ucky. The dome had exploded outwards, with only bits of
it falling back; and the buildings had come through the outward
explosion of the pressure with little damage. Gordon grinned wryly.
Schulberg's volunteers were official, now. Izzy was acting as chief of
police, Schulberg was head of the reconstruction corps, and Mother Corey
was temporary Mayor of all Marsport. The old charter for Marsport from
North America was dead, and the whole city was now under Security
charter, like the rest of the planet. But the dozen Security men had
left most of the control in the Mother's hands, and the old man was up
to his fat jowls in business.

Gordon moved automatically toward the Seventh Ward. Fats' Place was
still open, though the crooked tables had been removed. Gordon dropped
to a stool, slipping off his helmet. He reached automatically for the
glass of ether-needled beer. This time, it even tasted good to him.

"On the house, copper," Fats' voice said. The man dropped to another
stool, rolling dice casually between his thumbs. "And bring out a steak,
there! You look as if you could stand it--and Fats don't forget old
friends!"

"Friends and other things," Gordon said, remembering his first visit
here. "Maybe you should have got me that night, Fats."

The other shrugged. "That's Mars." He rolled the dice out, then picked
them up again. "Guess I'll have to stick to selling meals, mostly--for a
while, at least. Somebody told me you'd joined Security and got banged
up trying to keep Trench from blowing up the dome. Thought you'd be in
the chips!"

"That's Mars," Gordon echoed the other's comment. "Why don't you pull
off the planet, Fats? You could go back to Earth, I'd guess."

The other nodded. "Yeah. I went back, about ten years ago. Spent four
weeks down there. I dunno. Guess a man gets used to anything ... Hell,
maybe I can hire some bums to sit around and whoop it up when the ships
come in, and bill this as a real old Martian den of sin! Get a barker
out at the port, run special busses, charge the suckers a mint for a
cheap thrill."

Gordon grinned wryly; Fats would probably make more than ever.

He finished the meal, accepted a pack of the Earth cigarettes that sold
at a luxury price here, and went out into the thin air of Mars. It was
almost good to get out into the filth of the slums, and be heading back
to the still-standing monument of the old Chicken Coop. He headed for
the private entrance out of habit, and th