SECURITY PAYOFF
It was three days before Bruce Gordon made up his mind to hunt up
Security; another four days passed after they had sent him back to wait
until they received orders from Headquarters for him. There was a man
coming from Earth on a second ship who would see him. They gave him a
chauffeur back to the Chicken Coop, and politely indicated that it would
be better if he stayed within reach.
The dome had been down a full week when he watched the last of
Randolph's equipment packed onto a truck and hauled away. The little
publisher was back at the _Crusader_ again. Rusty was busy opening his
bar, and the others were all busy. Only Gordon and Sheila were left.
He heard her coming down the old stairs, and ducked out through the
private exit, snapping his helmet in place as he went through the seal.
She must have sensed his desire to be left alone, since she made no
attempt to follow. She'd asked no questions and hadn't even tried to
convince him that he'd be sent back to Earth now.
He muttered to himself as he headed over the rubble toward the
previously domed section.
Out at the spaceport, ships were dropping down from Deimos with the
supplies that had been held up so long, and a long line of trucks went
snaking by. Credit had been established again, and the businesses were
open.
For the time being, the hoods and punks were having a tough time of it,
with working papers demanded as constant identification. And while it
lasted, at least, Marsport was beginning to have its face lifted. Wrecks
were being broken up, with salvageable material used for newer homes.
Gordon came to a row of temporary bubbles, individual dwellings built
like the dome, but opaque for privacy.
As Gordon drew closer to the old foundation of the dome, the feeling
around began to clarify into something halfway between what he had seen
on the real frontier and what he had known as a kid in Earth's slums.
They had been lucky. The dome had exploded outwards, with only bits of
it falling back; and the buildings had come through the outward
explosion of the pressure with little damage. Gordon grinned wryly.
Schulberg's volunteers were official, now. Izzy was acting as chief of
police, Schulberg was head of the reconstruction corps, and Mother Corey
was temporary Mayor of all Marsport. The old charter for Marsport from
North America was dead, and the whole city was now under Security
charter, like the rest of the planet. But the dozen Security men had
left most of the control in the Mother's hands, and the old man was up
to his fat jowls in business.
Gordon moved automatically toward the Seventh Ward. Fats' Place was
still open, though the crooked tables had been removed. Gordon dropped
to a stool, slipping off his helmet. He reached automatically for the
glass of ether-needled beer. This time, it even tasted good to him.
"On the house, copper," Fats' voice said. The man dropped to another
stool, rolling dice casually between his thumbs. "And bring out a steak,
there! You look as if you could stand it--and Fats don't forget old
friends!"
"Friends and other things," Gordon said, remembering his first visit
here. "Maybe you should have got me that night, Fats."
The other shrugged. "That's Mars." He rolled the dice out, then picked
them up again. "Guess I'll have to stick to selling meals, mostly--for a
while, at least. Somebody told me you'd joined Security and got banged
up trying to keep Trench from blowing up the dome. Thought you'd be in
the chips!"
"That's Mars," Gordon echoed the other's comment. "Why don't you pull
off the planet, Fats? You could go back to Earth, I'd guess."
The other nodded. "Yeah. I went back, about ten years ago. Spent four
weeks down there. I dunno. Guess a man gets used to anything ... Hell,
maybe I can hire some bums to sit around and whoop it up when the ships
come in, and bill this as a real old Martian den of sin! Get a barker
out at the port, run special busses, charge the suckers a mint for a
cheap thrill."
Gordon grinned wryly; Fats would probably make more than ever.
He finished the meal, accepted a pack of the Earth cigarettes that sold
at a luxury price here, and went out into the thin air of Mars. It was
almost good to get out into the filth of the slums, and be heading back
to the still-standing monument of the old Chicken Coop. He headed for
the private entrance out of habit, and then shrugged as he realized it
was a needless precaution now. He moved up the front steps and through
the battered seal.
Then he stopped. Security had finally gotten around to him, it seemed.
Inside the hallway, the Security man who'd first sent him to Mars was
waiting.
There was a grin on the other's face. "Hello, Gordon. Finally got our
orders for you. It's Mercury!"
Bruce Gordon nodded slowly. "All right. I suppose you know I ruined the
dome, was supposed to have killed Murdoch, pretended I was a Security
agent..."
"You _were_ one," the man said. He grinned again. "We know about
Murdoch, and we know where Trench is--but he's a good citizen now, so he
can stay there. We're not throwing the book at you, Bruce. Damn it, we
sent you here to get results, and you got them. We sent twenty others
the same way--and they failed. You were a bit drastic--that I have to
admit--but we're one step closer to keeping nationalism off the planets,
and that's all we care about."
"I wonder if it's worth it," Gordon said slowly.
The other shook his head. "We can't know in our lifetime. All we can do
is to hope. We'll probably get this Mother Corey and Isaacs elected
properly; and for a while, things will improve. But there'll be pushers
as long as weak men turn to drugs, and graft as long as voters allow the
thing to get out of their hands. Let's say you've shifted some of the
misery around a bit, and given them a chance to do better. It's up to
them to take it or lose it."
"So I get sent to Mercury?"
"You can't stay here. They'll find out too much eventually." He paused,
estimating Gordon. "You _can_ go back to Earth, Bruce, but you won't
like it now. You're a fighter. And there's hell brewing on
Mercury--worse than here. We've got permission to send you there, if
you'll go. With a yellow ticket, again--but without any razzle-dazzle
this time. The only thing you'll get out of it is a chance to fight for
a better chance for others some day--and a promise that there'll be
more, until you get old enough to sit at a desk on Earth and fight
against every bickering nation there to keep the planets clean. There's
a rocket waiting to transship you to the Moon on the way to Mercury
right now."
Gordon sighed. "All right. But I wish you'd tell my wife sometime
that--well, that I didn't just run out on her. She's had bad luck with
men."
"She already knows," the Security man said. "I've been waiting for you
quite a while, you know. And I've paid her the pay we owe you from the
time you began using your badge. She's out shopping!"
The car pulled up to the waiting rocket, and the Security man helped him
up the steps with a perfunctory wish for good luck. Then Bruce Gordon
stopped as great arms surrounded him.
Mother Corey was immaculate, though not much prettier. But his old eyes
were glinting. "Did you think we'd let you go without seeing you off,
cobber?" he asked. "And after I took a _bath_ to celebrate? I--I--Oh,
drat it, I'm getting old. Izzy, you tell him."
He grabbed Gordon's hand and waddled down the landing plank. Izzy shook
his head.
"I can't say it, either, gov'nor--but some day, I'm going to have one of
those badges myself. Like I always said, honesty sure pays, even if it
kills you. Here!"
He followed Mother Corey, leaving behind his favorite knife and a
brand-new deck of reader cards, marked exactly as the ones Gordon had
first used.
Gordon dropped into his seat, while the sounds outside indicated
take-off time. He had less than a hundred credits, a knife, a deck of
phony cards, and a yellow ticket. Mars was leaving him what he'd
brought....
She dropped into the seat very quietly, but her blouse touched his arm.
In her hand was a punched ticket with the orange of Mars on top and the
black of Mercury on the bottom.
"Hello, Bruce," Sheila said softly. "I've been shopping and I spent the
money the man gave me. This is all I have left. Do you think it's worth
it? Or should I take it back?"
He turned it over in his hands slowly, and the smile came back to his
face gradually.
"You got a bargain, Cuddles," he said. "A lot better than the meal
ticket you bought. Let's keep it."