ng you a chance. There aren't enough openings for all the good
men, but.... Oh, bother the soft soap. We're still short on election
funds, so there's a raffle. The two men holding winning tickets get
bucked up to sergeants. A hundred credits a ticket. How many?"

He frowned suddenly as Gordon counted out three bills. "You have a
better chance with more tickets. A _much_ better chance!"

The hint was hardly veiled. Gordon stuck the tickets into his wallet.
Mars was a fine planet for picking up easy money--but holding it was
another matter.

Trench counted the money and put it away. "Thanks, Gordon. That fills
_my_ quota. Look, you've been on overtime all week. Why not skip the
meeting? Isaacs can brief you, later. Go out and get drunk, or
something."

The comparative friendliness of the peace offering was probably the
ultimate in graciousness from Trench. Idly, Gordon wondered what kind of
pressures the captains were under; it must be pretty stiff, judging by
the relief the man was showing at making quota.

"Thanks," he said, but his voice was bitter in his ears. "I'll go home
and rest. Drinking costs too much for what I make. It's a good thing you
don't have income tax here."

"We do," Trench said flatly; "forty per cent. Better make out a form
next week, and start paying it regularly. But you can deduct your
contributions here."

Gordon got out before he learned more good news.

Chapter VII

ELECTIONEERING

As Bruce Gordon came out from the precinct house, he noticed the sounds
first. Under the huge dome that enclosed the main part of the city, the
heavier air pressure permitted normal travel of sound; and he'd become
sensitive to the voice of the city after the relative quiet of the
Nineteenth Precinct. But now the normal noise was different. There was
an undertone of hushed waiting, with the sharp bursts of hammering and
last-minute work standing out sharply through it. Voting booths were
being finished here and there, and at one a small truck was delivering
ballots. Voting by machine had never been established here. Wherever the
booths were being thrown up, the nearby establishments were rushing
gates and barricades in front of the buildings.

Most of the shops were already closed--even some of the saloons. To make
up for it, stands were being placed along the streets, carrying banners
that proclaimed free beer for all loyal administration friends. The few
bars that were still open had been ble