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