ouple of thousand munits
into remodelling, the ship'd sell for at least twenty thousand--if I
could find someone who wanted a three passenger job. That was the
problem.

Abe offered me five thousand for her as she stood--but I wasn't having
any--at least not until I'd gotten rid of the gold in her fuel reels.
That stuff's worth money to the spacelines--about fifty munits per
ounce. It's better even than lead as fuel--doesn't clog the tubes and
gives better acceleration.

Well--like I said--I was flusher than I had been since Triworld
Freight Lines ran afoul of the cops on Callisto for smuggling tekla
nuts. So I went down to Otto's place on the strip to wash some of that
Dryland dust off my tonsils. And that's where I met Redman.

He came up the street from the South airlock--a big fellow--walking
kinda unsteady, his respirator hanging from his thick neck. He was
burned a dark reddish black from the Dryland sun and looked like he
was on his last legs when he turned into Otto's. He staggered up to
the bar.

"Water," he said.

Otto passed him a pitcher and damned if the guy didn't drink it
straight down!

"That'll be ten munits," Otto said.

"For water?" the man asked.

"You're on Mars," Otto reminded him.

"Oh," the big fellow said, and jerked a few lumps of yellow metal out
of a pocket and dropped it on the bar. "Will this do?" he asked.

* * * * *

Otto's eyes damn near bulged out of their sockets. "Where'd you get
that stuff?" he demanded. "That's gold!"

"I know."

"It'll do fine." Otto picked out a piece that musta weighed an ounce.
"Have another pitcher."

"That's enough," the big fellow said. "Keep the change."

"Yes, sir!" You'da thought from Otto's voice that he was talking to
the Prince Regent. "Just _where_ did you say you found it."

"I didn't say. But I found it out there." He waved a thick arm in the
direction of the Drylands.

By this time a couple of sharpies sitting at one of the tables pricked
up their ears, removed their pants from their chairs and began closing
in. But I beat them to it.

"My name's Wallingford," I said. "Cyril Wallingford."

"So what?" he snaps.

"So if you don't watch out you'll be laying in an alley with all that
nice yellow stuff in someone else's pocket."

"I can take care of myself," he said.

"I don't doubt it," I said, looking at the mass of him. He was sure
king-sized. "But even a guy as big as you is cold meat for