eels while the florid, paunchy ex-politician
Commissioner Crane worried about his rating and repeated how corrupt
Mars was and how the collection system was over--absolutely over. In the
end, he was given a captain's pay and the rank of sergeant. As a favor,
he was allowed to share a beat with Honest Izzy under Captain Hendrix,
who had simply switched sides after losing the morning's battle.

Gordon's credits were changed to Legal scrip, and he was issued a
trim-fitting green uniform. Then a surprisingly competent doctor
examined his wound, rebandaged it, and sent him home for the day. The
change was finished--and he felt like a grown man playing with dolls.

He walked back, watching the dull-looking people closing off their
homes, as they had done at elections. Here and there, houses had been
broken into during the night. There were occasional buzzes of angry
conversation that cut off as he approached.

Marsport had learned to hate all cops, and a change of uniform hadn't
altered that; instead, the people seemed to resent the loss of the
familiar symbol of hatred.

He found Izzy and Randolph at the restaurant across from Mother Corey's.
Izzy grinned suddenly at the sight of the uniform. "I knew it,
gov'nor--knew it the minute I heard Jurgens was a cop. Did you make 'em
give you my beat?"

He seemed genuinely pleased as Gordon nodded, and then dropped it, to
point to Randolph. "Guess what, gov'nor. The Legals bought Randy's
_Crusader_. Traded him an old job press and a bag of scratch for his
reputation."

"You'll be late, Izzy," Randolph said quietly. Gordon suddenly realized
that Randolph, like everyone else, seemed to be Izzy's friend. He
watched the little man leave, and reached out for the menu. Randolph
picked it out of his hand. "You've got a wife home, muckraker. You don't
have to eat this filth."

Gordon got up, grimacing at the obvious dismissal. But the publisher
motioned him back again.

"Yeah, the Legals want the _Crusader_ for their propaganda," he said
wearily. "New slogans and new uniforms, and none of them mean anything.
Here!" He drew a small golden band from his little finger. "My mother's
wedding ring. Give it to her--and if you tell her it came from me, I'll
rip out your guts!"

He got up suddenly and hobbled out, his pinched face working. Gordon
turned the ring over, puzzled. Finally he got up and headed for his
room, a little surprised to find the door unlocked. Sheila opened her
eyes a