hate him?
Could Dave be out to get him?

Charley couldn't think why, but it was a lead, the only one he had. And
if Dave did turn out to be behind everything that was happening, Charley
knew exactly what he was going to do.

He couldn't beat Dave himself.

But he had friends--

* * * * *

After the show, that night, Charley went hunting for Ed Baylis. Ed had
been around Wrout's a long time, and if anything were going on Ed would
know about it. Charley went down to the girlie tent, and found Ed just
clearing up. All over the midway, the lights were going out, and the
Mars Race game gave one final roar and came to a halt. The last
customers were leaving.

Ed looked up when he came over. Charley didn't ease into the subject; he
couldn't. "Something's wrong," he said at once. "I'm off the bally, and
the crowds are going down. I don't like it, Ed."

Baylis shrugged. "Who would?" he said.

"But--something's wrong," Charley said. "Ed, you know what's happening.
You get the word. Let me in on it."

"I don't know anything about this," Ed said at once. But his face was
still, his eyes shuttered in the darkness.

Charley kept after him. They went behind the girlie tent, talking
softly. Overhead a rocket burned by, but neither man looked up.

At last Ed sighed. "Just forget about it," he said. "Just do your job.
That's all that matters. You don't want to know anything else."

"Why don't I?" Charley said. "Sure I do. And it's no good telling me to
do my job. The way things are running, Ed, I'm not going to _have_ a job
very long."

"There's nothing you can do about it," Ed said. "Believe me. You don't
want to know because knowing wouldn't do you any good. And you wouldn't
believe me if I told you."

"Try me," Charley said. "Go ahead." He scratched at one shin with the
other foot.

"Well," Ed began, and then stopped. He shook his head. "Look, Charley,
let me tell this my way. Something like this happened before. A long
while back--before the Cold War started, let alone ended."

"Go ahead," Charley said. A drop of sweat ran slowly down his forehead.
He tried to ignore it.

"Did I ever tell you I used to talk for a strong-man act?" Ed said. "Not
a sideshow talker, nothing like that; this guy had an act of his own,
full tent and flies. Gondo, his name was, and I can still see those
flies: _Eighth Wonder of the World_ up on top, red on blue, and just
_Gondo_ underneath, pure white wit