face as well as they knew their own. He promised that
to them silently and then settled down to concentrate on some
constructive planning before reaching the office. He was not going to
waste his time gawking at ads or listening to the music like the
others.

"Mister Carter?" said a hesitant voice behind him as he was reaching
for the handle of the office doors.

"What is it?" he asked crisply, turning, but as he saw who had spoken
he knew exactly what it would be.

"Pardon me Mister Carter, but--" It was a spaceman, a skinny wreck of
a man in clothes that hung on him. A junky, a drug addict. Bryce knew
the signs. He had spent all his money and gone without food for his
drug, and now he had remembered from Belt talk that Bryce Carter was a
soft touch for a loan. "Never mind," Bryce snarled, reaching for the
door again.

He assisted the smuggling of the stuff but that did not mean that he
had to admire the fools who took it. The man was muttering something
about a loan when the door shut and cut off his words. The loan would
be spent on more junk. If he had wanted food he could have signed into
a state hospital to take the Cure, and be imprisoned and fed until the
hunger for his drug had passed and released him. The Cure was a brief
hell, but it was fair payment for having had his fun, and if the
addict had any guts he would face it. Any time he was ready to pay the
price of exit he could go back to being a man.

Bryce strode through the offices irritably. It did not matter if
Earthlings chose to waste their time in artificial ecstasy, but it was
different to see a good Belt spaceman let himself go.

The receptionist looked up with fright in her eyes as he passed and
gave him a special good-morning, with a smile that was tremulous and
very eager to please. He still had her in the stage of new employment
where she was kept afraid of losing her new job with a bad reference.
It was best to put them all over the hurdles at first.

He gave her a condescending smile as he went through into the inner
offices. "Good morning." She was shaky enough. A few well faked cold
rages against minor errors had done well. From now on she would need
only smiles to give the utmost in loyalty and hard work. What had
Machiavelli said? "Make them fear your wrath, and they will be
grateful for your forebearance."

He did not bother to speak to Kesby when he passed his open office
door. Kesby didn't need smiles or praise, he worked loya