ce, 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,