Part 22 (1/2)

”Forget it,” he told her. He dropped to his own side, with barely enough room to slide between the bed and the wall, and began dragging off his boots and uniform. She started up to help him, then jerked back, and turned her head away. ”Forget all you're thinking, Cuddles. I'm still not bothering unwilling women--and I'll even close my eyes when you dress.”

She sighed, and relaxed. There was a faint touch of humor in her voice then. ”They called it bundling once, I think. I--Bruce, I know you don't like me, so I guess it isn't too hard for you. But--sometimes ... Oh, d.a.m.n it! Sometimes you're--nice!”

”Nice people don't get to Mars. They stay on Earth, being careful not to find out what it's like up here,” he told her bitterly. For a second he hesitated, and then the account of the newsboy and his would-be killers came rus.h.i.+ng out.

She dropped a hand onto his, nodding. ”I know. The Kid--Rusty's friend--wrote down what they did to him.”

Gordon grunted. He'd almost forgotten about the tongueless Kid. For a second, his thoughts churned on. Then he got up and began putting on his uniform again. Sheila frowned, staring at him, and began sliding from her side, reaching for her robe. She followed him down the creaking stairs, and to the room where Schulberg, Mother Corey, and a few others were still arguing some detail.

They looked up, and he moved forward, dragging a badge from his pouch.

He slapped it down on the table in front of them. ”I'm declaring myself in!” he told them coldly. ”You know enough about Security badges to know they can't be forged. That one has my name on it, and rating as a Prime.

Do you want to shoot me, or will you follow orders?”

Randolph picked it up, and fumbled in his pocket, drawing out a tiny badge and comparing them. He nodded. ”I lost connection years ago, Gordon. But this makes you my boss.”

”Then give it all the publicity you can, and tell them Security has just declared war on the whole d.a.m.ned dome section! Mother, I want all the dope we found!” With that--about the only supply of any size left--he could command unquestioning loyalty from every addict who hadn't already died from lack of it. Mother Corey nodded, instant understanding running over his puttylike face.

Schulberg shrugged. ”After your deal with Praeger, we'd probably follow you anyhow. I don't cotton to Security, Gordon--but those devils in there are making our kids starve!”

Mother Corey heaved his bulk up slowly, wheezing, and indicated his chair at the head of the table. But Gordon shook his head. He'd made his decision. His head was emptied for the moment, and he wanted nothing more than a chance to hit the bed and forget the whole business until morning.

Sheila was staring at him as he shucked off his outer clothes mechanically and crawled under the blanket. She let the robe fall to the floor and slid into the bed without taking her eyes off him. ”Is it true about Security sending a s.h.i.+p?” she asked at last. He nodded, and her breath caught. ”What happens when they arrive, Bruce?”

She was s.h.i.+vering. He rolled over and patted her shoulder. ”Who knows?

Who cares? I'll see that they know you weren't guilty, though. Stop worrying about it.”

She threw herself sideways, as far from him as she could get. Her voice was thick, m.u.f.fled in the blanket. ”d.a.m.n you, Bruce Gordon. I _should_ have killed you!”

Chapter XVI

GET THE DOME!

To Gordon's surprise, the publicity Randolph wrote about his being a Security Prime seemed to bring the other sections of Outer Marsport under the volunteer police control even faster. But he was too busy to worry about it. He left general co-ordination in the hands of Mother Corey, while Izzy and Schulberg ran the expanding of the police force.

Praeger arrived with the first load of food, and came storming up to him. ”Why didn't you tell me you were a Security Prime! I'm grade three myself.”

”And I suppose that would have meant you'd have s.h.i.+pped in all the food we needed free?” Gordon asked.

The other stopped to think it over. Then he laughed roughly. ”Nope.

You're right. The growers would starve next year if they gave it all away now. Well, we'll get in enough food this way to keep you going for a while--couple of weeks, at least.”

It sounded good, and might have worked if there had been the normal food reserve, or if the other three quadrants had been willing to do as much.

But while the immediate pressure of starvation was lifted, Gordon's own stomach told him that it wasn't an adequate diet. Signs of scurvy and pellagra were increasing.

Bruce Gordon whipped himself into forgetting some of that. His army was growing. Or rather, his mob. There was no sense in trying to get more than the vaguest organization.

It was the eighth day when he led them out in the early dawn. He had issued extra dope and managed a slight increase in the ration, so they made a brave showing--until they reached the dome.