. Gordon's eyes popped at that. The man +was totally unlike a Martian captain, and a knot of homesickness for +Earth ran through his stomach. + +He swallowed the sentiment; his own club was moving now. Standing beside +Murdoch, they were moving forward. The other four cops had come in +reluctantly. + +"Knock them out and kick them down!" Murdoch yelled. "And don't let them +get away!" + +Gordon was after a thug who was attempting to run away. He brought him +to the ground with a single blow across the kidneys. + +It was soon over. They rounded up the men of the gang, and one of the +cops 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 facing +police with clubs. If they tried to run, they were hit from behind; if +they stood still, they were clubbed carefully. If they fought back, the +pugnaciousness was knocked out of them at once. + +Murdoch indicated one who stood with his shoulders shaking and tears +running 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 every +man 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 wretched +toughs. "He squealed," he announced. "If he should turn up dead, I'll +know you boys are responsible, and I'll find you. Now get out of this +district, or get honest jobs! Because every time one of my men sees one +of you, this will happen again. And you can pass the word along that the +Stonewall gang is dead!" + +He turned and moved off down the street, the others at his side. Gordon +nodded. "I've heard the theory, but never saw it in practice. Suppose +the whole gang jumps us at once?" + +Murdoch shrugged. "Then we're taken. The old book I got the idea from +didn't mention that." + + * * * * * + +Trouble began brewing shortly after, though. Men stood outside, studying +the cops on their beat. Murdoch sent one of the men to pick up a second +squad of six, and then a third. After that, the watchers began to melt +away. + +"We'd better shift to another territory," Murdoch decided. Gordon +realized that the gang had figured that concentrating the police here +meant other territories would be safe. + +Two more groups were given the treatment. In the third one, Bruce Gordon +spotted one of the men who'd been beaten before. He was a sick-looking +spectacle. + +Murdoch nodded. "Object lesson!" + +The one good thing about the captain, Gordon decided, was that he +believed in doing his own dirtiest work. When he was finished, he turned +to two of the other captives. + +"Get a stretcher, and take him wherever he belongs," he ordered. "I'm +leaving 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 the +brawls. But there was little grumbling. Gordon saw grudging admiration +in their eyes for Murdoch, who had taken more punishment than they had. + +Gordon rode back in the official car with Murdoch and both were silent +most of the way. But the captain stirred finally, sighing. "Poor +devils!" + +Gordon jerked up in surprise. "The gang?" + +"No, the cops they're giving me. We're covered, Gordon. But the +Stonewall gang is backing Wayne. He's let me come in because he figures +it will get him more votes. But afterwards, he'll have me out; and then +the 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 can +always go back to Earth, and I'll try to take you along. But it's going +to 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 the +tension. He found himself liking the other. + +"What makes you think Wayne will be re-elected? Nobody wants him, except +a gang of crooks and those in power." + +Murdoch grinned bitterly. "Ever see a Martian election? No, you're a +firster. He can't lose! And then hell is going to pop, and this whole +planet may be blown wide open!" + +It fitted with the dire predictions of Security, and with the spying +Gordon was going to do--according to them. + +He discussed it with Mother Corey, who agreed that Wayne would be +re-elected. + +"Can't lose," the old man said. He was getting even fatter, now that he +was 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 a +while, then opening up a few rooms for a good pusher or two, maybe a +high-class duchess. Cost 'em more, but they'd be respectable. Only now +I'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 the +way." + +"It didn't affect Honest Izzy," Gordon pointed out. + +"Nope. Because Izzy is always honest, according to how he sees it. But +you got Earth ideas of the stuff, like I had once. Too bad." He sighed +ponderously. + + * * * * * + +The week moved on. The groups grew more experienced, and Murdoch was +training a new squad every night. Gordon's own squad was equipped with +shields now, and they were doing better. The number of muggings and +holdups in the section was going down. They seldom saw a man after he'd +been treated. + +One of the squads was jumped by a gang of about forty, and two of the +men were killed before the nearest other squad could pull a rear attack. +That day the whole force worked overtime hunting for the men who had +escaped; and by evening the Stonewall boys had received proof that it +didn't pay to go against the police in large numbers. + +After that, they began to go hunting for the members of the gang. They +had the names of nearly all of them, and some pretty good ideas of their +hide-outs. + +It wasn't exactly legal; but nothing was, here. If a doctor's job was to +prevent illness, instead of merely curing it, then why shouldn't it be a +policeman's job to prevent crime? Here, that was best done by wiping out +the Stonewall gang to the last member. + +This could lead to abuses, as he'd seen on Earth. But there probably +wouldn'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 were +appearing on the streets at night for the first time in years. And there +were smiles--hungry, beaten smiles, but still genuine ones--for the +cops. + + + + +Chapter V + +RECALL + + +It was night outside, and the phosphor bulbs at the corners glowed +dimly, giving him barely enough light by which to locate the way to the +extemporized precinct house. Bruce Gordon reached the outskirts of the +miserable business section, noticing that a couple of the shops were +still open. It had probably been years since any had dared risk it after +the sun went down. And the slow, doubtful respect on the faces of the +citizens as they nodded to him was even more proof that Haley's system +was 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 he +swung back. The man who had just passed was carrying a lunch basket, and +was wearing the coveralls of one of the crop-prospector crews; but the +expression on his face had been wrong. + +Red hair, too heavily built, a lighter section where a mustache had been +shaved and the skin not quite perfectly powdered.... Gordon moved +forward quickly, until he could make out the thin scar showing through +the make-up over the man's eyes. He'd been right--this was O'Neill, head +of the Stonewall gang. + +Gordon hit the signal switch, and the Marspeaker let out a shrill +whistle. O'Neill had turned to run, and then seemed to think better of +it. 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 half +drawn--another gun! Guns suddenly seemed to be flourishing everywhere. +The gun dropped from O'Neill's hand as the wrist snapped, and the +Stonewall chief let out a high-pitched cry of pain. Then another cop +came around a corner at a run. + +"You can't do it to me! I'm reformed; I'm going straight! You damned +cops can't...." O'Neill was blubbering. The small crowd that was +collecting 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 break +down in public. + +The other cop had yanked out O'Neill's wallet, and now tossed it to +Gordon. One look was enough--the work papers had the telltale +over-thickening of the signature that had showed up on other papers, +obviously forgeries. The cops had been passing them on the hope of +finding one of the leaders. + +Some turned away as Gordon and the other cop went to work, but most of +them weren't squeamish. When it was over, the two picked up their +whimpering 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 members +of the gang were around, they made no attempt to rescue him. + +Jenkins, the other cop, had been holding the wallet. Now he held it out +toward Gordon. "The gee was heeled, Corporal. Must of been making a big +contact in something. Fifty-fifty?" + +"Turn it in to Murdoch," Gordon said, and then cursed himself. There +must have been over two thousand credits in the wallet. + + * * * * * + +The captain's face had been buried in a pile of papers, but now Murdoch +came around to stare at the gang leader. He inspected the forged work +papers, and jerked his thumb toward one of the hastily built cells where +a doctor would look O'Neill over--eventually. When Gordon and Jenkins +came back, Murdoch tossed the money to them. "Split it. You guys earned +it by keeping your hands off it. Anyhow, you're as entitled to it as he +was--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 as +he picked up the papers and began going through them again. Gordon went +down the passage to the end of the hall, in the direction Murdoch had +indicated. Waiting for him was the lean, cynical little figure of Honest +Izzy, complete with uniform and sergeant's stripes. + +"Hi, gov'nor," the little man greeted him. "Long time no see. With you +out here and me busy nights doing a bit of convoy work on the side, we +might 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 the +day, and I figure my time's my own at night. Of course, if I ever catch +myself 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 up +the scratch to buy these stripes and get made sergeant--and that takes +the 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 face +turning sober. "Nope. I've been meaning to see you, so I volunteered to +run 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 the +campaign fund, so I hadda fill in. A thousand, interest at ten per cent +a week, standard. Right?" + +Gordon had heard of the friendly interest charged on the side here, but +he shook his head. "Wrong, Izzy. If they want to collect that dratted +pledge of theirs, let them put me where I can make it. There's no graft +out 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 you +sign something, you gotta pay it. You _gotta_." + +"All right," Gordon admitted. He was suddenly in no mood to quibble with +Izzy's personal code. "So you paid it. Now show me where I signed any +agreement saying I'd pay _you_ back!" + +For a second, Izzy's face went blank; then he chuckled. "Jet me! You're +right, gov'nor. I sure asked for that one. Okay; I'm bloody well +suckered, so forget it." + +Gordon shrugged and gave up. He pulled out the bills and handed them +over. "Thanks, Izzy." + +"Thanks, yourself." The kid pocketed the money cheerfully, nodding. "Buy +you a beer. Anyhow, you won't miss it. I came out to tell you I got the +sweetest beat in Marsport--over a dozen gambling joints on it--and I +need 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, but +he 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 of +their own, Izzy was undoubtedly the man to find it out, and use the +information. With a beat such as that, even going halves, and with all +the graft to the upper brackets, he'd still be able to make his pile in +a matter of months. + +But he shook his head. "I'm assigned here, Izzy, at least for another +week, until after elections...." + +"Better take him up, Gordon," Murdoch told him bitterly. The captain +looked completely beaten as he came into the room and dropped onto the +bench. "Go on, accept, damn it. You're not assigned here any more. None +of us are. Mayor Wayne found an old clause in the charter and got a +rigged decision, pulling me back under his full authority. I thought I +had full responsibility to Earth, but he's got me. Wearing their uniform +makes me a temporary citizen! So we're being smothered back into the +Force, and they'll have their patsies out here, setting things up for +the Stonewall boys to come back by election time. So grab while the +grabbing's good, because by tomorrow morning I'll have this all closed +down!" + +He shook off Gordon's hand and stood up roughly, to head back up the +hallway. Then he stopped and looked back. "One thing, though, I've still +got enough authority to make you a sergeant. It's been a pleasure +working with you, Sergeant Gordon!" + +He swung out of view abruptly, leaving Gordon with a heavy weight in his +stomach. Izzy whistled, and began picking up his helmet, preparing to go +outside. "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 he +realized that Murdoch must be sending out warnings to the citizens that +things 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 well +enjoy what life he still had while he could. The Stonewall gang--what +was left of it--and all its friends would be gunning for him now. The +Force wouldn't have been fooled when Izzy paid his pledge, and they'd +mark him down as disloyal--if they didn't automatically mark down all +who'd served under Murdoch. And he didn't have the ghost of an idea as +to 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 had +begun to feel like a cop again, but the feeling disappeared as he +reported in at Captain Isaiah Trench's Seventh Precinct. Trench had once +been a colonel in the Marines, before a court-martial and sundry +unpleasantnesses had driven him off Earth. His dark, scowling face and +lean body still bore a military air. + +He looked Bruce Gordon over sourly. "I've been reading your record. It +stinks. Making trouble for Jurgens--could have been charged as false +arrest. No co-operation with your captain until he forced it; out in the +sticks beating up helpless men. Now you come crawling back to your only +friend, Isaacs. Well, I'll give it a try. But step out of line and I'll +have 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 what +had happened to Murdoch's recommendation. He joined Izzy in the locker +room, summing up the situation. + +"Yeah." Izzy looked worried, his thin face pinched in. "Maybe I didn't +do you a favor, gov'nor, pulling you here. I dunno. I got some pics of +Trench from a guy I know. That's how I got my beat so fast in the +Seventh. 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 had +first 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 as +rooming houses, though they made no bones about the fact that all their +permanent inhabitants were female. Then the beat swung off, past a row +of small businesses and genuine rooming houses, before turning back to +the 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 promote +good police service before it became a racket. But they were met +everywhere by sullen faces. Izzy explained it. The city had passed a new +poll tax--to pay for election booths, supposedly--and had made the +police collect it. Murdoch must have disregarded the order, but the rest +of the force had been busy helping the administration. + +But once they hit the main stem, things were mere routine. The gambling +joints took it for granted that beat cops had to be paid, and considered +it 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 too +welcome there. + +There was no sign of the thug, but Fats came out of his back office just +as Gordon reached the little bar. He came over, nodded, picked up a cup +and dice and began shaking them. + +"High man for sixty," he said automatically, and expertly rolled +bull's-eyes for a two. "Izzy said you'd be around. Sorry my man drew +that _knife_ on you the last time, Corporal." + +Gordon rolled an eight, pocketed the bills, and shrugged. "Accidents +will 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, you +should 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 an +alley. But the muggers had apparently given up before Izzy and Gordon +arrived, since the man had his wallet clutched in his hand. Gordon +reached for it, twisting his lips. + +Izzy stopped him. "It ain't honest, gov'nor. If the gees in the wagon +clean him, or the desk man gets it, that's their business. But I'm going +to run a straight beat, or else!" + +That was followed by a call to remove a berserk spaceman from one of the +so-called rooming houses. Gordon noticed that workmen were busy setting +up a heavy wooden gate in front of the entrance to the place. There were +a lot of such preparations going on for the forthcoming elections. + +Then the shift was over. But Gordon wasn't too surprised when his relief +showed up two hours late; he'd half-expected some such nastiness from +Trench. But he was surprised at the look on his tardy relief's face. + +The man seemed to avoid facing him, muttered, "Captain says report in +person at once," and swung out of the scooter and onto his beat without +further words. + +Gordon was met there by blank faces and averted looks, but someone +nodded toward Trench's office, and he went inside. Trench sat chewing on +a cigar. "Gordon, what does Security want with you?" + +"Security? Not a damned thing, if I can help it. They kicked me off +Earth 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, his +face 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, it +should show up. That's all!" + +Bruce Gordon went out, holding the envelope. The warning in Trench's +voice wasn't for any omission on his record, he knew. He shoved the +envelope into his belt pocket and waited until he was in his own room +before 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 in +itself. The damned, stupid, blundering fools! That was all Trench and +the police gang had to see; it was obvious that the letter had been +opened. Sure, report at once. Drop a letter in the mailbox, and the next +morning it would be turned over to Commissioner Arliss' office. Report +or be kicked off to a planet that Security felt enough worse than Mars +to use as punishment! Report _and_ find Mars a worse place than Mercury +could 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 anything +wrong with the system here. Security might think it was enough for the +moment, and the local men might possibly decide it a mere required +formality. At least it would stall things off for a while.... + +But Gordon knew now that he could never hope to get back to Earth +legally. That vague promise by Security was so much hogwash; yet it was +surprising how much he had counted on it. + +He tore the envelope from Security into tiny shreds, too small for +Mother Corey to make sense of, and went out to mail the letter, feeling +the few bills in his pocket. As usual, less than a hundred credits. + +He passed a sound truck blatting out a campaign speech by candidate +Nolan, 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 them +as Rafters--men from the biggest of the gangs supporting Wayne. The few +citizens on the street who drifted toward the truck took a good look at +them and moved on hastily. + +It seemed incredible that Wayne could be re-elected, though, even with +the power of the gangs. Nolan was probably a grafter, too; but he'd at +least be a change, and certainly the citizens were aching for that. + +The next day his relief was later. Gordon waited, trying to swallow +their petty punishments, but it went against the grain. Finally, he +began making the rounds, acting as his own night man. The owners of the +joints didn't care whether they paid the second daily dole to the same +man or another, but they wouldn't pay it again that same night. He'd +managed to tap most of the places before his relief showed. He made no +comment, but dutifully filled out the proper portion of both takes for +the Voluntary Donation box. It wouldn't do his record any good with +Trench, but it should put an end to the overtime. + +Trench, however, had other ideas. The overtime continued, but it was +dull after that--which made it even more tiring. But the time he took a +special release out to the spaceport was the worst. Seeing the big ship +readying for take-off back to Earth.... + +Then it was the day before election. The street was already bristling +with barricades around the entrances, and everything ran with a last +desperate restlessness, as if there would be no tomorrow. The operators +all swore that Wayne would be elected, but seemed to fear a miracle. On +the poorer section of the beat, there was a spiritless hope that Nolan +might come in with his reform program. Men who would normally have been +punctilious about their payments were avoiding Bruce Gordon, if in hope +that, by putting it off a day or so, they could run into a period where +no such payment would ever be asked--or a smaller one, at least. And he +was too tired to chase them down. His collections had been falling off +already, and he knew that he'd be on the carpet for that, if he didn't +do better. It was a rich territory, and required careful mining; even as +the week had gone, he still had more money in his wallet than he had +expected. + +But there had to be still more before night. + +He was lucky; he came on a pusher working one of the better houses--long +after his collections should have been over. He knew by the man's face +that 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 the +enforced part of Mars' laws was apparently honest, in his eyes. He +nodded, 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 have +some of that for myself!" + +Gordon grimaced. He couldn't work up any great sympathy for anyone who +made a living out of drugs. + +They cleaned the pusher, and left him sitting on the steps, a picture of +slumped misery. Izzy nodded approval. "Let him feel it a while. No sense +jailing him yet. Bloody fool had no business starting without lining the +groove. Anyhow, we'll get a bunch of credits for the stuff when we turn +it in." + +"Credits?" Gordon asked. + +"Sure." Izzy patted the little package. "We get a quarter value. Captain +probably gets fifty per cent from one of the pushers who's lined with +him. 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 to +find how much it had been cut. He issued them slips, which they added as +part of the contributions. "Good work--you, too, Gordon. Best week in +the territory for a couple of months. I guess the citizens like you, the +way they treat you." He laughed at his stale joke, and Gordon was +willing to laugh with him. The credit on the dope had paid for most of +the contributions. For once, he had money to show for the week. + +Then Trench motioned Bruce Gordon forward, and dismissed Izzy with a nod +of his head. "Something to discuss, Gordon. Isaacs, we're holding a +little 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 good +men, but.... Oh, bother the soft soap. We're still short on election +funds, so there's a raffle. The two men holding winning tickets get +bucked up to sergeants. A hundred credits a ticket. How many?" + +He frowned suddenly as Gordon counted out three bills. "You have a +better 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 was +another 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 the +meeting? Isaacs can brief you, later. Go out and get drunk, or +something." + +The comparative friendliness of the peace offering was probably the +ultimate in graciousness from Trench. Idly, Gordon wondered what kind of +pressures the captains were under; it must be pretty stiff, judging by +the relief the man was showing at making quota. + +"Thanks," he said, but his voice was bitter in his ears. "I'll go home +and rest. Drinking costs too much for what I make. It's a good thing you +don't have income tax here." + +"We do," Trench said flatly; "forty per cent. Better make out a form +next week, and start paying it regularly. But you can deduct your +contributions 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 sounds +first. Under the huge dome that enclosed the main part of the city, the +heavier air pressure permitted normal travel of sound; and he'd become +sensitive to the voice of the city after the relative quiet of the +Nineteenth Precinct. But now the normal noise was different. There was +an undertone of hushed waiting, with the sharp bursts of hammering and +last-minute work standing out sharply through it. Voting booths were +being finished here and there, and at one a small truck was delivering +ballots. Voting by machine had never been established here. Wherever the +booths were being thrown up, the nearby establishments were rushing +gates and barricades in front of the buildings. + +Most of the shops were already closed--even some of the saloons. To make +up for it, stands were being placed along the streets, carrying banners +that proclaimed free beer for all loyal administration friends. The few +bars that were still open had been blessed with the sign of some mob, +and obviously were well staffed with hoodlums ready to protect the +proprietor. Private houses were boarded up. The scattering of +last-minute shoppers along the streets showed that most of the citizens +were laying in supplies to last until after election. + +Gordon passed the First Marsport Bank and saw that it was surrounded by +barbed wires, with other strands still being strung, and with a sign +proclaiming that there was high voltage in the wires. Watching the +operation was Jurgens; it was obvious that his hoodlums had been hired +for the job. + +Toward the edge of the dome, where Mother Corey's place was, the +narrower streets were filling with the gangs, already half-drunk and +marching about with their banners and printed signs. Curiously enough, +all the gangs weren't working for Wayne's re-election. The big Star +Point gang had apparently grown tired of the increasing cost of +protection from the government, and was actively campaigning for Nolan. +Their home territory reached nearly to Mother Corey's, before it ran +into 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 plant +and through the yard where their trucks were parked. He had half +expected to find it barricaded, but apparently the rumors that Nick the +Croop owned it were true; it would be protected in other ways, with the +trucks used for street fighting, if needed. He threaded his way between +two of the trucks. + +Then a yell reached his ears, and something swished at him. An egg-sized +rock hit the truck behind him and bounced back, just as he spotted a +hoodlum drawing back a sling for a second shot. + +Gordon was on his knees between heartbeats, darting under one of the +trucks. He rolled to his feet, letting out a yell of his own, and +plunged forward. His fist hit the thug in the elbow, just as the man's +hand reached for his knife. His other hand chopped around, and the edge +of his palm connected with the other's nose. Cartilage crunched, and a +shrill cry of agony lanced out. + +But the hoodlum wasn't alone. Another came out from the rear of one of +the trucks. Gordon ducked as a knife sailed for his head; they were +stupid enough not to aim for his stomach, at least. He bent down to +locate some of the rubble on the ground, cursing his folly in carrying +his knife under his uniform. The new beat had given him a false sense of +security. + +He found a couple of rocks and a bottle and let them fly, then bent for +more. + +Something landed on his back, and fingernails were gouging into his +face, searching for his eyes! + +Instinct carried him forward, jerking down sharply and twisting. The +figure on his back sailed over his head, to land with a harsh thump on +the ground. Brassy yellow hair spilled over a girl's face, and her +breath slammed out of her throat as she hit. But the fall hadn't been +enough to do serious damage. + +Bruce Gordon jumped forward, bringing his foot up in a savage swing, but +she'd rolled, and the blow only glanced against her ribs. She jerked her +hand down for a knife, and came to her knees, her lips drawn back +against her teeth. "Get him!" she yelled. Then he recognized her--Sheila +Corey. + +The two thugs had held back, but now they began edging in. Gordon +slipped back behind another truck, listening for the sound of their +feet. He'd half-expected another encounter with the Mother's +granddaughter. + +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 apparently +paying no attention to him. But now she jerked to her feet, her hand +going back and forward. + +It was a six-inch section of pipe, with a thin wisp of smoke, and the +throw was toward Gordon's feet. The hoodlums yelled, and ducked, while +Sheila 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. He +spat savagely into his hand, and jumped for the bomb. If the fuse was +powder-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 her +helpers, and swung them with her. The three came back, Sheila in the +lead with her knife flashing. + +Gordon side-stepped her rush, and met the other two head-on, his knife +swinging back. His foot hit some of the rubble on the ground at the last +second, and he skidded. The leading mobster saw the chance and jumped +for him. Gordon bent his head sharply, and dropped, falling onto his +shoulders and somersaulting over. He twisted at the last second, jerking +his arms down to come up facing the other. + +Then a new voice cut into the fracas, and there was the sound of +something landing against a skull with a hollow thud. Gordon got his +head up just in time to see a man in police uniform kick aside the first +hoodlum and lunge for the other. There was a confused flurry; then the +second went up into the air and came down in the newcomer's hands, to +land with a sickening jar and lie still. Behind, Sheila Corey lay +crumpled in a heap, clutching one wrist in the other hand and crying +silently. + +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 the +street, she could lose herself in the swarm of Nick's Croopsters; Gordon +turned back. + +The iron-gray hair caught his eyes first. Then, as the solidly built +figure turned, he grunted. It was Captain Murdoch--now dressed in the +uniform of a regular beat cop, without even a corporal's stripes. And +the 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 one +and slammed the door shut, locking it with the metal bar which had +apparently been his weapon. Then he grinned wryly, and came back toward +Gordon. + +"You seem to have friends here," he commented. "A good thing I was +trying to catch up with you. Just missed you at the Precinct House, came +after you, and saw you turn in here. Then I heard the rumpus. A good +thing 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 sewed +up, and they're throwing the book at me. The old laws make me a citizen +while I wear the uniform--and a citizen can't quit the Force. That puts +me out of Earth's jurisdiction. I can't even cable for funds, and I +guess I'm too old to start squeezing money out of citizens. I was coming +to ask whether you had room in your diggings for a guest--and I'm hoping +now that my part here cinches it." + +Murdoch had tried to treat it lightly, but Gordon saw the red creeping +up into the man's face. "Forget that part. There's room enough for two +in my place--and I guess Mother Corey won't mind. I'm damned glad you +were 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 back +to 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 been +going out nights to help the citizens organize against the Stonewall +gang. But that's over now--they gave me hell for inciting vigilante +action, and confined me inside the dome. The way they hate a decent cop +here, you'd think honesty was contagious." + +"Yeah." Gordon preferred to let it drop. Murdoch was being given the +business for going too far on the Stonewall gang, not for refusing to +take 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 of +efforts to protect it against the coming night and day. The entrance was +unprotected. Then his eyes caught the bright chalk marks around +it--notices to the gangs to keep hands off. Mother Corey evidently had +pull 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 clump +watching the beginning excitement. Then, as they identified Gordon, they +moved back again. Some of the Mother's old lodgers from the ruin outside +the dome were inside now--obviously posted where it would do the most +good. + +Corey stuck his head out of the door at the back of the hall as Gordon +entered, and started to retire again--until he spotted Murdoch. Gordon +explained the situation hastily. + +"It's your room, cobber," the old man wheezed. He waddled back, to come +out with a towel and key, which he handed to Murdoch. "Number +forty-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 the +spaceport, 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 of +the neighborhood. He still called me 'sir,' when my boy was walking +across 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 wheezing +heavily. Gordon chuckled. "Well, how--?" + +Something banged heavily against the entrance seal, and there was the +sound of a hot argument, followed by a commotion of some sort. Corey +seemed to prick up his ears, and began to waddle rapidly toward the +entrance. + +It broke open before he could reach it, the seal snapping back to show a +giant of a man outside holding the two guards from across the street, +while a scar-faced, dark man shoved through briskly. Corey snapped out a +quick word, and the two guards ceased struggling and started back across +the street. The giant pushed in after the smaller thug. + +"I'm from the Ajax Householders Protection Group," the dark man +announced 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 entirely +missing from his voice now, though his face seemed as expressionless as +ever. "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 he +shrugged. "Okay, Fatty. So Jurgens is behind it. So now you know. And +I'm doubling your assessment, right now. To you, it's--" + +A heavy hand fell on the man's shoulder, and Mother Corey leaned forward +slightly. Even in Mars' gravity, his bulk made the other buckle at the +knees. The hand that had been reaching for the knife yanked the weapon +out and brought it up sharply. + +Gordon started to step in, then, but there was no time. Mother Corey's +free hand came around in an open-palmed slap that lifted the collector +up from the floor and sent him reeling back against a wall. The knife +fell from the crook's hand, and the dark face turned pale. He sagged +down the wall, limply. + +The giant opened his mouth, and took half a step forward; but the only +sound he made was a choking gobble. Mother Corey moved without seeming +haste, but before the other could make up his mind. There was a series +of motions that seemed to have no pattern. The giant was spun around, +somehow; one arm was jerked back behind him, then the other was forced +up to it. Mother Corey held the wrists in one hand, put his other under +the giant's crotch, and lifted. Carrying the big figure off the floor, +the old man moved toward the seal. His foot found the button, snapping +the entrance open. He pitched the giant out overhanded; holding the +entrance, he reached for the dark man with one hand and tossed him on +top of the giant. + +"To me, it's nothing," he called out. "Take these two back to young +Jurgens, boys, and tell him to keep his punks out of my house." + +The entrance snapped shut then, and Corey turned back to Gordon, wiping +the 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 I +was going to say, cobber," he said, "we've got a little social game +going upstairs--the room with the window. Fine view of the parades. We +need a fourth." + +Gordon started to protest that he was tired and needed his sleep; then +he shrugged. Corey's house was one of the few that had kept some +relation to Earth styles by installing a couple of windows in the second +story, and it would give a perfect view of the street. He followed the +old man up the stairs. + + * * * * * + +Two other men were already in the surprisingly well-furnished room, at +the little table set up near the window. Bruce Gordon recognized one as +Randolph, the publisher of the little opposition paper. The man's pale +blondness, weak eyes, and generally rabbity expression totally belied +the courage that had permitted him to keep going at his hopeless task of +trying to clean up Marsport. The _Crusader_ was strictly a one-man +weekly, against Mayor Wayne's _Chronicle_, with its Earth-comics and +daily circulation of over a hundred thousand. Wayne apparently let the +paper stay in business to give himself a talking point about fair play; +but Randolph walked with a limp from the last working over he had +received. + +"Hi, Gordon," he said. His thin, high voice was cool and reserved, in +keeping with the opinion he had expressed publicly of the police as a +body. But he did not protest Corey's selection of a partner. "This is Ed +Praeger. He's an engineer on our railroad." + +Gordon acknowledged the introduction automatically. He'd almost +forgotten 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 really +is a surrounding countryside," he said. + +Praeger nodded. He was a big, open-faced man, just turning bald. His +handshake was firm and friendly. "There are even cities out there, +Gordon. Nothing like Marsport, but that's no loss. That's where the real +population of Mars is--decent people, men who are going to turn this +into a real planet some day." + +"There are plenty like that here, too," Randolph said. He picked up the +cards. "First ace deals. Damn it, Mother, sit down-wind from me, won't +you? 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," he +said, and there was only amusement in his voice. "I got me in fifty +gallons of water today, and tomorrow I do just that. Made up my mind +there was going to be a cleanup in Marsport, even if Wayne does win. And +stop examining the cards, Bruce. I don't cheat my friends. The readers +are 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 at +least nine honest men to support a crook. They come up here to start +over--maybe spent half their life saving up for the trip. They hear a +man can make fifty credits a day in the factories, or strike it rich +crop prospecting. What they don't realize is that things cost ten times +as much here, too. They plan, maybe, on getting rich and going back to +Earth...." + +"Nobody goes back," Mother Corey wheezed. "_I_ know." His eyes rested on +Gordon. + +"A lot don't want to," Praeger said. "I never meant to go back. I've got +me a farm up north. Another ten years, and I retire to it. My kids are +up there now--grandkids, that is. They're Martians; maybe you won't +believe me, but they can breathe the air here without a helmet." + +The others nodded. Gordon had learned that a fair number of +third-generation people got that way. Their chests were only a trifle +larger, and their heartbeat only a few points higher; it was an internal +adaptation, like the one that had occurred in test animals reared at a +simulated forty-thousand-feet altitude on Earth, before Mars was ever +settled. + +"They'll take the planet away from Earth yet," Randolph agreed. +"Marsport is strictly artificial. It's kept going only because it's the +only place where Earth will set down her ships. If Security doesn't do +anything, time will." + +"Security!" Gordon muttered bitterly. Security was good at getting +people in trouble, but he had seen no other sign of it. + +Randolph frowned over his cards. "Yeah, I know. The government set them +up, gave them a mixture of powers, and has been trying to keep them from +working ever since. But somehow they did clean up Venus; and every crook +here is scared to death of the name. How come a muckraking newspaperman +like you never turned up anything on them, Gordon?" + +Gordon shrugged. It was the first reference he'd heard to his +background, and he preferred to let it drop. + +But Mother Corey cut in, his voice older and hoarser, and the skin on +his jowls even grayer than usual. "Don't sell them short, cobber. I +did--once.... You forget them, here, after a while. But they're +around...." + +Bruce Gordon felt something run down his armpit, and a chill creep up +his back.... + +Out on the street, a sudden whooping began, and he glanced down. The +parade was on, the Croopsters in full swing, already mostly drunk. The +main body went down the street, waving fluorescent signs, while +side-guards preceded them, armed with axes, knocking aside the flimsier +barricades as they went. He watched a group break into a small grocery +store to come out with bundles. They dragged out the storekeeper, his +wife, and young daughter, and pressed them into the middle of the +parade. + +"If Security's so damned powerful, why doesn't it stop that?" he asked +bitterly. + +Randolph grinned at him. "They might do it, Gordon. They just might. But +are 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 behind +the main one. There were a fair number of plain citizens who had been +impressed into it, too, judging by the appearance of little frightened +groups in the middle of the mobsters. + +Gordon couldn't understand why the police hadn't at least been kept on +duty, until Honest Izzy came into the room. The little man found a chair +and bought chips silently; he looked tired. + +"Vacation?" Mother Corey asked. + +Izzy nodded. "Trench took forever giving it to us, Mother. But it's the +same 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 wear +civvies when we go out to vote for Wayne." + +Gordon looked down at the rioters, who were now only keeping up a +pretense of a parade. It would be worse tomorrow, he supposed; and there +would be no cops. The image of the old woman and her husband in the +little liquor store where he'd had his first experience came back to +him. He wondered how well barricaded they were. + +He felt the curious eyes of Mother Corey dancing from him to Izzy and +back, and heard the old man's chuckle. "Put a uniform on some men and +they begin to believe they're cops, eh, cobber?" + +He shoved up from the table abruptly and headed for his room, swearing +to himself. + + + + +Chapter VIII + +VOTE EARLY AND OFTEN + + +Izzy was up first the next morning, urging them to hurry before things +began to hum. From somewhere, he dug up a suit of clothes that Murdoch +could wear. He found the gun that Gordon had confiscated from O'Neill +and filled it from a box of ammunition he'd apparently purchased. + +"I picked up some special permits," he said. "I knew you had this +cannon, gov'nor, and I figured it'd come in handy. Wouldn't be caught +dead with one myself. Knives, that's my specialty. Come on, Cap'n, we +gotta 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 the +honor system fixed for us. Show your papers and go into any booth in +your 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 to +observe, but I wouldn't make any choice between Wayne and Nolan." + +Downstairs, the rear room was locked, with one of Mother Corey's guards +at the door. From inside came the rare sound of water splashing, mixed +with a wheezing, off-key caterwauling. Mother Corey was apparently +making good on his promise to take a bath. As they reached the hall, one +of Trench's lieutenants came through the entrance, waving his badge at +the 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. Bruce +Gordon looked at the debacle left behind the drunken, looting mob. Most +of the barricades were down. Here and there, a few citizens were rushing +about trying to restore them, keeping wary eyes on the mobsters who had +passed 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 top +speed. But now the quietness had been broken. There were trucks coming +out of the plastics plant, and mobsters were gathering up their drunks, +and chasing the citizens back into their houses. Some of them were +wearing the forbidden guns, but it wouldn't matter on a day when no +police were on duty. + +In the Ninth Precinct, the Planters were the biggest gang, and all the +others were temporarily enrolled under them. Here, there were less signs +of trouble. The joints had been better barricaded, and the looting had +been 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 out +of--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 moving +efficiently. They were grouped around the booths, and they had begun to +line up their men, putting them in position to begin voting at once. + +Then the siren hooted again, a long, steady blast. The bunting in front +of the booths was pulled off, and the lines began to move. Izzy led the +way to the one at the rich end of their beat, and moved toward the head +of the line. "Cops," he said to the six mobsters who surrounded the +booth. "We got territory to cover." + +A thumb indicated that they could go in. Murdoch remained outside, and +one of the thugs reached for him. Izzy cut him off. "Just a friend on +the way to his own route. Eleventh Precinct." + +There were scowls, but they let it go. Then Gordon was in the little +booth. It seemed to be in order. There were the books of registration, +with a checker for Wayne, one for Nolan, and a third, supposedly +neutral, behind the plank that served as a desk. The Nolan man was +protesting. + +"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," the +Wayne 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's +registered, so he votes." + +The next man Gordon recognized as being from one of the small shops on +his beat. The fellow's eyes were desperate, but he was forcing himself +to go through with it. "Murtagh," he said, and his voice broke on the +second 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 Nolan +checker's finger toward the line in the book. "When a man can't get the +name 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 the +surprise in his eyes indicated that this was all new to him. + +Bruce Gordon came next, showing his badge. He was passed with a nod, and +headed for the little closed-off polling place. But the Wayne man +touched his arm and indicated a ballot. There were two piles, and this +pile was already filled out for Wayne. "Saves trouble, unless you want +to do it yourself," he suggested. + +Gordon shrugged, and shoved it into the slot. He went outside and waited +for Izzy to follow. It was raw beyond anything he'd expected--but at +least it saved any doubt about the votes. + +The procedure was the same at the next booth, though they had more +trouble. The Nolan man there was a fool--neither green nor agreeable. He +protested 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 unanimous +vote, at that rate. Izzy shook his head. "Wayne'll win, but not that +easy. The sticks don't have strong mobs, and they'll pile up a heavy +Nolan 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 careening +around a corner. Men began piling out of the back before it stopped--men +armed with clubs and stones. They were in the middle of the Planters at +once, striking without science, but with ferocity. The line waiting to +vote broke up, but the citizens had apparently organized with care. A +good 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, the +citizens broke; then a wave of fury seemed to wash over them at the +needless risk to the safety of all. The horror of rupturing the dome was +strongly ingrained in every citizen of Marsport. They drew back, then +made a concerted rush. There was a trample of bodies, but no more shots. + +In a minute, the citizens' group was inside, ripping the fixed ballots +to shreds, filling out and dropping their own. They ignored the +registration clerks. + +A whistle had been shrilling for minutes. Now another group came onto +the scene, and the Planters' men began getting out rapidly. Some of the +citizens looked up and yelled, but it was too late. From the approaching +cars, pipes projected forward. Streams of liquid jetted out, and their +agonized cries followed. + +Even where he stood, Gordon could smell the fumes of ammonia. Izzy's +face 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 out +the booth, driving the last struggling citizens away, and getting ready +for business as usual. + +Murdoch turned on his heel. "I've had enough. I've made up my mind," he +said. "The cable offices must be open for the doctored reports on the +election to Earth. Where's the nearest?" + +Izzy frowned, but supplied the information. Bruce Gordon pulled Murdoch +aside. "Come off the head-cop role; it won't work. They must have had +reports 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, before +worse happens. I've still got connections back there--" + +"Okay," Gordon said bitterly. He'd liked Asa Murdoch, had begun to +respect him. It hurt to see that what he'd considered hardheadedness was +just another case of a fool fighting dragons with a paper sword. + +"Okay, it's your death certificate," he said, and turned back toward +Izzy. "Go send your sob stories, Murdoch." + +They taught a bunch of pretty maxims in school--even slum kids learned +that honesty was the best policy, while their honest parents rotted in +unheated holes, and the racketeers rode around in fancy cars. It had got +him once. He'd refused to take a dive as a boxer; he'd tried to play +honest cards; he'd tried honesty on his beat back on Earth. He'd tried +to 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 to +vote. They been paying me off--and that's a retainer, you might say. Now +this gang tries to poison them. I'm still running an honest beat, and I +bloody well can't vote for that! Uniform or no uniform, I'm walking beat +today. And the first gee that gives trouble to the men who pay me gets a +knife 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 little +man. Then he grimaced. Rule books! Even Izzy had one. + +He went down the row, voting regularly. The Planters had things in +order. The mess had already been cleaned up when he arrived at the +cheaper end of the beat. It was the last place where he'd be expected to +do 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 only +two places in front of him. "Mrs. Mary Edelstein," she was saying. The +Wayne man nodded, and there was no protest. She picked up a Wayne +ballot, 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 the +back of his neck prickled. + +He started out of the crowd, trying to act normal, but glancing down to +make sure the gun was in its proper position. Satisfied, he wheeled +suddenly 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 those +standing near. The eyes had centered on the alleys along the street, and +men were beginning to run wildly, while others were jerking out their +weapons. He saw a big gray car coming up the street; on its side was +painted the colors of the Planters. Now it swerved, hitting a siren +button. + +But it was too late. Trucks shot out of the little alleys, jamming +forward through the people; there must have been fifty of them. One hit +the big gray car, tossing it aside. It was Trench himself who leaped +out, together with the driver. The trucks paid no attention, but bore +down 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 others +had tried that, but most were darting back as they saw the colors of +Nolan's Star Point gang on the trucks. + +Other guns began firing; men were leaping from the trucks and pouring +into the mob of Planters, forcing their way toward the booth in the +center of the mess. + +It was a beautifully timed surprise attack, and a well-armed one, even +though guns were supposed to be so rare here. Gordon stumbled into +someone ahead of him, and saw it was Trench. He looked up, and straight +into the swinging muzzle of the machine gun that had started the +commotion. + +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, and +pulled the trigger. The man behind the machine gun dropped. + +Trench had his gun out now, and was firing, after a single surprised +glance at Gordon. He waved back toward the crowd. + +But Gordon had spotted the open trunk of the gray car. He shook his head +and tried to indicate it. Trench jerked his thumb and leaped to his +feet, 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 luggage +compartment, 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 cold +went away, to be replaced by shock. Between his spread knees lay +Murdoch, bound and gagged, his face a bloody mess. + +Gordon reached for the gag, but the other held up his hands and pointed +to the gun. It made sense. The knots were tight, but Gordon managed to +get his knife under the rope around Murdoch's wrists and slice through +it. The older man's hands went out for the gun; his eyes swung toward +the street, while Gordon attacked the rope around his ankles. + +The Star Point men were winning, though it was tough going. They had +fought their way almost to the booth, but there a V of Planters' cars +had been gotten into position somehow, and gunfire was coming from +behind 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 view +again, waving a rag over his head and yelling. Captain Trench followed +him out, and began pointing toward the gray car. + +"They want me," Murdoch gasped thickly. "Get out, Gordon, before they +gang up on us!" + +Gordon jerked his eyes back toward the alley on the other side. It went +at an angle and would offer some protection. + +He looked back, just as bullets began to land against the metal of the +car. Murdoch held up one finger and put himself into a position to make +a run for it. Then he brought the finger down sharply, and the two +leaped 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 five +heart-ripping leaps and was around the bend. Then he swung, just as +Murdoch made it. Bullets spatted against the walls, and he saw blood +pumping from under Murdoch's right shoulder. + +"Keep going!" Murdoch ordered. + +A fresh cry from the street cut into his order, however. Gordon risked a +quick look, then stepped farther out to make sure. + +The surprise raid by the Star Pointers hadn't been quite as much of a +surprise as expected. Coming down the street, with no regard for men +trying to get out of their way, the trucks of the Croopsters were +battering aside the few who could not reach safety. There were no +machine guns this time. + +They smacked into the tangle of Star Point trucks, and came to a +grinding halt, men piling out ready for battle. Gordon nodded. In a few +minutes, Wayne's supporters would have the booth again; there'd be a +delay before any organized search could be made for the fugitives. He +looked 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 can +talk--and be damned to this. Gordon, I've got to talk--but I don't have +to live. I mean that!" + +Gordon started off, disregarding the words; a place of safety had to +come first. He picked his way down alleys and small streets. The older +man 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'd +missed the way, until he saw the drugstore. Now it all fell into +place--the first beat he'd had with Izzy. + +He ducked down back alleys until he reached the right section. He +scanned the street, jumped to the door of the little liquor store and +began banging on it. There was no answer, though he was sure the old +couple 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 identify +himself; he could only hope she would look. + +The entrance seal opened briefly; then it flashed open all the way. He +motioned 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 the +seal. Then she brushed the thin hair off her face, and pointed. Gordon +followed her up the stairs, carrying Murdoch on his back. She opened a +door, passed through a tiny kitchen, and threw open another door to a +bedroom. + +The old man lay on the bed, and this time there was no question of +concussion. 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 own +hands, 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 floor +with a strength that seemed impossible. Then her hands were gentle as +she helped lower Murdoch where the corpse had been. "I'll get alcohol +from below--and bandages and hot water." + +Asa Murdoch opened his eyes, breathing stertoriously. His face was +blanched, his clothes a mess. But he protested as Gordon tried to strip +them. "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 about +Security. Well, I'm Security. Top level--policy for Mars. We never got a +top man here without his being discovered and killed--That's why we've +had to work under all the cover--and against our own government. Nobody +knew I was here--Trench was our man--Sold us out! We've got junior +men--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 it +somewhere. That's why we rate you higher than you think you are. That's +why 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 nobody +came, nobody called...." + +She went back to trying to bandage the bleeding bluish hole in his +chest. Murdoch nodded faintly. + +"Probably what happened to a lot--men like Trench, supposed to build an +organization, just leaving the loose ends hanging." He groaned; sweat +popped out on his forehead, but his eyes never left Gordon's. "Hell's +going to pop. The government's just waiting to step in; Earth _wants_ to +take over." + +"It should," Gordon said. + +"No! We've studied these things. Mars won't give up--and Earth wants a +plum, not responsibility. You'll have civil war and the whole planetary +development ruined. Security's the only hope, Gordon--the only chance +Mars had, has, or will have! Believe me, I know. Security has to be +notified. There's a code message I had ready--a message to a +friend--even you can send it. And they'll be watching. I've got the +basic plans in the book here." + +He slumped back. Gordon frowned, then found the book and pulled it out +as gently as he could. It was a small black memo book, covered with +pages of shorthand. The back was an address book, filled with +names--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 plans +there. You'll need the brains and knowledge of the others--but they +can't act. You can--we know about you." + +The old woman sighed. She put down the hot water and picked up the +bottle of brandy, starting down the stairs. + +"Gordon!" Murdoch said faintly. + +He turned to put his head down. From the stairs, a sudden cry and thump +sounded, and something hit the floor. Gordon jumped toward the sound, to +find the old lady bending over the inert figure of Sheila Corey. + +"I heard someone," the woman said. She stared at the brandy bottle +sickly. "_Gott in Himmel_, look at me. Am I a killer, too, that I should +strike a young and beautiful girl. She comes into my house, and I sneak +behind her ... It is an evil time, young man. Here, you carry her +inside. 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 was +no way of knowing how much she'd heard, or whether she'd tipped others +off. He dropped her near the bed, and went over to Murdoch. The man was +dying now. + +"So Security wants me to contact the others in the book and organize +things?" + +"Yes." Murdoch swallowed. "Not a good chance, then--but a chance. Still +time--I think. Gordon?" + +"What else can I do?" Bruce Gordon asked. + +He knew it was no answer, but Asa Murdoch apparently accepted it as a +promise. The gray-speckled head relaxed and rolled sideways on the +bloody 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 from +the floor with a single push of her arm. She pivoted on her heel, hit +the door, and her heels were clattering on the stairs. Before Gordon +could reach the entrance, she was whipping around into an alley. + +He watched her go, sick inside, and the last he saw was the hand she +held 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 failed +Pappa; I failed the poor man who died--and now I have failed you. It is +better..." + +He caught her as she fell toward him. She relaxed after a second. +"Upstairs, please," she whispered, "beside Pappa. There was nothing +else. And these Martian poisons--they are so sure, they don't hurt. Five +minutes more, I think. Stay with me, I'll tell you how Pappa and I got +married. 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 floor +onto the bed where he had first seen the old man. He moved Murdoch's +body aside, and covered the two gently. Finally, he went down the +stairs, 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 old +couple. + +He stopped finally ten blocks of narrow alleys away, and put Murdoch +down. + +Now he had no witnesses, except Sheila Corey. He had no book, no clues +as to whom to see and what to do. + +He heard the sound of a mobile amplifier, and strained his ears toward +it. He got enough to know that Wayne had won a thumping victory, better +than 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 only +boarded-up and darkened buildings. There were sounds of stirring, but no +one was trusting that the election-day brawls were completely ended yet. + +Gordon hesitated, then swung glumly toward a corner where he could find +a police call box. He heard a tiny patrol car turn the corner and ducked +back into another alley to wait for it to go by. But they weren't +looking for him. Their spotlight caught a running boy, clutching a few +thin copies of the _Crusader_ under a scrawny arm. + +After the cops had dumped the unconscious kid into the back of the small +squad car, and gone looking for more game, Gordon went over to look at +the tattered scraps left of the opposition paper. + +Randolph wasn't preaching this time, but was content to report the facts +he'd seen. There had been at least ninety known killings; mobs had +fought citizens outside the main market for three hours. + +Yet in spite of all the ballot-stuffing and intimidations, Wayne had +barely squeaked through, by a four per cent majority. It was obvious +that 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 of +hasty switching. In less than fifteen seconds, Trench's voice barked out +of the phone. "Gordon? Where the hell you been?" + +"Up an alley between McCutcheon and Miles," Gordon told him. "With a +corpse. Murdoch's corpse. Better send out the wagon." + +Trench hesitated only a fraction of a second. "Okay, _I'll_ be out in +ten minutes." + +Gordon clumped back to the alley and bent for a final inspection of +Murdoch's body, to make sure nothing would prove the flaws in his weakly +built story. + +Isaiah Trench was better than his word. He swung his gray car up to the +alley in seven minutes. + +The door slammed behind him, a beam snapped out from his flashlight into +the alley, and then he was beside Murdoch's body. He threw the light to +Gordon and stooped to run expert hands over the corpse and through the +pockets. + +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 he +was--" + +"Security?" Gordon filled in. "Yeah. Claimed he was head of it here, and +wanted 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 ... By +the way, thanks for killing that sniper. You're a good shot. I'd be dead +if you weren't, I guess." + +Gordon made no comment, and Trench said, "I could start a nasty +investigation, I guess. But I heard him raving, too. Give me a hand, and +I'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 to +relax while Trench drove along the rubble-piled and nearly deserted +streets. Gordon heard a sigh from beside him; Trench must have been +under 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 the +way. I forgot to tell you, but you won the lottery. You're a sergeant +from now on." + + * * * * * + +Inside, a thick effluvium hit his nose, and Gordon turned to see Mother +Corey's huge bulk waddling down the hall. The old man nodded. "We +thought you'd gone on the lam, cobber. But I guess, since Trench brought +you back, you've cooled. Good, good. As a respectable man now, I +couldn't have stashed you from the cops--though I might have been +tempted--mighty tempted." His face was melancholy. "Tell me, lad, did +they get Murdoch?" + +Bruce Gordon nodded, and the old man sighed. Something suspiciously like +a 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 the +tub. Fifty gallons of water, all wasted!" + +He turned back toward the end of the hall, sighing again. Gordon went up +the stairs, noticing that Izzy's door was open. The little man was +stretched out on the bunk in his clothes, filthy; one side of his face +swollen. + +"Hi, gov'nor," he called out, his voice still cheerful. "I had odds +you'd beat the ticket, though the Mother and me were worried there for a +while. How'd you grease the fix?" + +Gordon sketched it in, without mentioning Security. "What happened to +you, Izzy?" + +"Price of being honest. But the gees who paid me protection didn't get +hurt, gov'nor." He winced, then grinned. "So they pay double tomorrow. +Honesty pays, gov'nor, if you squeeze it once in a while ... Funny, you +making sergeant; I thought two other gees won the lottery." + +So the promotion _had_ come from Trench! It bothered him. When a turkey +sees 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 since +he'd landed here. + +He had become almost superstitious about the way he was always left with +no more than a hundred credits in his pockets. This time, he stripped +himself to that sum at once, depositing the rest in the First Marsport +Bank. Maybe it would break the jinx. + +They were one of the few teams in the Seventh Precinct to make full +quota. Trench was lavish in his praise. He was playing more than fair +with 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. I +need two men who can keep their mouths shut." + +They idled around the station through the morning. In the late +afternoon, they left in a big truck capable of hauling what would have +been fifty tons on Earth. Trench drove. Outside the dome, the electric +motor carried them along at a steady twenty miles an hour, almost +silently. + +It was Gordon's first look at the real Mars. He saw small villages where +crop prospectors and hydroponic farmers lived, with a few small +industrial sections scattered over the desert. As they moved out, he saw +the slow change from the beaten appearance of Marsport to something that +seemed no worse than would be found among the share-croppers back on +Earth. 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 somehow +learned to adapt to the atmosphere. + +Darkness fell sharply, as it always did in Mars' thin air, but they went +on, heading out into the dunes of the desert. When they finally stopped, +they were beside a small, battered space ship. Boxes were piled all +around it, and others were being tossed out. Trent leaped from the +truck, motioning them to follow, and they began loading the crates +hastily. 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 to +one of the men from the ship, handed over an envelope, and came back to +start 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 elevator +that took them three levels down. Trench climbed out and nodded in +satisfaction. "That's it. Take tomorrow off, if you want, and I'll fix +credit for you. But just remember you haven't seen anything. You don't +know 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 the +administration from Earth. And they must have paid half the graft +they've taken for that. What the hell do they want it for?" + +Izzy jerked a shoulder upwards and a twist ran across his pock-marked +face. "War, what else? Gov'nor, Earth must be boiling about the +election. Maybe Security's getting set to spring." + +The idea of Marsport rebelling against Earth seemed ridiculous. Even +with guns, they wouldn't have a chance if Earth sent a force of any +strength to back Security. But it was the only explanation. + +Gordon took the next day off to look for Sheila Corey, but nobody would +admit having seen her. + +He had seen crowds beginning to assemble all afternoon, but had paid no +attention to them. Now he found the way back to Corey's blocked by a +mob. 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. Gordon +managed 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 with +an improvised battering ram. As he watched, a pompous little man came to +the upper window over the door and began motioning for attention. The +crowd quieted almost at once, except for a single yell. "When do we get +our money?" + +"Please. Please." The voice reached back thinly as the bank president +got his silence. "Please. It won't do you any good. Not a bit. We're +broke. Not a cent left! And don't go blaming me. _I_ didn't start the +rush. Your friends did that. They took all the money, and now we're +cleaned out. You can't--" + +A rope rose from the crowd and settled around him. In a second, he was +pulled down, and the crowd surged forward. + +Gordon dropped from the rubble, staring at the bank. He'd played it safe +this 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, then +everything 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 of +the 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 past +midnight, 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 know +where all the scratch went?" + +"Sure--guns from Earth! The damned fools!" + +"Yeah. But not fools. Just bloody well-informed, gov'nor. Earth's +sending a fleet--got official word of it. No way of telling how big, but +it'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 section +alone, apparently scared off by the organized group ready and waiting +for them. But every street and alley had to be kept under constant +surveillance to drive out the angry, desperate men who were trying to +get something to hang onto before everything collapsed. He saw stores +being broken into, beyond his beat; and brawls as one drunken, crazed +crowd met another. But he kept to his own territory, knowing that there +was 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, beaten +hopelessness. + +Honest Izzy finally seemed satisfied to turn things over to the regular +night men. Gordon waited around a while longer, but finally headed back +to Mother Corey's place. + +Mother Corey put a cup of steaming coffee into his hands. "You look +worse than I do, cobber. Worse than even that granddaughter of mine. She +was looking for you!" + +"Sheila?" Gordon jerked the word out. + +"Yeah. She left a note for you. I put it up in your room." Mother Corey +chuckled. "Why don't you two get married and make your fighting legal?" + +"Thanks for the coffee," Gordon threw back at him. He was already +mounting 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 the +rest of this, you've got until three tonight to make an offer. If you +can find me, maybe I'll listen." + +The torn-off front cover of the notebook accompanied the letter. But it +was a quarter after three already, he was practically broke--and he had +no idea where she could be found. + + + + +Chapter X + +MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE + + +Bruce Gordon jerked the door open to yell for Izzy while he tucked the +bit of notebook cover into his pocket. Then he stopped as something +nibbled at his mind; the odor Gordon had smelled before registered. He +yanked out the bit of notebook and sniffed. It hadn't been close enough +for any length of time to be contaminated by Mother Corey, so the smell +could only come from one place. + +He checked the batteries on his suit and put it on quickly. There was no +point in wearing the helmet inside the dome, but it was better than +trying to rent one at the lockers. He buckled it to a strap. The knife +slid into its sheath, and the gun holster snapped onto the suit. As a +final thought, he picked up the stout locust stick he'd used under +Murdoch. + +There were no cabs outside tonight, of course. The streets were almost +deserted, except for some prowler or desperation-driven drug addict. He +proceeded cautiously, however, realizing that it would be just like +Sheila to ambush him. But he reached the exit from the dome with no +trouble. + +"Special pass to leave at this hour," the guard there reminded him. "Of +course, 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 the +hell out of my way." + +The guard thought it over, and reached for the release. Gordon swung +back as he passed through. "And you'd better be ready to open when I +come back." + +He was in comparative darkness almost at once, and tonight there was no +sign of the lights of patrolling cops. Then three specks of glaring blue +light suddenly appeared in the sky, jerking his eyes up. They were +dropping rapidly. + +Rockets that flamed bright blue--military rockets! Earth was finally +taking a hand! + +He crouched in a hollow that had once been some kind of a basement until +the ships had landed and cut off their jets. Then he stood up, blinking +his 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 was +the old Mother Corey's Chicken Coop showed up against the faint light. + +He moved in cautiously, as silently as he could, and located the +semi-secret entrance to the building without meeting anyone. Once in the +tunnel that led to the building, he felt a little safer. + +He removed his helmet, and strapped it to the back of his suit, out of +the way. The old hall was in worse shape than before. Mother Corey had +run a somewhat orderly place, with constant vigilance; Bruce Gordon +could never have come into the hallway without being seen in the old +days. + +Then a pounding sound came from the second floor, and Gordon drew back +into the denser shadows, staring upwards. A heavy voice picked up the +exchange of shouts. + +"You, Sheila, you come outa there! You come right out or I'm gonna blast +that 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 is +this place--we got use for it. It don't belong to you, anyhow! Come out +now, and we'll let you go peaceful. Or stay in there and we'll blast you +out--in pieces." + +It was the voice of Jurgens' henchman who had called on Mother Corey +before elections. The thick voice must belong to the big ape who'd been +with 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 he +wasn't too worried, if there were only two of them. Then his head +projected above the top step, and he hesitated. Only the rat and the ape +were standing near a heavy, closed door. But four others were lounging +in the background. He lifted his foot to put it back down to a lower +step, just as Sheila's muffled voice shrilled out a fog of profanity. He +grinned, 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 knife +sailed for him, but the aim was poor. Gordon's gun came out. Two of the +men were dropping before the others could reach for their own weapons, +and while the rat-faced man was just turning. The third dropped without +firing, and the fourth's shot went wild. Gordon was firing rapidly, but +not 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 pull +a gun that seemed to be stuck; a scared man's ability to get his gun +stuck 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 body +over one hip. It sailed over the broken railing, to land on the floor +below and crash through the rotten planking. He heard the man hit the +basement, even while he was swinging the club in his hand toward the +rat-faced man. + +There was a thin, high-pitched scream as a collarbone broke. He slumped +onto the floor, and began to try hitching his way down the steps. Gordon +picked up the gun that had fallen out of the holster as the man fell and +put it into his pouch. He considered the two, and decided they would be +no menace. + +"Okay, Sheila," he called out, trying to muffle his voice. "We got them +all." + +"Pie-Face?" Her voice was doubtful. + +He considered what a man out here who went under that name might be +like. "Sure, baby. Open up!" + +"Wait a minute. I've got this nailed shut." There was the sound of an +effort of some kind going on as she talked. "Though I ought to let you +stay out there and rot. Damn it ... uh!" + +The door heaved open then, and she appeared in it; then she saw him, and +her 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, knocking +her aside. His knee caught the outside of her hip as she spun; she fell +over, dropping the gun. + +The two men in the room were both holding knives, but in the ridiculous +overhand position that seems to be an ingrained stupidity of the human +race, until it's taught better. A single flip of his locust club against +their wrists accounted for both of the knives. He grabbed them by the +hair of their heads, then, and brought the two skulls together savagely. + +Sheila lay stretched out on the floor, where her head had apparently +struck against the leg of a bed. Gordon shoved the bodies of the two men +aside and looked down at the wreck of a man who lay on the dirty +blanket. "Hello, O'Neill," he said. + +The former leader of the Stonewall gang stared up at the club swinging +from 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 of +necessity was one thing; but to see the sorry results of it later was +another. "All right," he said. "Just stay there until I get away from +this 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 so +sure about Sheila. He checked the two men on the floor, who were still +out cold. Then he stepped through the door carefully, to make sure that +the big bruiser hadn't come back. + +His ears barely detected the sound Sheila made as she reached for the +knife 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 saw +her momentum carry her over him; she was at the edge of the rail, and +starting to fall. + +He caught her feet in his hands and yanked her back. There was nothing +phony this time as she hit the floor. + +"Just a matter of co-ordination, Cuddles," he told her. "Little girls +shouldn'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 her +up and tossed her back into the room. From the broken mattress on the +bed, 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," he +commented, looking toward the bed where O'Neill was cowering. "It looks +as if your grandfather picks them better for you." + +"You filthy-minded hog! D'you think I'd--I'd--One room in the place with +a decent door, and you can't see why I'd choose that room to keep +Jurgens' devils back. You--You--" + +He'd been searching the room, but there was no sign of the notebook +there. He checked again to see that the wire was tight, and then picked +up the two henchmen who were showing some signs of reviving. + +"I'll watch them," a voice said from the door. Gordon snapped his head +up to see Izzy standing there. He realized he'd been a lot less cautious +than he'd thought. + +Izzy grinned at his confusion. "I got enough out of the Mother to case +the pitch," he said. "I knew I was right when I spotted the apeman +carrying 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 you +bunked 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 saw +that Izzy was right; there was a nearly used-up lipstick, a comb, and a +cracked mirror. There was also a small cloth bag containing a few scraps +of clothes. + +He turned the room upside down, but there was no sign of the notebook or +papers from it. + +He located her helmet and carried it down with him. "You're going +bye-bye, Cuddles," he told her. "I'm going to put this on you and then +unfasten your arms and legs. But if you start to so much as wiggle your +big 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 he +unfastened 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 full +daylight, which should have been a signal for the workers to start for +their jobs. But today they were drifting out unhappily, as if already +sure there would be no jobs by nightfall. + +A few stared at Gordon and his burden, but most of them didn't even look +up. The two men trudged along silently. + +"Prisoner," he announced crisply to the guard, but there was no protest +this time. They went through, and he was lucky enough to locate a +broken-down tricycle cab. + +Mother Corey let them in, without flickering an eyelash as he saw his +granddaughter. Bruce Gordon dropped her onto her legs. "Behave +yourself," he warned her as he took off his helmet, and then unfastened +hers. + +Mother Corey chuckled. "Very touching, cobber. You have a way with +women, it seems. Too bad she had to wear a helmet, or you might have +dragged her here by her hair. Ah, well, let's not talk about it here. My +room is more comfortable--and private." + +Inside, Sheila sat woodenly on the little sofa, pretending to see none +of them. Mother Corey looked from one to the other, and then back to +Gordon. "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 can +lock her up--carrying a gun without a permit is reason enough. But I'd +rather 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 myself +at her age, couldn't control my son, and I don't intend to handle a +female 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 the +one 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, except +married 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 her +without any rigmarole?" + +Izzy's face seemed to drop toward the floor. Sheila came up off the +couch with a choking cry and leaped for the door. Mother Corey's immense +arm moved out casually, sweeping her back onto the couch. + +"Very convenient," the old man said. "The two of you simply fill out a +form--I've got a few left from the last time--and get Izzy and me to +witness 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," he +said thoughtfully. "But she'll learn. Izzy, I have a feeling we should +let 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--you +know that better than most people. And I'm up to my neck in it. If I've +got to marry you to keep you out of my hair, I will." + +Her face was pasty-white, but she bent her head, and fluttered her +eyelashes up at him. "So romantic," she sighed. "You sweep me off my +feet. You--Why, you--" + +"Me or Trench! I can take you to him and tell him you're mixed up in +Security, and that you either have papers on you or out at the Chicken +Coop 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 her +eyes. "You'd do it! You really would.... All right; I'll sign your +damned 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 be +hers. There were no windows here, and his own room had an excellent lock +on it already--one he'd put on himself. Izzy came back as Mother Corey +finished the door and began knocking a small panel out of the connecting +door. The old man was surprisingly adept with his hands as he fitted +hinges and a catch to the panel, and re-installed it so that Sheila +could swing it open. + +"They're married," Izzy said. "It's in the mail to the register, along +with 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 Mother +Corey for the materials and work. He jerked his head and the two men +went 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 the +connecting 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 went +up to them, and nobody came from them; surprisingly, Wayne had found the +courage to ignore them. But rumors were circulating wildly. Bruce Gordon +felt his nerves creeping out of his skin and beginning to stand on end +to test each breeze for danger. + +With the credit they'd accumulated in the fund, nearly all their +collection was theirs. Gordon went out to do some shopping. He stopped +when his money was down to a hundred credits, hardly realizing what he +was doing. When he went out, the street was going crazy. + +Izzy had been waiting, and filled him in. At exactly sundown, the rocket +ships had thrown down ramps, and a stream of jeeps had ridden down them +and toward the south entrance to the dome. They had presented some sort +of paper and forced the guard to let them through. There were about two +hundred men, some of them armed. They had driven straight to the huge, +barnlike Employment Bureau, had chased out the few people remaining +there, and had simply taken over. Now there was a sign in front which +simply said MARSPORT LEGAL POLICE FORCE HEADQUARTERS. Then the +jeeps had driven back to the rockets, gone on board, and the ships had +taken off. + +Gordon glanced at his watch, finding it hard to believe it could have +been done so quickly. But it was two hours after sundown. + +Now a car with a loudspeaker on top rolled into view--a completely +armored car. It stopped, and the speaker began operating. + +"Citizens of Marsport! In order to protect your interests from the +proven rapacity of the administration here, Earth has revoked the +independent charter of Marsport. The past elections are hereby declared +null and void. Your home world has appointed Marcus Gannett as mayor, +with Philip Crane as chief of police. Other members of the council will +be by appointment until legal elections can be held safely. The +Municipal Police Force is disbanded, and the Legal Police Force is now +being organized. + +"All police and officers who remain loyal to the legal government will +be accepted at their present grade or higher. To those who now leave the +illegal Municipal Force and accept their duty with the Legal Force, +there will be no question of past conduct. Nor will they suffer +financially from the change! + +"Banks will be reopened as rapidly as the Legal Government can extend +its control, and all deposits previously made will be honored in full." + +That brought a cheer from the crowd, as the sound truck moved on. Gordon +saw two of the police officers nearby fingering their badges +thoughtfully. + +Then another truck rolled into view, and the Mayor's canned voice came +over it, panting as if he'd had to rush to make the recording. He began +directly: + +"Martians! Earth has declared war on us. She has denied us our right to +rule ourselves--a right guaranteed in our charter. We admit there have +been abuses; all young civilizations make mistakes. But we've developed +and grown. + +"This is an old pattern, fellow Martians! England tried it on her +colonies three hundred years ago. And the people rose up and demanded +their right to rule themselves. They had troubles with their +governments, too--and they had panics. But they won their freedom, and +it 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 permit +to herself. + +"Well, we don't have an army. But neither do they. They know the people +of 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 us +and use it for their war. + +"Fellow Martians, they aren't going to bribe us into that! Mars has had +enough. I declare us to be in a state of revolution. And since they have +chosen the weapons, I declare our loyal and functioning Municipal Police +Force to be _our_ army. Any man who deserts will be considered a +traitor. But any man who sticks will be rewarded more than he ever +expected. We're going to protect our freedom. + +"Let them open their banks--our banks--again. And when they have +established your accounts, go in and collect the money! If they give it +to you, Mars is that much richer. If they don't, you'll know they're +lying. + +"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 that +Wayne had played his cards well. + +But it didn't make the question of where he belonged, or what he should +do, any easier. He waited until the crowd had thinned out a little and +began heading toward Corey's, with Izzy moving along silently beside +him, carrying half the packages. + +He remembered the promise of forgiveness for all sins on joining the new +Legal Force; but he'd read enough history to know that it was fine--as +long as the struggle continued. Afterwards, promises grew dim.... + +He had no use for the present administration, but Earth had no right to +take over without a formal investigation, and a chance for the people to +state their choice. + +Then he grimaced at himself. He was in no position to move according to +right and wrong. The only question that counted was how he had the best +chance to ride out the storm, and to get back to Earth and a normal +life. + +He was still in a brown study as he took the bundles from Izzy and +dropped them on his bed. Izzy went out, and Gordon stood staring at the +wall. Trench? Or the new Commissioner Crane? If Earth should win--and +they had most of the power, after all--and Bruce Gordon had fought +against Security, the mines of Mercury were waiting. + +He picked up the stuff from his bed and started to sweep it aside before +he lay down. Then he remembered at last; he knocked on the panel, until +it finally opened a crack. + +"Here," he told her. "Food, and some other stuff. There are some refuse +bags, too. Yell when you want them removed." + +She took the bundles woodenly until she came to a plastic can. Then she +gasped. "Water! Two gallons!" + +"There are heat tablets, and a skin tub." The salesgirl had explained +how one gallon was enough in the plastic bag that served as a tub; he +had his doubts. "Detergent. The whole works." + +She hauled the stuff in and started to close the panel. Then she +hesitated. "I suppose I should thank you, but I don't like to be told I +stink so much you can't stand me in the next room!" + +"Hell, I've gotten so I can stand your grandfather," he answered. "It +wasn't that." The panel slammed shut. + + * * * * * + +He still hadn't solved his problem in the morning; out of habit, he put +on his uniform and went across to Izzy's room. But Izzy was already +gone. + +Gordon fished into the pocket of his uniform for paper and a pencil to +leave a note in case Izzy came back. His fingers found the half notebook +cover instead. He drew it out, scowling at it, and started to crumple +it. Then he stopped, staring at the piece of imitation leather and paper +that wouldn't bend. + +His fingers were still stiff as he began tearing off the thin covering +with his knife; the paper backing peeled away easily. + +Under it lay a thin metal plate that glowed faintly even in the dim +light of Izzy's room! Gordon nearly dropped it. He'd seen such an +identification plate once before. + +The printing on it leaped at him: "This will identify the bearer, BRUCE +IRVING GORDON, as a PRIME agent of the Office of Solar Security, +empowered to make and execute any and all directives under the powers of +this office." The printing in capitals was obviously done by hand, but +with the same catalytic "ink" as the rest of the badge. Murdoch must +have prepared it, hidden it in the notebook, then died before the secret +could be revealed. + +A knock sounded from across the hall. Gordon thrust the damning badge as +deep into his pouch as he could cram it and looked out. It was Mother +Corey. + +"You've got a visitor--outside," he announced. "Trench. And I don't like +the stench of that kind of cop in my place. Get him away, cobber, get +him away!" + +Gordon found Trench pacing up and down in front of the house, scowling +up 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 to +have been taken out of his hands. They crossed the street and went down +half 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 to +trust you, Gordon. I've never been sure. But either you're loyal now or +I 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-interest +holding most of the cops loyal to them. They'd been wrong. Legal forces +already controlled about half the city. + +"So?" Gordon asked. He could have told Trench that the fund was +good-enough reason for most police deserting. + +Trench put his coffee down and yelled for more. It was obvious he'd +spent the night without sleep. "So we're going to need men with guts. +Gordon, you had training under Murdoch--who knew his business. And you +aren'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 at +large--and conscript any of the Municipal Force you want, up to a +hundred. Pick out any place you want, train them to handle those damned +Legals the way Murdoch handled the Stonewall boys. In return, the sky's +the limit. Name your own salary, once you've done the job. And no +kickbacks, either!" + +Gordon picked up the badge slowly and buckled it on, while a grim, +satisfied smile spread over Trench's features. The problem seemed to +have been solved. Gordon should have been satisfied, but he felt like +Judas picking up the thirty pieces of silver. He tried to swallow them +with 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 whistle +sounded, and a Municipal cop ran by. "We're in enemy territory," he +said. "The Legals got this precinct last night. Captain Hendrix and some +of his men wanted to come back with full battle equipment and chase them +out. I had a hell of a time getting them to take it easy. I suppose that +was 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 door +and was peering out. Up the narrow little street was rolling a group of +about seventy Municipal police and half a dozen small trucks. The men +were wearing guns. And up the street a man in bright green uniform was +pounding his fist up and down in emphasis as he called in over the +precinct box. + +"The idiot!" Trench grabbed Gordon and spun out, running toward the +advancing men. "We've got to stop this. Get my car--up the street--call +Arliss 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 war +made none at all. Gordon grabbed the phone from under the dash. A sleepy +voice answered to say that Commissioner Arliss and Mayor Wayne were +sleeping. 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 Captain +Hendrix. From the other end of the street, a group of small cars +appeared; and men began piling out, all in shiny green. + +"Who's this?" the phone asked. When Gordon identified himself, there was +a snort of disgust. "Yes, yes, congratulations. Trench was quite right; +you're fully authorized. Did you call me out of bed just to check on +that, young man?" + +"No, I--" Then he hung up. Hendrix had dropped to his knees and fired +before Trench could knock the gun from his hands. + +There was no answering fire. The Legals simply came boiling down the +street, equipped with long pikes with lead-weighted ends. And Hendrix +came charging up, his men straggling behind him. Gordon was squarely in +the middle. He considered staying in Trench's car and letting it roll +past 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 suddenly +gone. His hand snapped down sharply for a rock on the street. The pike +whistled over his head, barely missing, and he was up, squashing the big +stone into the face of the other. He jerked the pike away, kicked the +man in the neck as he fell, and unsheathed his knife with the other +hand. + +Trench was a few feet away. The man might be a louse, but he was also a +fighting machine of first order, still. He'd already captured one of the +pikes. Now he grinned tightly at Gordon and began moving toward him. +Gordon nodded--in a brawl such as this, two working together had a +distinct advantage. + +Then a yell sounded as more Legals poured down the street. One of them +was obviously Izzy, wearing the same green as the others! + +Gordon felt something hit his back, and instinctively fell, soaking up +the blow. He managed to bend his neck and roll, coming to his feet. His +knife slashed upwards, and the Legal fell--almost on top of the Security +badge 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 entrance +to 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 coming +down and tried to duck... + +He was vaguely conscious later of looking up, to see Sheila dragging him +into some entrance, while Trench ran toward them. Sheila and Trench +together--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 out +of his unconsciousness finally. There was the softness of a bed under +him and the bitter aftertaste of Migrainol on his tongue. He tried to +move, but nothing happened. The drug killed pain, but only at the +expense of a temporary paralysis of all voluntary motion. + +There was a sudden withdrawal of the cooling touch on his forehead, and +then hasty steps that went away from him, and the sound of a door +closing. + +Steps sounded from outside; his door opened, and there was the sound of +two 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. Must +be a bloody big false section you've got in that trick mattress of +yours!" + +"Big enough for him and for Trench, Izzy," Mother Corey's wheezing voice +agreed. "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 a +convoy back, our Captain Trench gave me a paper with immunity from the +Municipal Force. Used that, with a bit of my old reputation, to get your +Mayor Gannett to give me the same from the Legals. Gannett didn't want +Mother Corey to think the Municipals were kinder than the Legals, so +you're in the only neutral territory in Marsport. Not that you deserve +it." + +"Lay off, Mother," Izzy said sharply. "I told you I had to do it. I take +care of the side that pays my cut, and the bloody administration pulled +the plug on my beat twice. Only honest thing to do was to join the +Legals." + +"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, I +figured Bruce would do the same. He's a right gee." + +Mother Corey chuckled. "Yeah, when he forgets he's a machine. How about +a game of shanks?" + +The steps moved away; the door closed again. Bruce Gordon got both eyes +open 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. His +fingers, clumsy and uncertain, groped back and forth for a badge that +wasn't there! + +He heard the door open softly, but made no effort to look up. The +reaction from his effort had drained him. + +Fingers touched his head carefully, brushing the hair back delicately +from the side of his skull. Then there was the biting sting of +antiseptic, sharp enough to bring a groan from his lips. Sheila's hair +fell over her face as she bent to replace his bandages. + +Her eyes wandered toward his, and the scissors and bandages on her lap +hit the floor as she jumped to her feet. She turned toward her room, +then hesitated as he grinned crookedly at her. "Hi, Cuddles," he said +flatly. + +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 up +the bandages and to finish with his head. "Are you hungry? There's some +canned soup--I took the money from your pocket. Or coffee..." + +"Coffee." He forced himself up again; Sheila propped the flimsy pillow +behind him, then went into her room to come back with a plastic cup +filled with brown liquid that passed for coffee here. It was loaded with +caffeine, at least. + +"Why'd you come back?" he asked suddenly. "You were anxious enough to +pick 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, my +mistake. But why the change of heart?" + +"Because I needed a meal ticket!" she said harshly. "When I saw that +Legal 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 been +attacking 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 meal +ticket. Right now, I probably have six death warrants out on me, and +about 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'll +support her. Just remember, it was your idea." + +He'd had a lot of ideas, it seemed. "I've got a wife who's holding onto +a 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't +bother 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 grimaced +and turned back to the chair where his uniform still lay. He could stay +here fighting with her, or he could face his troubles on the outside. +The whole thing hinged on Trench; unless Trench had shown the badge to +others, his problem boiled down to a single man. + +Gordon found one tablet of painkiller left in the bottle and swallowed +it with the dregs of the coffee. He made sure his knife was in its +sheath and that the gun at his side was loaded. He found his police +club, 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 or +prisoner? He turned it over in his mind, knowing that her words couldn't +change the facts. But in the end, he dropped the key and half his money +beside her door, along with a spare knife and one of his guns. + +He went by Izzy's room without stopping; technically, the boy was an +enemy to all Municipals. This might be neutral territory, but there was +no use pressing it. Gordon went down the stairs and out through the seal +onto the street entrance, still in the shadows. + +His eyes covered the street in two quick scans. Far up, a Legal cop was +passing beyond the range of the single dim light. At the other end, a +pair of figures skulked along, trying the door of each house they +passed. With the cops busy fighting each other, this was better pickings +than 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 the +nearest alley, which led through the truckyard of Nick the Croop. + +The entrance was in nearly complete darkness. Gordon loosened his knife +and tightened his grip on the locust stick. + +Suddenly a whisper of sound caught his ears. He stopped, not too +quickly, and listened, but everything was still. A hundred feet farther +on, and within twenty yards of the trucks, a swishing rustle reached his +ears 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 boot +lifted, and the flashlight spun aside, broken and dark. With a +continuous motion, he switched the knife to his left hand in a thumb-up +position and brought it back. There was a grunt of pain; he stepped +backwards and twisted. His hands caught the man behind, lifted across a +hip, and heaved, just before the front man reached him. + +The two ambushers were down in a tangled mess. There was just enough +light to make out faint outlines, and Gordon brought his locust club +down twice, with the hollow thud of wood on skulls. + +His head was swimming in a hot maelstrom of pain, but it was quieting as +his breathing returned to normal. As long as his opponents were slower +or less ruthless, he could take care of himself. + +The trouble, though, was that Isaiah Trench was neither slow nor +squeamish. + +Gordon gathered the two hoodlums under his arms and dragged them with +him. He came out in the truckyard and began searching. Nick the Croop +had ridden his reputation long enough to be careless, and the third +truck had its key still in the lock. He threw the two into the back and +struck a cautious light. + +One of them was Jurgens' apelike follower, his stupid face relaxed and +vacant. The other was probably also one of Jurgens' growing mob of +protection racketeers. Gordon yanked out the man's wallet, but there was +no identification; it held only a small sheaf of bills. + +He stripped out the money--and finally put half of it back into the +wallet and dropped it beside the hoodlum. Even in jail, a man had to +have smokes. + +He stuck to the alleys, not using the headlights, after he had locked +the two in and started the electric motor. He had no clear idea of how +the battles were going, but it looked as if the Seventh Precinct was +still in Municipal hands. + +There was no one at the side entrance to Seventh Precinct Headquarters +and only two corporals on duty inside; the rest were probably out +fighting the Legals, or worrying about it. One of the corporals started +to stand up and halt him, but wavered at the sight of the captain's star +that was still pinned to his uniform. + +"Special prisoners," Gordon told him sharply. "I've got to get +information to Trench--and in private!" + +The corporal stuttered. Gordon knocked him out of the way with his +elbow, reached for the door to Trench's private office, and yanked it +open. He stepped through, drawing it shut behind him, while his eyes +checked 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 a +Municipal captain, sat the heavy figure of Jurgens. "Outside!" he +snapped. Then his eyes narrowed, and a stiff smile came onto his lips as +he laid the pen down. "Oh, it's you, Gordon?" + +"Where's Captain Trench?" + +The heavy features didn't change as Jurgens chuckled. "Commissioner +Trench, Gordon. It seems Arliss decided to get rid of Mayor Wayne, but +didn't count on Wayne's spies being better than his. So Trench got +promoted--and I got his job for loyal service in helping the Force +recruit. My boys always wanted to be cops, you know." + +Gordon tried to grin in return as he moved closer, slipping the heavy +locust 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 in +his neck. "They hadn't arrived when I left the house," he said +truthfully enough. + +Jurgens reached out for tobacco and filled a pipe. He fumbled in his +pockets, as if looking for a light. "Too bad. I knew you weren't in top +shape, so I figured a convoy might be handy. Well, no matter. Trench +left some instructions about you, and--" + +His voice was perfectly normal, but Gordon saw the hand move suddenly +toward the drawer that was half-open. And the cigarette lighter was +attached to the other side of the desk. + +The locust stick left Gordon's hand with a snap. It cut through the air +a scant eight feet, jerked to a stop against Jurgens' forehead and +clattered onto the top of the desk, while Jurgens folded over, his mouth +still open, his hand slumping out of the drawer. The club rolled toward +Gordon, who caught it before it could reach the floor. + +But Jurgens was only momentarily out. As Gordon slipped the loop over +his wrist again, one of the new captain's hands groped, seeking a button +on the edge of the desk. + +The two corporals were at the door when Gordon threw it open, but they +drew back at the sight of his drawn gun. Feet were pounding below as he +found the entrance that led to the truck. He hit the seat and rammed +down the throttle with his foot before he could get his hands on the +wheel. + +It was a full minute before sirens sounded behind him, and Nick the +Croop had fast trucks. He spotted the squad car far behind, ducked +through 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 Gordon +felt his stomach squashing down onto the wheel. He kept his foot to the +floor, strewing bits of the barricade behind him, until he was beyond +the range of the Legal guns that were firing suddenly. Then he stopped +and got out carefully, with his hands up. + +"Captain Bruce Gordon, with two prisoners--bodyguards of Captain +Jurgens," he reported to the three men in bright new Legal uniform who +were approaching warily. "How do I sign up with you?" + + + + +Chapter XIII + +ARREST MAYOR WAYNE! + + +The Legal forces were shorthanded and eager for recruits. They had +struck quickly, according to plans made by experts on Earth, and now +controlled about half of Marsport. But it was a sprawling crescent +around the central section, harder to handle than the Municipal +territory. Bruce Gordon was sworn in at once. + +Then he cooled his heels while the florid, paunchy ex-politician +Commissioner Crane worried about his rating and repeated how corrupt +Mars was and how the collection system was over--absolutely over. In the +end, 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 a +trim-fitting green uniform. Then a surprisingly competent doctor +examined his wound, rebandaged it, and sent him home for the day. The +change was finished--and he felt like a grown man playing with dolls. + +He walked back, watching the dull-looking people closing off their +homes, as they had done at elections. Here and there, houses had been +broken into during the night. There were occasional buzzes of angry +conversation that cut off as he approached. + +Marsport had learned to hate all cops, and a change of uniform hadn't +altered that; instead, the people seemed to resent the loss of the +familiar 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 'em +give you my beat?" + +He seemed genuinely pleased as Gordon nodded, and then dropped it, to +point to Randolph. "Guess what, gov'nor. The Legals bought Randy's +_Crusader_. Traded him an old job press and a bag of scratch for his +reputation." + +"You'll be late, Izzy," Randolph said quietly. Gordon suddenly realized +that Randolph, like everyone else, seemed to be Izzy's friend. He +watched the little man leave, and reached out for the menu. Randolph +picked it out of his hand. "You've got a wife home, muckraker. You don't +have to eat this filth." + +Gordon got up, grimacing at the obvious dismissal. But the publisher +motioned him back again. + +"Yeah, the Legals want the _Crusader_ for their propaganda," he said +wearily. "New slogans and new uniforms, and none of them mean anything. +Here!" He drew a small golden band from his little finger. "My mother's +wedding ring. Give it to her--and if you tell her it came from me, I'll +rip out your guts!" + +He got up suddenly and hobbled out, his pinched face working. Gordon +turned the ring over, puzzled. Finally he got up and headed for his +room, a little surprised to find the door unlocked. Sheila opened her +eyes 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 cooking +equipment used in half Marsport. There was also a small iron lying +beside 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 was +no mockery on her face--and oddly, it felt good to him. Maybe her idea +of married life was different from his. + +She was sanding the dishes and putting them away when he finally +remembered the ring. He studied it again, then got up and dropped it +beside her. He was surprised as she fumbled it on to see that it +fitted--and more surprised at the sudden realization that she was +entitled to it. + +She studied it under the glare of the single bulb, and then turned to +her room. She was back a few seconds later with a small purse. "I got a +duplicate key. Yours is in there," she said thickly. "And--something +else. I guess I was going to give it to you anyway. I was afraid someone +else might find it--" + +He cut her off brusquely, his eyes riveted on the Security badge he'd +been sure Trench had taken. "Yeah, I know. Your meal ticket was in +danger. Okay, you've done your nightly duty. Now get the hell out of my +room, will you?" + + * * * * * + +The week went on mechanically, while he gradually adjusted to the new +angles of being a Legal. The banks were open, and deposits honored, as +promised. But it was in the printing-press scrip of Legal currency, +useful only through Mayor Gannett's trick Exchanges. Water went up from +fourteen credits to eighty credits for a gallon of pure distilled. Other +things were worse. Resentment flared, but the scrip was the only money +available, and it still bound the people to the new regime. + +Supplies were scarce, salt and sugar almost unavailable. Earth had cut +off all shipping until the affair was settled, and nobody in the +outlands would deal in scrip. + +He came home the third evening to find that Sheila had managed to find +space for her bunk in his room, cut off by a heavy screen, and had +closed the other room to save the rent. It led to some relaxation +between them, and they began talking impersonally. + +Gordon watched for a sign that Trench had passed on his evidence of the +murder of Murdoch, but there was none. The pressure of the beat took his +mind from it. Looting had stepped up. + +Izzy had co-operated--reluctantly, until Gordon was able to convince him +that it was the people who paid his salary. Then he nodded. "It's a +helluva roundabout way of doing things, gov'nor, but if the gees pay for +protection 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 would +barely keep them in food for a week. "I told you you had a punched meal +ticket," he said bitterly. + +"We'll live," she answered him. "I got a job today--barmaid, on your +beat, where being your wife helps." + +He could think of nothing to say to it; but after supper, he went to +Izzy's room to arrange for a raid on Municipal territory. Such small +raids were nominally on the excuse of extending the boundaries, but +actually 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 the +Precinct house to find men milling around the bulletin board, buzzing +over an announcement there. Apparently, Chief Justice Arliss had broken +with the Wayne administration, and the mimeographed form was a legal +ruling that Wayne was no longer Mayor, since the charter had been +voided. He was charged with inciting a riot, and a warrant had been +issued 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 legal +now! Every odd-numbered shield goes from every precinct. Gordon, +Isaacs--you two been talking big about law and order. Here's the +warrant. Take it and arrest Wayne!" + +It took nearly an hour to get the plans settled, but finally they headed +for the trucks that had been arriving. Most of them belonged to Nick the +Croop, who had apparently decided the Legals would win. + +Gordon and Izzy found the lead truck and led the way. They neared the +bar where Sheila was working, and Bruce Gordon swore. She was running +toward 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. "The +princess? She sure is." + +The crew at the barricade had been alerted, and now began clearing it +aside hastily, while others kept up a covering fire against the few +Municipals. The trucks wheeled through, and Gordon dropped back to let +scout trucks go ahead and pick off any rash enough to head for the call +boxes. They couldn't prevent advance warning, but they could delay and +minimize it. + +They were near the big Municipal building when they came to the first +real opposition, and it was obviously hastily assembled. The scouts took +care of most of the trouble, though a few shots pinged against the truck +Gordon was driving. + +"Rifles!" Izzy commented in disgust. "They'll ruin the dome yet. Why +can'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 grounds +around it and began bulling their way through the groups that were +trying to organize a defense. Gordon found his way cleared and shot +through, emerging behind the defense and driving at full speed toward +the entrance Izzy pointed out. + +"Cut speed! Left sharp!" Izzy shouted. "Now, in there!" + +They sliced into a small tunnel, scraping their sides where it was +barely big enough for the truck. Then they reached a dead end, with just +room for them to squeeze through the door of the truck and into an +entrance 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 remotely +controlled, and up a narrow flight of stairs, down a hallway, and up +another flight. A Municipal corporal at the top grabbed for a warning +whistle, but Gordon clipped him with a hasty rabbit punch and shoved him +down the stairs. Then they were in front of an ornate door, with their +weapons ready. + +Izzy yanked the door open and dropped flat behind it. Bullets from a +submachine gun clipped out, peppering the entrance and the door, and +ricocheting down the hall. The yammering stopped, finally, and Izzy +stuck his head and one arm out with a snap of his knife. Gordon leaped +in, to see a Municipal dropping the machine gun. + +There were about thirty cops inside, gathered around Mayor Wayne, with +Trench standing at one side. The fools had obviously expected the +machine gun to do all the work. + +Izzy leaped for the machine gun and yanked it from dead hands, while the +cops slowly began raising their arms. Wayne sat petrified, staring +unbelievingly, and Gordon drew out the warrant. "Wayne, you're under +arrest!" + +Trench moved forward, his hands in the air, but with no mark of surprise +or fear on his face. "So the bad pennies turn up. You damned fools, you +should 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 gun +jerked forward and clicked on an empty chamber. Trench was tumbling +forward to avoid the shot, but he twitched as a bullet creased his +shoulder. Then he was upright, waving empty hands at them, with the thin +smile on his face deepening. He'd had no guns. + +Gordon jerked around, but Wayne was already disappearing through a heavy +door. And the cops were reaching for their guns. Gordon estimated the +chances of escape and then leaped forward into their group, with Izzy at +his side, seeking close quarters where guns wouldn't work. + +Gun butts, elbows, fists, and clubs were pounding at him, while his own +club lashed out savagely. In ten seconds, things began to haze over, but +his arms went on mechanically, seeking the most damage they could work. + +Then a heavy bellow sounded, and a seeming mountain of flesh thundered +across the huge room. There was no shuffle to Mother Corey now. The huge +legs pumped steadily, and the great arms were reaching out to flail +aside clubs and knives. Men began spewing out of the brawl like straw +from a thresher as the old man grabbed arms, legs, or whatever was +handy. He had one cop in his left arm, using him as a flail against the +others. + +The Municipals broke. And at the first sign, Mother Corey leaped +forward, dropping his flail and gathering Izzy and Gordon under his +arms. He hit the heavy door with his shoulder and crashed through +without breaking stride. Stairs lay there, and he took them three at a +time. + +He dropped them finally as they came to a side entrance. There was a +sporadic firing going on there, and a knot of Municipals were clustered +around a few Legals, busy with knives and clubs. Corey broke into a run +again, driving straight into them and through, with Gordon and Izzy on +his heels. The surprise element was enough to give them a few seconds. + +Then they were around a small side building, out of danger. Sheila was +holding 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 fight +going 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 of +battle-crazed men, leaping across the square and into the first side +street they could find. Then she slowed, and headed for the main street +back to Legal territory. + +"Lucky we found a good car to steal," Mother Corey wheezed. He was +puffing now, mopping rivulets of perspiration from his face. "I'm +getting old, cobbers. Once I broke every strong-man record on +Earth--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 finally +admits she _needs_ her old grandfather?" + +Gordon was staring back at the straggling of trucks he could see +beginning 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 pay +my salary, who's paying me to start fighting other cops? Or is it maybe +that somebody isn't being exactly honest with the scratch they lift from +the gees?" + +"We still have to eat," Gordon said bitterly. "And to eat, we'll go on +doing what we're told." + + + + +Chapter XIV + +FULL CIRCLE + + +Hendrix had been wounded lightly, and was out when Gordon and Izzy +reported. But the next day, they were switched to a new beat where +trouble had been thickest and given twelve-hour duty--without special +overtime. + +Izzy considered it slowly and shook his head. "That does it, gov'nor. It +ain't honest, treating us this way. If the crackle comes from the +people, and these gees give everybody a skull cracking, then they're +crooks. It ain't honest, and I'm too sick to work. And if that bloody +doctor won't agree..." + +He turned toward the dispensary. Gordon hesitated, and then swung off +woodenly to take up his new beat. Apparently, his reputation had gone +ahead of him, since most of the hoodlums had decided pickings would be +easier on some beat where the cops had their own secret rackets to +attend to, instead of head busting. But once they learned he was +alone... + +But the second day, two of the citizens fell into step behind him almost +at 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 come +over from his old beat. Something began to burn inside him, but he held +himself in, confining his talk to vague comments on the rumors going +around. + +There were enough of them, mostly based on truth. Part of Jurgens' old +crowd had broken away from him and established a corner on most of the +drugs available; they had secretly traded a supply to Wayne, who had +become an addict, for a stock of weapons. + +Gordon remembered the contraband shipment of guns, and compared it to +the increase he'd noticed in weapons, and to the impossible prices the +pushers were demanding. It made sense. + +All kinds of supplies were low, and the outlands beyond Marsport had cut +off all shipments. Scrip was useless to them, and the Legals were +raiding all cargoes destined for Wayne's section. And the Municipals had +imposed new taxes again. + +He came back from what should have been his day off to find Izzy in +uniform, waiting grimly. Behind the screen, there was a rustling of +clothes, and a dress came sailing from behind it. While he stared, +Sheila came out, finishing the zipping of her airsuit. She moved to a +small bag and began drawing out the gun she had used and a knife. He +caught 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 the +headline: SECURITY DENOUNCES RAPE OF MARSPORT! + +The story was somewhat cooler than that, but not much. Randolph simply +quoted what was supposed to be an official cable from Security on Earth, +denouncing both governments and demanding that both immediately +surrender. It listed the crimes of Wayne, then tore into the Legals as a +bunch of dupes, sent by North America to foment trouble while they +looted the city, and to give the Earth government an excuse for seizing +military control of Marsport officially. Citizens were instructed not to +co-operate; all members of either government were indicted for high +treason 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. She +grabbed 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 of +the few remaining cabs. He stopped it with his whistle, and dumped the +passenger out unceremoniously, while Izzy gave the address. + +"The damned fool opened up on the border--figured he'd circulate to both +sections," Izzy said. "We'd better get out a block up and walk. And I +hope we ain't _too_ bloody late!" + +The building was a wreck, outside; inside it was worse. Men in the +Municipal uniform were working over the small job press and dumping the +hand-set type from the boxes. On the floor, a single Legal cop lay under +the wreckage, apparently having gotten there first and been taken care +of by the later Municipals. Randolph had been sitting in a chair between +two of the cops, but now he leaped up and tried to flee through the back +door. + +Izzy started forward, but Gordon pulled him back, as the cops reached +for their weapons. The gun in his hand picked them out at quarters too +close for a miss, starting with the cop who had jumped to catch +Randolph. Izzy had ducked around the side, and now came back, leading +the little man. + +Randolph paid no attention to the dead men, nor to the bruises on his +own body. He moved forward to the press, staring at it, and there were +tears in his eyes as he ran his hands over the broken metal. Then he +looked up at them. "Arrest or rescue?" he asked. + +"Arrest!" a voice from the door said harshly, and Bruce Gordon swung to +see six Legals filing in, headed by Hendrix himself. The captain nodded +at Gordon. "Good work, Sergeant. By jinx, when I heard the Municipals +were coming, I was scared they'd get him for sure. Crane wants to watch +this guy shot in person!" + +He grabbed Randolph by the arm. + +"You're overlooking something, Hendrix," Gordon cut in. He had moved +back 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 them +up, Izzy." + +Hendrix was faster than Gordon had thought. He had his gun almost up +before Gordon could fire. A bluish hole appeared on the man's forehead; +he dropped slowly. The others made no trouble as Izzy bound them with +baling wire. + +"And I hope nobody finds them," he commented. "All right, Randy, I guess +we're a bunch of refugees heading for the outside, and bloody lucky at +that. Proves a man shouldn't have friends." + +Randolph's face was still greenish-white, but he straightened and +managed a feeble smile. "Not to me, Izzy. Right now I can appreciate +friends. But you two better get going. I've got some unfinished business +to tend to." He moved to one corner and began dragging out an old +double-cylinder mimeograph. "Either of you know where I can buy stencils +and 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 out +a sudden yelp of laughter. "Okay, Randy, we'll find them. Gov'nor, you'd +better tell my mother I'll be using the old sheets. Go on. You've got +the princess to worry about. We'll be along later." + +He grabbed Randolph's hand and ducked out the back before Gordon could +protest. + +Izzy could only have meant that they were going to hole up in Mother +Corey's old Chicken Coop. Bruce Gordon had now managed to make a full +circle, back to his beginnings on Mars. He'd started at the Coop with a +deck of cards; now he was returning with a club. + +He had counted on at least some regret from Mother Corey, however. But +the old man only nodded after hearing that Randolph was safe. "Fanatics, +crusaders and damned fools!" he said. He shook his head sadly and went +shuffling back to his room, where two of his part-time henchmen were +sitting. + +Sheila had been sitting on the bunk, still in her airsuit. Now she +jerked upright, then sank back with a slow flush. Her hands were +trembling 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 he +was 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 practically +bare, except for a few of her dresses. She followed his gaze, and shook +her head. "I won't need them out there," she said. Her voice caught on +that. "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 little +while ago just where you stand. Remind me to tell you sometime how much +fun it's been." + +"Your mother was good with a soldering iron, wasn't she? You even look +human." She bent to pick up a shoulder pack and a bag, and her face was +normal when she stood up again. "You might guess that the cops would be +happy 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 room +toward the smaller exit, stopping to fasten down their helmets. The +guard 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 went +through and out into the waste and slums beyond the domes, heading out +until 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. He +heard her cry out, and turned to see her crash into the stomach of a man +with a half-raised stick. He went down with almost no resistance. Sheila +shot the beam of her light on the thin, drawn face. "Rusty!" + +"Hi, princess." He got up slowly, trying to grin. "Didn't know who it +was. Sorry. Ever get that louse you were out for?" + +She nodded. "Yeah, I got him. That's him--my husband! What's wrong with +you, Rusty? You've lost fifty pounds, and--" + +"Things are a mite tough out here, princess. No deliveries. Closed my +bar, been living sort of hand to mouth, but not much mouth." His eyes +bulged greedily as she dug into a bag and began to drag out the +sandwiches she must have packed for the trip. But he shook his head. "I +ain't so bad off. I ate something yesterday. But if you can spare +something for the Kid--Hey, Kid!" + +A thin boy of about sixteen crept out from behind some rubble, staring +uncertainly. Then, at the sight of the food, he made a lunge, grabbed +it, and hardly waited to get it through the slits of his suit before +gulping it down. Rusty sat down, his lined old face breaking into a +faint grin. He hesitated, but finally took some of the food. + +"Shouldn't oughta. You'll need it. Umm." He swallowed slowly, as if +tasting the food all the way down. "Kid can't talk. Cop caught him +peddling one of Randolph's pamphlets, cut out part of his tongue. But +he's all right now. Come on, Kid, hurry it up. We gotta convoy these +people." + +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 was +no hostile move from the big truck. He studied it, trying to decide what +a truck would be doing here. Then a Marspeaker-amplified voice shouted +from it. "Any muckrakers there?" + +"One," Gordon shouted back, and ran toward it, motioning the others to +follow. 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 did +the actual lifting. + +"Why didn't you two wait?" Mother Corey asked, his voice booming out of +his 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 being +respectable, cobber. And I'm getting old and sentimental about the +Chicken Coop." He chuckled, rubbing his hands together. "But not so old +that 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 those +trained apes of yours to cut the lights, will you, Mother? Somebody must +be using the Coop." + +They stopped the truck before reaching the old wreck. In the few dim +lights, the old building still gave off an air of mold and decay. Gordon +shuddered faintly, then followed Izzy and the Mother into the +semi-secret entrance. + +Izzy went ahead, almost silent, with a thin strand of wire between his +hands, his elbows weaving back and forth slowly to guide him. He was +apparently as familiar with the garrote as the knife. But they found no +guard. Izzy pressed the seal release and slid in cautiously, while the +others followed. + +In the beam of Gordon's torch, a single figure lay sprawled out on the +floor halfway to the rickety stairs to the main house. Mother Corey +grunted, 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 to +try 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 of +them, and some former members of the Jurgens organization. He found the +apelike 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 busily +going through piles of crates and boxes stacked along one wall. He was +pointing to a lead-foil-covered box. "Dope! And all that other stuff's +ammunition!" + +He shivered, staring at the fortune in his hands. Then he grimaced and +shoved the open can back in its case. He threw it back and began +stacking ammunition cases in front of the dope. Gordon went out to get +the others and start moving in the supplies and transferring the corpses +to the truck for disposal. Randolph scurried off to start setting up his +makeshift 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_ can +smell 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 into +it. Sheila watched him uncertainly, and then took possession of the next +room. 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 down +into the basement where Randolph was arranging his mimeograph. + +The printer listened only to the first sentence, and shook his head +impatiently. "I was afraid you'd think of that, Gordon. Look, you never +were a reporter--you ran a column. I've read the stuff you wrote. You +killed and maimed with words. But you never dug up news that would help +people, or tell them what they didn't suspect all along. And that's what +I've got to have." + +"Thanks!" Gordon said curtly. "Too bad Security didn't think I was as +lousy a reporter as you do!" + +"Okay. I'll give you a job, for one week. See what outer Marsport is +like. Find what can be done, if anything, and do it if you can. Then +come back and give me six columns on it. I'll pay Mother Corey for your +food--and for your wife's--and if I can find one column's worth of news +in it, maybe I'll give you a second week. I can't see a man's wife +starve 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 had +turned in. Gordon went up the stairs and threw himself onto the bed in +disgust. + +"Bruce!" Sheila stood outlined in the doorway against the dim glow of a +phosphor bulb. Her robe was partly open, and hunger burned in him; then, +before he could lift himself, she bent over and began unfastening his +boots. "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 disturb +her again. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he'd find some kind of an +answer; 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 left +arm, talking to Mother Corey when Bruce Gordon came down the rickety +steps. He stopped for a second, but there was no sign of trouble. Then +the 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 you +found. 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 and +strain on his face, but an odd authority and pride now. "I'll be +doggoned. Whyn't you say he was with Murdoch?" + +"They want someone to locate Ed Praeger and see about getting some food +shipped in from outside, cobber," Mother Corey told him. "They got some +money scraped together, but the hicks are doing no business with +Marsport. You know Ed--just tell him I sent you. I'd go myself, but I'm +getting 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 Mother +Corey chuckled. "Heart like a steel trap, cobber," he said, almost +approvingly. "Well, you'll be earning your keep here--yours and that +granddaughter's, too. Here--you'll need directions for finding Praeger." + +He handed the paper with his scrawled notes on it over to Gordon and +went shuffling back. Gordon stuck it into his pouch, and followed the +three. Outside, they had a truck waiting; Rusty and Corey's two henchmen +were busy loading it with ammunition from the cellar. + +Schulberg motioned him into the cab of the truck, and the other two +climbed into the closed rear section. "All right," Gordon said, "what +goes on?" + +The other began explaining as he picked a way through the ruin and +rubble. Murdoch had done better than Gordon had suspected; he'd laid out +a program for a citizens' vigilante committee, and had drilled enough in +the ruthless use of the club to keep the gangs down. Once the police +were all busy inside the dome with their private war, the committee had +been the only means of keeping order in the whole territory beyond. It +was now extended to cover about half the area, as a voluntary police +organization. + +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 man +was 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. The +dead man had been caught with a half bag of flour and part of a case of +beans. Schulberg found a scrap of something and penciled the crime on +it, together with a circle signature, and pinned it to the body. + +"All food should be turned in," he explained to Gordon as they climbed +back into the truck. "We figure community kitchens can stretch things a +bit more. And we give a half extra ration to the guys who can find +anything useful to do. We got enough so most people won't starve to +death for another week, I guess. But you'd better get Praeger to send +something, 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 passed +the old building Murdoch had used as a precinct house. It now had a +crude sign proclaiming it voluntary police HQ and outland government +center. Then he went on until they came to a spur of the little electric +monorail system, with three abandoned service engines parked at the end. + +"Extra air inside, and the best we could do for food. Was gonna try +myself, but I don't know Praeger," Schulberg said. He handed over a key, +and nodded toward the first service engine. "Good luck, Gordon--and damn +it, we're--we gotta eat, don't we? You tell him that! It ain't much--but +get what you can!" + +He swung the truck, and was gone. Gordon climbed into the enclosed cab +and pulled back questioningly on the only lever he could see. The engine +backed briefly; he reversed the control. Then it moved forward, picking +up speed. Apparently there was still power flowing in from the automatic +atomic generators. + +He got off to puzzle out a switch, using Mother Corey's scrawled +instructions. + +He had vaguely expected to see more of Mars, but for eight hours there +was only the bare flatness and dunes of unending sandy surface and +scraggly, useless native plants, opened out to the sun. Marsport had +been located where the only vein of uranium had been found on Mars, and +the growing section was closer to the equator. + +Then he came to villages. Again there was the sight of children running +around without helmets. He stopped once for directions, and a man stared +at him suspiciously and finally threw a switch reluctantly. + +He was finally forced to stop again, sure that he was near, now. This +time, it was in what seemed to be a major shipping center in the heart +of the lines that ran helter-skelter from village to village. Another +suspicious-eyed man studied him. "You won't find Praeger on his +farm--couldn't reach it in that, anyhow," he said finally. Then he +turned up his Marspeaker. "Ed! Hey, Ed!" + +Down the street, the seal of a building opened, and the big, bluff +figure of Praeger came out. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Gordon; then +he grinned and waved his visitor forward. + +Inside, there was evidence of food, and a rather pretty girl brought out +another platter and set it before Gordon. He ate while they exchanged +uncertain, rambling information; finally, he got down to his errand. + +Praeger seemed to read his mind. "I can get the stuff sent, Gordon. I'm +head of the shipping committee for this quadrant. But why in hell should +I? The last time, every car was looted in Outer Marsport. If they won't +let us get the oil and chemicals we need, why should we feed them?" + +"Ever see starvation?" Gordon asked, wishing again someone else who'd +felt it could carry the message. He told about a man who'd committed +suicide 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've +got kids of my own.... Look, you want food, we want to ship. Get your +cops to give us an escort for every shipment through to the dome, and +we'll drop off one car out of four for the outlands." + +Gordon sat back weakly. "Done!" he said. "Provided the first shipment +carries 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 you +have a whole train of it." He took the sack of credits and tossed it +toward a drawer, uncounted. "A damned good thing Security's sending a +ship. Credits won't be worth much until they get this mess straightened +out." + +Gordon felt the hair at the base of his neck tingle. "What makes you +think Security can do anything? They haven't shown a hand yet." + +"They will," Praeger said. "You guys in Marsport feed yourselves so many +lies you begin to believe them. But Security took Venus--and I'm not +worried here, in the long run. Don't ask me how." + +His voice was a mixture of bitterness and an odd certainty. "They set +Security up as a nice little debating society, Gordon, to make it easy +for 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 has +played one nation against another enough to keep any from daring to +swipe power on the planets. And this latest trick folded up, too. North +America figured on Marsport folding up once they got a police war +started, with a bunch of chiseling profiteers as their front; they +expected the citizens to yell uncle all the way back to Earth. But out +here, nobody thinks of Earth as a place to yell to for help, so they +missed. And now Security's got Pan-Asia and United Africa balanced +against North America, so the swipe won't work. We got the dope from our +southern receiver. North America's called it all a mistaken emergency +measure 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 strength +Security's ever had comes from the fact that it always wins, somehow. +Forget the crooks and crooked cops, man! Ask the people who've been +getting kicked around about Security, and you'll find that even most of +Marsport doesn't hate it! It's the only hope we've got of not having all +the planets turned into colonial empires! You staying over, or want me +to 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 the +planet, at Praeger, and at the girl. Here was the real Mars--the men who +liked 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 after +he'd reported his results. He climbed in woodenly, leaving his helmet on +as he saw the broken window. "A good job," the little man said. "And +news for the paper, if I ever publish it again. I came over because I +wasn't much use at the Coop, and everyone else was busy." + +"Doing what?" Gordon asked. + +Randolph grinned crookedly. "Running Outer Marsport. The Mother's the +only man everybody knows, I guess--and his word has never been broken +that anyone can remember. So he's helping Schulberg make agreements with +the sections the volunteers don't handle. Place is lousy with people +now. Heard about Mayor Wayne?" + +Gordon shook his head, not caring, but the man went on. "He must have +had his supply of drugs lifted somehow. He holed up one day, until it +really hit him that he couldn't get any more. Then he went gunning for +Trench, with some idea Trench had swiped the stuff--so Trench is now +running the Municipals. And I hear the gangs are just about in control +of both sections, lately." + + * * * * * + +The Chicken Coop was filled, as Randolph had said, but he slipped in and +up the stairs, leaving the news to the publisher. The place had been +cleaned up more than he had expected, and there must have been new +plants 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 he +blinked. His bunk had been changed to a wider one, and she lay under the +thin covering on one side. Down the center, crude stitches of heavy cord +showed where she had sewed the blanket to the mattress to divide it into +two sections. And in one corner, a couple of blanket sections formed a +rough screen. + +She caught his stare and reddened slowly. "I had to, Bruce. The Coop is +full, 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 enough +room to slide between the bed and the wall, and began dragging off his +boots and uniform. She started up to help him, then jerked back, and +turned her head away. "Forget all you're thinking, Cuddles. I'm still +not bothering unwilling women--and I'll even close my eyes when you +dress." + +She sighed, and relaxed. There was a faint touch of humor in her voice +then. "They called it bundling once, I think. I--Bruce, I know you don't +like 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 to +find out what it's like up here," he told her bitterly. For a second he +hesitated, and then the account of the newsboy and his would-be killers +came rushing out. + +She dropped a hand onto his, nodding. "I know. The Kid--Rusty's +friend--wrote down what they did to him." + +Gordon grunted. He'd almost forgotten about the tongueless Kid. For a +second, his thoughts churned on. Then he got up and began putting on his +uniform again. Sheila frowned, staring at him, and began sliding from +her side, reaching for her robe. She followed him down the creaking +stairs, and to the room where Schulberg, Mother Corey, and a few others +were 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 myself +in!" he told them coldly. "You know enough about Security badges to know +they 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 tiny +badge 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 just +declared war on the whole damned dome section! Mother, I want all the +dope we found!" With that--about the only supply of any size left--he +could command unquestioning loyalty from every addict who hadn't already +died from lack of it. Mother Corey nodded, instant understanding running +over his puttylike face. + +Schulberg shrugged. "After your deal with Praeger, we'd probably follow +you anyhow. I don't cotton to Security, Gordon--but those devils in +there are making our kids starve!" + +Mother Corey heaved his bulk up slowly, wheezing, and indicated his +chair at the head of the table. But Gordon shook his head. He'd made his +decision. His head was emptied for the moment, and he wanted nothing +more than a chance to hit the bed and forget the whole business until +morning. + +Sheila was staring at him as he shucked off his outer clothes +mechanically and crawled under the blanket. She let the robe fall to the +floor and slid into the bed without taking her eyes off him. "Is it true +about Security sending a ship?" she asked at last. He nodded, and her +breath 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. Stop +worrying about it." + +She threw herself sideways, as far from him as she could get. Her voice +was 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 a +Security Prime seemed to bring the other sections of Outer Marsport +under the volunteer police control even faster. But he was too busy to +worry about it. He left general co-ordination in the hands of Mother +Corey, while Izzy and Schulberg ran the expanding of the police force. + +Praeger arrived with the first load of food, and came storming up to +him. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Security Prime! I'm grade three +myself." + +"And I suppose that would have meant you'd have shipped in all the food +we 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 all +away now. Well, we'll get in enough food this way to keep you going for +a while--couple of weeks, at least." + +It sounded good, and might have worked if there had been the normal food +reserve, or if the other three quadrants had been willing to do as much. +But while the immediate pressure of starvation was lifted, Gordon's own +stomach told him that it wasn't an adequate diet. Signs of scurvy and +pellagra were increasing. + +Bruce Gordon whipped himself into forgetting some of that. His army was +growing. Or rather, his mob. There was no sense in trying to get more +than the vaguest organization. + +It was the eighth day when he led them out in the early dawn. He had +issued extra dope and managed a slight increase in the ration, so they +made a brave showing--until they reached the dome. + +There were no rifles opposed to him, as he had expected, and the guard +at the gate was no heavier. But the warning had somehow been given, and +both forces were ready. + +Stretching north from the gate were the Municipals with members of some +of the gangs; the other gangmen were with the Legals to the south. And +they stood within inches of the dome, holding axes and knives. + +A big Marspeaker ran out from the gate, and the voice of Gannett came +over it. "Go back! If just one of you gets within ten feet of the dome +or entrance, we're going to rip the dome! We'll destroy Marsport before +we'll give in to a doped-up crowd of riffraff! You've got five minutes +to 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 the +entrance, just as the moaning wail of the crowd behind him built up. + +"You fools!" he yelled. "They're bluffing. They wouldn't dare destroy +the dome! Come on!" + +But already the men were evaporating. He stared at the rout, and +suddenly stopped fighting the hands holding him. Beside him, the Kid was +crying, 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 and +Municipals wildly scrambling for cover from each other. + +Mother Corey met him, dragging him back to a small room where he dug up +an impossibly precious bottle of brandy. "Drink it all, cobber. So one +of your Security badges had the wrong man attached to it, and word got +back. Couldn't be helped. You just ran into the sacred law of +Marsport--the one they teach kids. Be bad, and the dome'll collapse. The +dome made Marsport, and it's taboo!" + +Gordon nodded. Maybe the old man was right. "If the dome gives them a +perfect cover, why let me make a jackass of myself, Mother?" he asked +numbly. + +Corey shook his head, setting the heavy folds of flesh to bouncing. +"Gave them something to live for here, cobber. And when you get over +this, you're gonna announce new plans to try again. Yes, you are! But +right now, you get yourself drunk!" + +He left Gordon and the bottle. After a while, the bottle was gone. He +felt number, but no better, by the time Izzy came in. + +"Trench is outside in a heavy-armored car, Bruce. Says he wants to see +you. Something to discuss--a proposition!" + +Gordon stood up, wobbling a little, trying to think. Then he swore, and +headed 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 big +car outside. Then he shrugged. He finally made the stairs and reached +his bed before he passed out. + +Sheila was standing over him when he finally woke. She dumped a headache +powder into her palm and held it out, handing him a small glass of +water. He swallowed the fast-acting drug, and sat up, trying to +remember. 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," she +answered. "At least he said he wanted to show you something, and it was +about that size. He wouldn't talk with us much. But I remember his name +in the book--" + +Gordon shook his head and sat up. The book, he thought, trying to focus +his thoughts. The book with all the names... + +"All right, Cuddles," he said finally. "You got your meal ticket, and +you've outgrown it in this mess. Now I want that damned book! I've been +operating in the dark. It's time I found out how to get in touch with +some of those people. Where is it?" + +She shook her head. "It isn't. Bruce--I don't have it. That time I gave +you 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 burned +it. I lied to you about using it to make you keep me." + +"You burned it!" He turned it over, staring at her. "Okay, Cuddles, you +burned it. You were trying to kill me then, so you burned it to keep +Jurgens 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 know +why. I just did! No!" + +She turned toward the door as he pushed up from the bed, but his arm +caught her wrist, dragging her back. She whimpered once, then shrieked +faintly as his hand caught the buttons on the dress, jerking them off. +Then suddenly she was a writhing, biting, scratching fury. He tightened +his hand and lifted her to the bed, dropping a knee onto her throat and +beginning to squeeze, while he jerked the dress and thin slip off. + +She sat up as he released his knee, her hoarse voice squeezed from +between 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 you +know a _wife_ shouldn't keep secrets from her _husband_? A warm-blooded, +affectionate husband, to boot." He bent down, knocking aside her +flailing arms, and pulled her closer to him. "Better tell your husband +where the book is, Cuddles!" + +She cursed and he drew her closer. He bent down, forcing her head back +and setting his lips on hers. + +From somewhere, wetness touched his cheek; he lifted his head and looked +down. The wetness came from tears that spilled out of her eyes and ran +off onto the mattress. She was making no sound, and there was no +resistance, but the tears ran out, one drop seeming to trip over +another. + +"All right, Sheila," he said. His voice was cracked in his ears. +"Another week of being a failure on this planet of failures, and I +might. Go ahead and tell me I'm the same as your first husband. If I +can't even keep my word to you, I can at least get out and stay out." He +shook his head, waiting for her denunciation. "For your amusement, I'm +going to miss having you around!" + +He stood up. Something touched his hand, and he looked down to see her +fingers. + +"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 touched +her 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't +want you to go!" + + * * * * * + +Two worlds. One huddled under its dome, forever afraid of losing that +protection and having to face the life the other led; and yet driven to +work 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 been +blind--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 the +air we'd die on, and they're doing fine at it. Probably +second-generation ones can keep going after we'd pass out. It's just as +true out here as it is on the frontier. But Marsport has that sacred +dome over it. It's still trying to be Earth. And it can't do it. It's +never 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 a +half-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 the +discussion, she made coffee, and first Randolph, then the Kid came in +for briefing. Randolph was a natural addition, and the Kid had been +alternately following Gordon and Sheila around since he'd first heard +they were fighting against the men who'd robbed him of his right to +speak. In the end, as the night spread into day, there were more people +than 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 even +the webbing straps that gave it added strength were frail things. But it +was strong enough to hold up the pressure of over ten pounds per square +inch, and the webbing was anchored in a metal sleeve that went too high +for cutting. They could rip it, but not ruin it completely; and it had +to 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 powder +under those webbing supports, and lay the fuse wire beside the plastic +ring that keeps it airtight," he reported. "But God help us, gov'nor, if +any gee spots us." + +They worked through the night, while Rusty went back to requisition more +explosives from the dwindling supply, and while the Kid and Izzy took +time off to break into a closed converter plant and find wire enough to +connect the charges. But dawn caught them with less done than they had +hoped. Gordon went to connect a wire and switch from the battery and +coil they had installed, but jerked backwards as he saw a suspicious +guard staring at him. + +"Let him think we're just scouting," Randolph advised. + +There were suspicious looks as the group came back to the Coop, but +Mother Corey waddled over to meet them. "Did you find them, cobber?" he +asked quickly, and one of his eyelids flickered. + +Izzy answered before Gordon could rise to it. "Not yet, Mother. May have +to go back tonight." + +Gordon left them discussing the mythical search for certain supplies +that Mother Corey had apparently used as an alibi for their absence from +the building. Sheila started to make coffee, but he shook his head and +headed for the bed. She yawned and nodded, fingering the stitches that +still ran down the blanket to divide it. Then she grimaced faintly and +dropped down beside him on top of the blanket. Her head hit his arm, and +she 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 it +was something that had to be done, gov'nor, so I figured you'd know +about 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 obviously +knew something; but he kept his suspicions to himself, and gave them a +cover from the others. + +There was no sign of Sheila near the dome. But inside, there were guards +pacing along it. Gordon spotted them first, and drew the others back. If +they'd found the carefully worked-in powder... + +The Kid ducked down and out of the car, worming his way around the +building that concealed them. He waited for the guard to vanish, and +then went crawling forward. Gordon swore, but there was no sense in two +of them risking themselves, only to attract more attention. And at last +the 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 inside +the 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'll +have to do it under some kind of covering, the way I had it planned in +the first place, only with one more damned complication. We'll pull +another false raid on the dome. As soon as we get chased off, I'll +manage 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 to +ribbons for knocking off the dome." + +Then he stopped suddenly, staring. Bruce Gordon leaned forward, with +Izzy's hands grabbing for him. But he'd seen it, too. + +Standing next to the dome was Trench, talking to one of the guards. And +beside 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, but +he pushed it away, with all the other things. "Get us back, Izzy," he +ordered. "We've got to round up whatever group we can and get them back +here on the double. They must be counting on our original time, so +they're in no hurry to remove the powder and wiring. But we can't count +on 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 to +save the dome. Tell the men we just found out that Trench is losing and +intends to blow it up instead of letting the Legals win." + +Rumor would travel fast enough, he hoped. And it should give him a few +extra seconds before his forces cracked. + +He lifted the switch in his hands and stared at it. It wasn't necessary +now. All he had to do was to reach the battery and drop any metal across +the two terminals there--if they could get back before Trench--and +Sheila--could remove the battery. + +It was a period of complete fog to him, but it wasn't until his motley +army reached the dome, straggling up in trucks and on foot, that he +snapped into focus again. There was no sign of Sheila this time, and he +didn't look for her. His whole mind was concentrated down to a single +point: Get the dome! + +This time, there was no scattering of Municipals and Legals. The +Municipal forces were rushing up toward the dome, and surprised Legals +were frantically arriving in trucks. There was the beginning of a +pitched 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, with +the 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 now +the 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 whole +development made no more sense than any part of it to him, but he saw +the Municipals and Legals suddenly begin to turn as a single man to face +the outside menace that had crept up on them while they were boiling +into a fight. + +And suddenly the Marspeaker over the entrance blasted into life. "Get +back! 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 hand +snaked 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 the +dome. In one place it began to tear, and there was a sudden savage roar +from the men around Gordon. He had started forward after the Kid, but +Izzy was in front of him, holding him back. + +The Kid stumbled and slid across the ground, while blood spurted out +from a gash across his head, and the helmet fell into pieces. Then, with +a 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 visible +form. The webbing straps broke, and the dome jerked upwards, twisting +outwards, 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 houses +around, and other men pouring forward from his own group. The few of +either police force still standing and helmeted broke into a wild run, +but they had no chance! The mob had decided that they had mined and +exploded the dome. + +He turned back toward the Coop, sick with the death of the Kid and the +violence. 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 the +cab. He stared into the face of Isaiah Trench. And driving the truck was +Sheila. + +"Your wife took a helluva chance, Gordon," Trench said heavily. "And I +took quite a chance, too, to set this up so nobody could ever believe +you were behind it. Getting that fight started in time, after you first +showed 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 where +I stood." + +Gordon stared at them slowly, not quite believing it, even though it was +no crazier than anything else during the past few hours. + +Trench shrugged. "I was railroaded here by Security, told to be good and +they'd let me go home. A lot of men got that treatment. So when Wayne +was still talking about building a perfect Marsport, I joined up. He +treated me right, and I took orders. But a man gets sick of working with +punks and cheap hoods; he gets sicker of killing off a planet he's +learned to like. I learned to take orders, though--and I took them until +Wayne tried to put a bullet through me. That ended that, and I came out +to join up with you. You were soused, I hear--but your wife guessed +enough to take the chance of coming to me, when she thought you were +going to get yourself killed. Well, I guess you get out here." + +He indicated the Coop. Gordon got down, followed by Sheila as Trench +took the wheel. "What happens to you now?" Gordon asked. "They'll be +blaming you for the end of the dome." + +"Let them. I planned on that. Too bad Trench got torn to bits by the +mob, isn't it? And it's a good thing I've always kept myself a place +under a safe incognito out in the sticks. Got a wife and two kids out +there that even Wayne didn't know about." He stuck out a hand. "You're +like Security, Gordon. You do all the wrong things, but you get the +right results. Goodbye!" + +Sheila watched him go, shaking her head. "He likes you, Bruce. But he +can't say it. Men!" + +"Women!" Gordon answered. + +Then he stiffened. Coming down through the thin air of Mars was the +bright 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 up +Security; another four days passed after they had sent him back to wait +until they received orders from Headquarters for him. There was a man +coming from Earth on a second ship who would see him. They gave him a +chauffeur back to the Chicken Coop, and politely indicated that it would +be better if he stayed within reach. + +The dome had been down a full week when he watched the last of +Randolph's equipment packed onto a truck and hauled away. The little +publisher was back at the _Crusader_ again. Rusty was busy opening his +bar, and the others were all busy. Only Gordon and Sheila were left. + +He heard her coming down the old stairs, and ducked out through the +private 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 no +attempt to follow. She'd asked no questions and hadn't even tried to +convince him that he'd be sent back to Earth now. + +He muttered to himself as he headed over the rubble toward the +previously domed section. + +Out at the spaceport, ships were dropping down from Deimos with the +supplies that had been held up so long, and a long line of trucks went +snaking by. Credit had been established again, and the businesses were +open. + +For the time being, the hoods and punks were having a tough time of it, +with working papers demanded as constant identification. And while it +lasted, at least, Marsport was beginning to have its face lifted. Wrecks +were being broken up, with salvageable material used for newer homes. +Gordon came to a row of temporary bubbles, individual dwellings built +like the dome, but opaque for privacy. + +As Gordon drew closer to the old foundation of the dome, the feeling +around began to clarify into something halfway between what he had seen +on 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 of +it falling back; and the buildings had come through the outward +explosion of the pressure with little damage. Gordon grinned wryly. +Schulberg's volunteers were official, now. Izzy was acting as chief of +police, Schulberg was head of the reconstruction corps, and Mother Corey +was temporary Mayor of all Marsport. The old charter for Marsport from +North America was dead, and the whole city was now under Security +charter, like the rest of the planet. But the dozen Security men had +left most of the control in the Mother's hands, and the old man was up +to his fat jowls in business. + +Gordon moved automatically toward the Seventh Ward. Fats' Place was +still open, though the crooked tables had been removed. Gordon dropped +to a stool, slipping off his helmet. He reached automatically for the +glass of ether-needled beer. This time, it even tasted good to him. + +"On the house, copper," Fats' voice said. The man dropped to another +stool, 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 old +friends!" + +"Friends and other things," Gordon said, remembering his first visit +here. "Maybe you should have got me that night, Fats." + +The other shrugged. "That's Mars." He rolled the dice out, then picked +them up again. "Guess I'll have to stick to selling meals, mostly--for a +while, at least. Somebody told me you'd joined Security and got banged +up trying to keep Trench from blowing up the dome. Thought you'd be in +the chips!" + +"That's Mars," Gordon echoed the other's comment. "Why don't you pull +off the planet, Fats? You could go back to Earth, I'd guess." + +The other nodded. "Yeah. I went back, about ten years ago. Spent four +weeks 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 ships +come in, and bill this as a real old Martian den of sin! Get a barker +out at the port, run special busses, charge the suckers a mint for a +cheap thrill." + +Gordon grinned wryly; Fats would probably make more than ever. + +He finished the meal, accepted a pack of the Earth cigarettes that sold +at a luxury price here, and went out into the thin air of Mars. It was +almost good to get out into the filth of the slums, and be heading back +to the still-standing monument of the old Chicken Coop. He headed for +the private entrance out of habit, and then shrugged as he realized it +was a needless precaution now. He moved up the front steps and through +the 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 was +waiting. + +There was a grin on the other's face. "Hello, Gordon. Finally got our +orders for you. It's Mercury!" + +Bruce Gordon nodded slowly. "All right. I suppose you know I ruined the +dome, was supposed to have killed Murdoch, pretended I was a Security +agent..." + +"You _were_ one," the man said. He grinned again. "We know about +Murdoch, and we know where Trench is--but he's a good citizen now, so he +can stay there. We're not throwing the book at you, Bruce. Damn it, we +sent you here to get results, and you got them. We sent twenty others +the same way--and they failed. You were a bit drastic--that I have to +admit--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 do +is to hope. We'll probably get this Mother Corey and Isaacs elected +properly; and for a while, things will improve. But there'll be pushers +as long as weak men turn to drugs, and graft as long as voters allow the +thing to get out of their hands. Let's say you've shifted some of the +misery around a bit, and given them a chance to do better. It's up to +them 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't +like it now. You're a fighter. And there's hell brewing on +Mercury--worse than here. We've got permission to send you there, if +you'll go. With a yellow ticket, again--but without any razzle-dazzle +this time. The only thing you'll get out of it is a chance to fight for +a better chance for others some day--and a promise that there'll be +more, until you get old enough to sit at a desk on Earth and fight +against every bickering nation there to keep the planets clean. There's +a rocket waiting to transship you to the Moon on the way to Mercury +right now." + +Gordon sighed. "All right. But I wish you'd tell my wife sometime +that--well, that I didn't just run out on her. She's had bad luck with +men." + +"She already knows," the Security man said. "I've been waiting for you +quite a while, you know. And I've paid her the pay we owe you from the +time you began using your badge. She's out shopping!" + +The car pulled up to the waiting rocket, and the Security man helped him +up the steps with a perfunctory wish for good luck. Then Bruce Gordon +stopped as great arms surrounded him. + +Mother Corey was immaculate, though not much prettier. But his old eyes +were 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 shook +his head. + +"I can't say it, either, gov'nor--but some day, I'm going to have one of +those badges myself. Like I always said, honesty sure pays, even if it +kills you. Here!" + +He followed Mother Corey, leaving behind his favorite knife and a +brand-new deck of reader cards, marked exactly as the ones Gordon had +first used. + +Gordon dropped into his seat, while the sounds outside indicated +take-off time. He had less than a hundred credits, a knife, a deck of +phony cards, and a yellow ticket. Mars was leaving him what he'd +brought.... + +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 the +black of Mercury on the bottom. + +"Hello, Bruce," Sheila said softly. "I've been shopping and I spent the +money the man gave me. This is all I have left. Do you think it's worth +it? Or should I take it back?" + +He turned it over in his hands slowly, and the smile came back to his +face gradually. + +"You got a bargain, Cuddles," he said. "A lot better than the meal +ticket you bought. Let's keep it." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Police Your Planet, by Lester del Rey + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POLICE YOUR PLANET *** + +***** This file should be named 20212.txt or 20212.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/2/1/20212/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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