n shrilling for minutes. Now another group came onto
the scene, and the Planters' men began getting out rapidly. Some of the
citizens looked up and yelled, but it was too late. From the approaching
cars, pipes projected forward. Streams of liquid jetted out, and their
agonized cries followed.

Even where he stood, Gordon could smell the fumes of ammonia. Izzy's
face tensed, and he swore. "Inside the dome! They're poisoning the air."

But the trick worked. In no time, men in crude masks were clearing out
the booth, driving the last struggling citizens away, and getting ready
for business as usual.

Murdoch turned on his heel. "I've had enough. I've made up my mind," he
said. "The cable offices must be open for the doctored reports on the
election to Earth. Where's the nearest?"

Izzy frowned, but supplied the information. Bruce Gordon pulled Murdoch
aside. "Come off the head-cop role; it won't work. They must have had
reports on elections before this."

"Damn the trouble. It's never been this raw before. Look at Izzy's face,
Gordon. Even he's shocked. Something has to be done about this, before
worse happens. I've still got connections back there--"

"Okay," Gordon said bitterly. He'd liked Asa Murdoch, had begun to
respect him. It hurt to see that what he'd considered hardheadedness was
just another case of a fool fighting dragons with a paper sword.

"Okay, it's your death certificate," he said, and turned back toward
Izzy. "Go send your sob stories, Murdoch."

They taught a bunch of pretty maxims in school--even slum kids learned
that honesty was the best policy, while their honest parents rotted in
unheated holes, and the racketeers rode around in fancy cars. It had got
him once. He'd refused to take a dive as a boxer; he'd tried to play
honest cards; he'd tried honesty on his beat back on Earth. He'd tried
to help the suckers in his column, and here he was.

And Gordon had been proud to serve under Murdoch.

"Come on, Izzy," he said. "Let's vote!"

Izzy shook his head. "It ain't right, gov'nor."

"Let him do what he damn pleases," Gordon told him.

Izzy's small face puckered up in lines of worry. "No, I don't mean him.
I mean this business of using ammonia. I know some of the gees trying to
vote. They been paying me off--and that's a retainer, you might say. Now
this gang tries to poison them. I'm still running an honest beat, and I
bloody well can't vote for that! Uniform or no uniform, I'm walking be