de, 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