port, they recognized the _Pequod's_ boat, and there was a
rush after it. We had trouble getting down without setting it on
anybody, and more trouble getting out of it. They were all
friendly--too friendly for comfort. They began cheering us as soon as
they saw us.

Oscar got Joe Kivelson, with his arm in a sling, out in front where he
could be seen, and began shouting: "Please make way; this man's been
injured. Please don't crowd; we have an injured man here." The crowd
began shoving back, and in the rear I could hear them taking it up:
"Joe Kivelson; he's been hurt. They're carrying Joe Kivelson off."
That made Joe curse a blue streak, and somebody said, "Oh, he's been
hurt real bad; just listen to him!"

When we got up to the editorial floor, Dad and Bish Ware and a few
others were waiting at the elevator for us. Bish was dressed as he
always was, in his conservative black suit, with the organic opal
glowing in his neckcloth. Dad had put a coat on over his gun. Julio was
wearing two pistols and a knife a foot long. There was a big crowd in
the editorial office--ships' officers, merchants, professional people. I
noticed Sigurd Ngozori, the banker, and Professor Hartzenbosch--he was
wearing a pistol, too, rather self-consciously--and the Zen Buddhist
priest, who evidently had something under his kimono. They all greeted
us enthusiastically and shook hands with us. I noticed that Joe Kivelson
was something less than comfortable about shaking hands with Bish Ware.
The fact that Bish had started the search for the _Javelin_ that had
saved our lives didn't alter the opinion Joe had formed long ago that
Bish was just a worthless old souse. Joe's opinions are all
collapsium-plated and impervious to outside influence.

I got Bish off to one side as we were going into the editorial room.

"How did you get onto it?" I asked.

He chuckled deprecatingly. "No trick at all," he said. "I just
circulated and bought drinks for people. The trouble with Ravick's
gang, it's an army of mercenaries. They'll do anything for the price
of a drink, and as long as my rich uncle stays solvent, I always have
the price of a drink. In the five years I've spent in this Garden Spot
of the Galaxy, I've learned some pretty surprising things about Steve
Ravick's operations."

"Well, surely, nobody was going around places like Martian Joe's or
One Eye Swanson's boasting that they'd put a time bomb aboard the
_Javelin_," I said.

"It came to pre