Barnard felt a curious shame in finding a human being in such a state,
talking like a baby. But maybe he could learn something. He dug into
his pocket, thrust a coin into the idiot's palm.
"What does your sister do? Does she maybe sell little packages of gray
powder to people?"
The creature looked naively at him. "Gail don't like the gray powder.
She says I must never eat the gray powder. Do you want some? Lots of
mans here sells some."
Barnard thought. He had seen that girl before. A hunch began to grow in
him.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"George Melvin," the idiot said.
"George!"
It was Gail Melvin's voice. Barnard saw her in the doorway of Quong
Kee's back room. George went dutifully to her, clutching the coin
Barnard had handed him. The girl took his hand and pulled him inside.
Barnard regarded the doorway sourly. He looked around Quong Kee's,
caught the glance of the maniac who had attacked him. He took his coat
and airpac and left hastily.
* * * * *
At the communications center he sent another despatch. Nothing much to
report, and he knew the boss wouldn't like it. The System News Service
firmly believed that scoops grew on Martian trees and Ron Barnard was
expected to pick out a nice one to feed the hungry public.
Jingling the change in his pocket, he sensed something wrong, and
pulled out the coins for a look. His lucky coin was missing--a rare
twentieth century Buffalo nickel. He had given it to the half wit.
He fingered the bruises the _neoin_ fiend had made on his face and
grinned humorlessly. The coin hadn't brought him much luck.
He was going into his hotel when he sighted George Melvin shambling
down the street. He paused, waiting for the half-wit to reach him. It
was cold, and he wanted to get inside, but leads were scarce. He fell
into step beside George.
"Hello, George," he said. "Where do you and Gail live?"
The half wit looked innocently at him. His airpac was strapped around
the collar of his coat. Evidently Gail did not consider him intelligent
enough even to breathe properly on Mars! Barnard squeezed his own
airpac in an automatic motion. Oxygen on Mars was just short of enough
for humans. A man would sooner be minus his pants than his airpac,
though Martian-born humans needed them only at time of exertion.
"We live in Chicago."
"Yes--that's on Earth. But where do you stay on Mars?"
"In Chicago on Mars, too."
Barnard looked suspiciously at him. But the vacuous expression
certainly was not feigned; George Melvin's eyes were less intelligent
than a fish's.
"Do you stay at Quong Kee's?" the reporter tried.
"Sometimes. At night we go back to Chicago. Where do you stay?"
"In the fog, most of the time." Barnard tried another line. "Where's
Gail now?"
"In jail." George Melvin said it without changing his tone or his
expression.
Barnard seized his coat front and stared into the dull eyes. "In jail?
George, what happened? Who arrested her? Why?"
"A man came. A man with a star on his hat--"
"The Space Police!"
Barnard released the half-wit. He stared happily toward the gray
building of the Space Police. This was something--he felt the hunch too
strongly to have any doubt. The story was going to break!
The Space Police were relatively new, and it behooved them to be good
to the press, for there was still much opposition to their existence.
He hesitated a moment, thinking of the lack of enthusiasm with which
Commander John Lansfer had received him. But Lansfer would let him in
on the story, or there'd be some hot articles in the newspapers of the
System News Service.
He pushed another coin into George Melvin's paw. "George, go back to
Quong Kee's and wait until I come. Do you understand? I'm going to find
out about Gail."
Watching the half-wit disappear, he felt a pang where his conscience
should have been. Somehow he didn't like the idea of Gail Melvin as a
part of this _neoin_ ring.
"Hell," he growled to himself. "I can't afford to be human. I have a
job to do--and the System News Service comes first."
He pushed into a thin cold Martian wind and hurried toward the warmth
of the police building.