or the present administration, but Earth had no right to
take over without a formal investigation, and a chance for the people to
state their choice.

Then he grimaced at himself. He was in no position to move according to
right and wrong. The only question that counted was how he had the best
chance to ride out the storm, and to get back to Earth and a normal
life.

He was still in a brown study as he took the bundles from Izzy and
dropped them on his bed. Izzy went out, and Gordon stood staring at the
wall. Trench? Or the new Commissioner Crane? If Earth should win--and
they had most of the power, after all--and Bruce Gordon had fought
against Security, the mines of Mercury were waiting.

He picked up the stuff from his bed and started to sweep it aside before
he lay down. Then he remembered at last; he knocked on the panel, until
it finally opened a crack.

"Here," he told her. "Food, and some other stuff. There are some refuse
bags, too. Yell when you want them removed."

She took the bundles woodenly until she came to a plastic can. Then she
gasped. "Water! Two gallons!"

"There are heat tablets, and a skin tub." The salesgirl had explained
how one gallon was enough in the plastic bag that served as a tub; he
had his doubts. "Detergent. The whole works."

She hauled the stuff in and started to close the panel. Then she
hesitated. "I suppose I should thank you, but I don't like to be told I
stink so much you can't stand me in the next room!"

"Hell, I've gotten so I can stand your grandfather," he answered. "It
wasn't that." The panel slammed shut.

* * * * *

He still hadn't solved his problem in the morning; out of habit, he put
on his uniform and went across to Izzy's room. But Izzy was already
gone.

Gordon fished into the pocket of his uniform for paper and a pencil to
leave a note in case Izzy came back. His fingers found the half notebook
cover instead. He drew it out, scowling at it, and started to crumple
it. Then he stopped, staring at the piece of imitation leather and paper
that wouldn't bend.

His fingers were still stiff as he began tearing off the thin covering
with his knife; the paper backing peeled away easily.

Under it lay a thin metal plate that glowed faintly even in the dim
light of Izzy's room! Gordon nearly dropped it. He'd seen such an
identification plate once before.

The printing on it leaped at him: "This will identify the bearer, BRUCE