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