," gulped the truck driver.

"Was there anything wrong with your truck?" demanded Connel.

"Yes, sir," replied the driver. "I had a slipping clutch."

Connel turned abruptly to Lieutenant Slick. "All right, Slick, release
this man and get that fence back up. I'm satisfied that it was an
accident."

"Yes, sir," replied Slick, and left the group with the grateful driver.

Connel relaxed for the first time and turned to Carter Devers who had
been standing by silently. "Well, Carter," he said, "see what I meant
about the _Polaris_ unit getting into trouble! Blast it, if they don't
start it, they sure can finish it." He turned to Tom. "Son, you deserve
some time off. Go back to the Spacelanes Hotel in Marsport and get
yourself a room. Just forget everything and relax. And get a new
uniform, too."

"And send the bill to me," Devers suddenly spoke up. "It's the least I
can do."

"Thank you, sir," said Tom. "I could sure use a little sleep."

Hitching a ride on a jet sled, Tom rode over to the administration
building where he managed to clean up enough to make himself presentable
at the hotel. Later, as he rode along the curving canal in a jet cab
into the main section of Marsport, he relaxed for the first time and
enjoyed the sights.

The city of Marsport was built in a hurry--at least, the old section of
the city was. Like many other planets, when first colonized by the early
great conquerors of space several hundred years before, the city grew
out of immediate need, with no formalized plan.

Years later, when the Solar Alliance was formed and there was uniform
government all over the solar system, the citizens of Mars began to
regard their ugly little capital with distaste. A major effort was made
to clean up its squalid appearance and huge cargoes of Titan crystal
were shipped to Mars for modern construction. Now, as Tom Corbett rode
in comfort along a speedway bordering one of the ancient canals, he
approached the city with a vague feeling of awe. Gleaming towers,
reflecting the last rays of the setting sun, loomed just ahead of him,
and the wavy lines of heat rising out of the sandy deserts seemed to
make the buildings dance. It was a sunset ballet that never failed to
thrill even the oldest Martian citizen.

At the magnificent Spacelanes Hotel, Tom was greeted with the greatest
respect. Already his feat of stopping the runaway truck had been
announced over the stereo newscasts, and when he asked the location