turned from a Mars flight, was both amazed
and disturbed by the strange request his beautiful young wife made of
him. It was awful--illegal--even criminal! To arrange for the
certification of a man with a weak heart; to virtually counterfeit
the medical records of the Spacelane Company!

But he _was_ her uncle, Diana Christy pleaded. The only relative she
had in the world; the only one she loved outside of Christy himself.
He _must_ help her; he must give her poor sick uncle a chance to make
a new life for himself in the Mars Colony.

He wouldn't do it; he couldn't! But she cried, with great wet tears
streaming down the smooth planes of her face. Didn't he love her?
Wasn't this one little favor worth doing for the sake of her
happiness? No one would be hurt by it. The motives were altruistic,
after all.

But the risk--

There wasn't any risk, she assured him. Her uncle was wealthy; very
wealthy. He could supply all the money Bill would need. If what people
said about Dr. Forsch was true, he might be approached. That would
make it simple, wouldn't it? It was such a small thing he could
do--but how she would appreciate it! How she would love him for it!

And of course, finally, with her cool arms about his neck and her soft
cheek pressed against his, he replied:

"I'll do it."

* * * * *

Monk handed his luggage to the official at the Spacelane Flight Desk.
But he kept the brown leather bag in his hand, and no amount of
argument could separate him from it. It was easy to understand his
devotion to this particular piece of personal property; it contained
some four million dollars in cash.

"I may not be the youngest man on Mars," he smiled to himself as he
walked onto the loading platform. "But I'll be the richest!"

Aboard the ship, the pilot Bill Christy gave him a worried glance and
assisted him into the contour chair. Christy showed concern.

"You feel okay, Mr. Wheeler?" he asked. Monk smiled back, but not in
answer to the question. He enjoyed the pseudonym, because it was the
name of an old competitor, long-since buried beneath Monk's superior
talents in the business of making money.

"Try and relax as much as you can," said Christy. "We'll give you a
mild sedative before blast-off. Remember, there are going to be
distinct variations in the G forces as we accelerate, so try to
remember the breathing instructions."

"I will," said Monk. "Once more, though--"

"There'll