iston's voice taut. His lean, hard face was bleak
with knowledge of disastrous failure.

The big Jovian scratched his head. In the shifting moonslight his
battered green face expressed ignorant perplexity as he stared across
the busy spaceport.

"That shiny little cruiser there would be just the thing," Holk Or
muttered, looking at the gleaming, torpedo-shaped craft nearby. "It
would hold all the stuff we've got to take; and with robot controls we
two could run it."

"We haven't a chance to get that craft," Kenniston told him. "I found
out that it's under charter to a bunch of rich Earth youngsters who
came out here in it for a pleasure cruise. A girl named Loring,
heiress to Loring Radium, is the head of the party."

The Jovian swore. "Just the ship we need, and a lot of spoiled kids
are using it for thrill-hunting!"

Kenniston had an idea. "It might be," he said slowly, "that they're
tired of the cruise by this time and would sell us the craft. I think
I'll go up to the Terra Hotel and see this Loring girl."

"Sure, let's try it anyway," Holk Or agreed.

The Earthman looked at him anxiously. "Oughtn't you to keep under
cover, Holk? The Planet Patrol has had your record on file for a long
time. If you happened to be recognized--"

"Bah, they think I'm dead, don't they?" scoffed the Jovian. "There's
no danger of us getting picked up."

Kenniston was not so sure, but he was too driven by urgent need to
waste time in argument. With the Jovian clumping along beside him, he
made his way from the spaceport across the ancient Martian city.

The dark streets of old Syrtis were not crowded. Martians are not a
nocturnal people and only a few were abroad in the chill darkness,
even they being wrapped in heavy synthewool cloaks from which only
their bald red heads and solemn, cadaverous faces protruded.

Earthmen were fairly numerous in this main port of the planet.
Swaggering space-sailors, prosperous-looking traders and rough
meteor-miners made up the most of them. There were a few tourists
gaping at the grotesque old black stone buildings, and under a
krypton-bulb at a corner, two men in the drab uniform of the Patrol
stood eyeing passersby sharply. Kenniston breathed more easily when he
and the Jovian had passed the two officers without challenge.

* * * * *

The Terra Hotel stood in a garden at the edge of town, fronting the
moonlit immensity of the desert. This glittering glass