d up--a huge, ugly half-cylinder of pitted
metal and native bricks, showing the patchwork of decades, before
repairs had been abandoned. There were no windows, though once there had
been; and the front was covered with a big sign that spelled out
_Condemned_. The airseal was filthy, and there was no bell.

Gordon kicked against the side, waited, and kicked again. A slit opened
and closed. He waited, then drew his knife and began prying at the worn
cement around the airseal, looking for the lock that had been there.

The seal suddenly quivered, indicating that metal inside had been
withdrawn. Gordon grinned tautly, stepped through, and pushed the blade
against the inner plastic.

"All right, all right," a voice whined out of the darkness. "You don't
have to puncture my seal. You're in."

"Then call them off!"

A wheezing chuckle answered him, and a phosphor bulb glowed weakly,
shedding some light on a filthy hall. "Okay, boys," the voice said,
"come on down. He's alone, anyhow. What's pushing, stranger?"

"A yellow ticket," Gordon told him, "and a government allotment that'll
last me two weeks in the dome. I figure on making it last six here, and
don't let my being a firster give you hot palms. My brother was Lanny
Gordon!"

It happened to be true, though Bruce Gordon hadn't seen his brother from
the time the man had left the family, as a young punk, to the day they
finally convicted him on his twenty-first murder. But here, if it was
like places he'd known on Earth, even second-hand contact with "muscle"
was useful.

It seemed to work. A huge man oozed out of the shadows, his gray face
contorting its doughy fat into a yellow-toothed grin, and a filthy hand
waved back the others. There were a few wisps of long, gray hair on the
head and face, and they quivered as he moved forward.

"Looking for a room?" he whined.

"I'm looking for Mother Corey."

"Then you're looking at him, cobber. Sleep on the floor, want a bunk,
squat with four, or room and duchess to yourself?"

There was a period of haggling, followed by a wait as Mother Corey
kicked four grumbling men out of a four-by-seven hole on the second
floor. Gordon's money had carried more weight than his brother's
reputation; for that, Corey humored his guest's wish for privacy. "All
yours, cobber, while your crackle's blue."

It was a filthy, dark place. In one corner was an unsheeted bed. There
was a rusty bucket for water, a hole kicked through the floo