returning from school, stopped short when she saw him.

"Well! I hope you like what you've done!" she greeted him.

"For a start, yes."

"For a start! You know what you've done?"

"Yes. I don't know what you think I've done, though. Tell me."

"You've turned everything into a madhouse; you've sent this whole
world Merlin-crazy. Look at the stock market...."

"You look at it. All I can see is a pack of lunatics playing Russian
roulette with five chambers loaded out of six. Some of this so-called
stock that's being peddled around isn't worth five millisols a
share--Seekers for Merlin, Ltd., closed today at a hundred and
seventy. You notice, there isn't any L. E. & S. being traded. If you
don't believe me, talk to Lester Dawes; he'll tell you what we think
of this market."

"Well, it's your fault!"

"In part it's my fault that any of these quarter-wits have any money
to play the market with. They wouldn't have money enough to play a
five-centisol slot machine if we hadn't gotten a little business
started."

There was just a little truth to that, too. A few woolen socks were
coming out from under mattresses, and a few tin cans were being
exhumed in cellars, since the new flood of Federation equipment and
supplies had gotten on the market. He'd seen a freshly lettered sign
on Len Yeniguchi's tailor shop: QUARTER PRICE IN FEDERATION
CURRENCY.

That night, however, he had one of the nightmares he used to have as a
child--a dream of climbing up onto a huge machine and getting it
started, and then clinging, helpless and terrified, unable to stop it
as it went faster and faster toward destruction.

Klem Zareff's patrols were encountering larger outlaw bands, the
result of gang mergers. They were fighting with prospecting parties,
and prospecting parties were fighting one another. Much of this was
making the newscasts. One battle, between two regularly chartered
prospecting companies, lasted three days, with an impressive casualty
list.

Public demands were growing that the Planetary Government do something
about the situation; the Government was wondering what to do, or how.
There were indignant questions in Parliament. Finally, the Government
dragged a couple of armed ships off Mothball Row--a combat freighter
like the _Lester Dawes_, and a big assault transport--and began trying
to get them into commission.

And, of course, the market boom was still on. The newscasts were full
of that, too. He had started worr