d of a
wrist-strap. The fourth object to emerge was a small chunky bag from
which dangled tightly-drawn leather thongs. Dollard opened the pouch
and poured the contents on to his sweaty palm; a thousand carats of
glistening "Syrtis diamonds" from his own private mines. The rarity
and value of these jewels, he knew, would be increased by the collapse
of the terrestrial civilization that had refined them and cut and
polished their rainbow facets.

These gleaming objects of unfixed price were the guardians that would
stand by him during the months it would take to reestablish himself
among the colonies on Venus. Not only would they purchase luxuries,
but also new servants, fabrication plants, ore boats; possibly, even
governments. Above all, they would serve to bribe Dollard's way
through the tight network of Venusian immigration officials who might
seek--in accord with the laws of their sparsely-settled but
independent world--to forbid his landing as a refugee from a diseased
planet.

* * * * *

A full hour passed before Garth returned, an hour that Edwin Dollard
spent pacing the narrow confines of the lodge's central room. His eyes
constantly consulted the slow march of minutes on the luminescent dial
of his platinum chronometer ... for while it was not imperative that
the space yacht he had refurbished should soar starward at the precise
hour agreed upon, there did reign a crucial period of four or five
hours immediately at hand, during which the most advantageous passage
to Venus should be commenced.

When Garth finally reappeared through the steel doorway, his thin long
face reflected the strain he also felt as departure time neared.

"I checked the roadway two miles up the valley," he reported. "No
activity in sight. There was a riot at Leevining, or so one of your
guards told me--and a big pitched battle in Bishop between lowlanders
and highlanders."

"Another day or two and they'd be swarming all over this region,"
Dollard said.

"You can bet their first reaction would be to dismantle the ship at
sight," Garth informed him. "Lucky we're getting out in time. If the
mobs couldn't pilot the vessel themselves, it'd be human nature to see
to it that nobody else got to do so, either. Misery loves
company--even in the face of death."

"The scum," said Dollard. He donned a jaunty space cap he had often
worn on pleasure flights to his outlying holdings. Hooking his thumbs
in his be