. But Gordon wasn't too surprised when his relief
showed up two hours late; he'd half-expected some such nastiness from
Trench. But he was surprised at the look on his tardy relief's face.

The man seemed to avoid facing him, muttered, "Captain says report in
person at once," and swung out of the scooter and onto his beat without
further words.

Gordon was met there by blank faces and averted looks, but someone
nodded toward Trench's office, and he went inside. Trench sat chewing on
a cigar. "Gordon, what does Security want with you?"

"Security? Not a damned thing, if I can help it. They kicked me off
Earth on a yellow ticket, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah." Trench shoved a letter forward; it bore the "official business"
seal of Solar Security, and was addressed to Corporal Bruce Gordon,
Nineteenth Police Precinct, Marsport. Trench kept his eyes on it, his
face filled with suspicion and the vague fear most men had for Security.

"Yeah," he said again. "Okay, probably routine. Only next time, Gordon,
put the _facts_ on your record with the Force. If you're a deportee, it
should show up. That's all!"

Bruce Gordon went out, holding the envelope. The warning in Trench's
voice wasn't for any omission on his record, he knew. He shoved the
envelope into his belt pocket and waited until he was in his own room
before opening it.

It was terse, and unsigned.

_Report expected, overdue. Failure to observe duty will result in
permanent resettlement to Mercury._

He swore, coldly and methodically, while his stomach dug knots in
itself. The damned, stupid, blundering fools! That was all Trench and
the police gang had to see; it was obvious that the letter had been
opened. Sure, report at once. Drop a letter in the mailbox, and the next
morning it would be turned over to Commissioner Arliss' office. Report
or be kicked off to a planet that Security felt enough worse than Mars
to use as punishment! Report _and_ find Mars a worse place than Mercury
could ever be.

He felt sick as he stood up to find paper and pen and write a terse,
factual account of his own personal doings--minus any hint of anything
wrong with the system here. Security might think it was enough for the
moment, and the local men might possibly decide it a mere required
formality. At least it would stall things off for a while....

But Gordon knew now that he could never hope to get back to Earth
legally. That vague promise by Security was so