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Updated: May 3, 2025
The scattering of last-minute shoppers along the streets showed that most of the citizens were laying in supplies to last until after election. Gordon passed the First Marsport Bank and saw that it was surrounded by barbed wires, with other strands still being strung, and with a sign proclaiming that there was high voltage in the wires.
The strain of watching the games until he could spot the fix, and then holding the croupier down, had left him momentarily weak, but Gordon could still feel the tensing of the crowd. Now he let his eyes run over them the night citizens of Marsport, lower-dome section.
And they're adapting. Third-generation children not all, but a lot of them are breathing the air we'd die on, and they're doing fine at it. Probably second-generation ones can keep going after we'd pass out. It's just as true out here as it is on the frontier. But Marsport has that sacred dome over it. It's still trying to be Earth. And it can't do it.
"Son, you deserve some time off. Go back to the Spacelanes Hotel in Marsport and get yourself a room. Just forget everything and relax. And get a new uniform, too." "And send the bill to me," Devers suddenly spoke up. "It's the least I can do." "Thank you, sir," said Tom. "I could sure use a little sleep."
He flipped off the main switches on the control board, spun around in his chair, and noted the time on the astral chronometer. "Touchdown Marsport, 2117!" he announced. Tom clambered down the ladder from the radar bridge and immediately noted the time of arrival in the logbook. He turned around and saluted the major sharply. "All secure, sir," he said.
There was never a breed of men who were drawn so close together in their love of work as the spacemen and there was no need for further explanation. When they had climbed out of the Polaris and stepped on the landing ramp at Marsport, Connel and Tom saw that the ground crews were already checking over the afterburners and exhaust tubes of the ship.
"Sir, this came in Space Council special cipher." "Read it aloud," O'Brine ordered. "Yes, sir. It's addressed to you, this ship. From Planeteer Intelligence, Marsport. 'Consops cruiser departed general direction your area. Agents report crew Altair may have leaked data re asteroid. Take appropriate action. It's signed 'Williams, SOS, Commanding." Rip saw the meaning of the message instantly.
Mother Corey chuckled, and wheezed his way up out of the chair, exchanging places with Gordon. "I got a surprise for you, cobber," he said, and there was only amusement in his voice. "I got me in fifty gallons of water today, and tomorrow I do just that. Made up my mind there was going to be a cleanup in Marsport, even if Wayne does win. And stop examining the cards, Bruce.
I don't cheat my friends. The readers are put away for old-times' sake." Randolph shrugged, and went on as if he hadn't interrupted himself. "Ninety per cent of Marsport is decent. They have to be. It takes at least nine honest men to support a crook. They come up here to start over maybe spent half their life saving up for the trip.
It's never had a chance to adjust here, and it's afraid to try." "Maybe," she agreed doubtfully. "But what about this part of Marsport?" "Obvious. Here, they grow up under the shadow of it. They live in a half-world, and they have to live on the crumbs the dome tosses them. Sheila, if something happened to that dome " "We'd be killed," she said. "How do we do it?"
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