ness that runs riot
all over the place."

"Look, lady," Marc answered gently, "I certainly admire those lofty
sentiments of yours. I admit they are maybe what ought to be. But the
way I see it they just don't fit the facts. Out here the Federation
space fleet is supposed to be the big stick. Only right now it's off
playing mumbly-peg with the Venerians.

"The Big Wheels seem to think there'll be a shooting war in a couple of
months. There's only three or four destroyers left in the whole damn
Asteroid Belt. And without the big stick behind me I'm not hankering to
commit suicide by looking for trouble."

Marc smiled again ruefully. "What I can do I try to do," he added with
sudden earnestness. "I figure the most important thing is to protect the
Asteroid Development Company so they can buy the nuclear ore the
Astrodites bring in. Without that ore the Federation's going to be in a
hell of a fix if it actually does come to war. And along with that
there's the matter of guarding the stuff the Navy's got stored here." He
waved toward the Navy warehouse that could be seen outside the window.

"Listening to and fraternizing with the characters you call the biggest
crooks in town," the comptroller went on with a shrug, "I've a chance at
getting tipped off in advance to anything that may make trouble for our
interests. As long as I ignore their rackets they accept me in their
midst, talk freely with me around. And it's a hell of a lot easier to
stop something when you know the score beforehand."

The young woman's lips parted as if she seemed about to say something.
Then they closed in a thin line. Obviously she was not happy with Marc
Polder's explanation. She was too young to be willing to compromise her
ideals, no matter how potent the logic of necessity.

She was about to leave the table when the shrill screams of a distant
whistle sliced through the noise of the crowd. Voices broke off in
mid-sentence and bodies froze into immobility. As the siren's piercing
tones faded the restaurant's customers looked at one another in silent
terror. Then, as the shock wore off and unanswered questions were
beginning to fly, a man suddenly ran in through the revolving doors.

"Raiders!" he gasped. "The listening gear's picked up a signal that's
not from any Astrodite or destroyer. Signal Corps figures it's a
pirate!"

There was a mad rush for the doors and seconds later the place was empty
except for Marc Polder, still sitting ca