as he finished this one.

He stood there with his eyes closed, listening to the music and hating
Mars.

A voice next to him said: "I'll have a whiskey."

* * * * *

The voice sounded as if the man had a bad cold, and Clayton turned
slowly to look at him. After all the sterilization they went through
before they left Earth, nobody on Mars ever had a cold, so there was
only one thing that would make a man's voice sound like that.

Clayton was right. The fellow had an oxygen tube clamped firmly over his
nose. He was wearing the uniform of the Space Transport Service.

"Just get in on the ship?" Clayton asked conversationally.

The man nodded and grinned. "Yeah. Four hours before we take off again."
He poured down the whiskey. "Sure cold out."

Clayton agreed. "It's always cold." He watched enviously as the
spaceman ordered another whiskey.

Clayton couldn't afford whiskey. He probably could have by this time, if
the mines had made him a foreman, like they should have.

Maybe he could talk the spaceman out of a couple of drinks.

"My name's Clayton. Ron Clayton."

The spaceman took the offered hand. "Mine's Parkinson, but everybody
calls me Parks."

"Sure, Parks. Uh--can I buy you a beer?"

Parks shook his head. "No, thanks. I started on whiskey. Here, let me
buy you one."

"Well--thanks. Don't mind if I do."

They drank them in silence, and Parks ordered two more.

"Been here long?" Parks asked.

"Fifteen years. Fifteen long, long years."

"Did you--uh--I mean--" Parks looked suddenly confused.

Clayton glanced quickly to make sure the bartender was out of earshot.
Then he grinned. "You mean am I a convict? Nah. I came here because I
wanted to. But--" He lowered his voice. "--we don't talk about it around
here. You know." He gestured with one hand--a gesture that took in
everyone else in the room.

Parks glanced around quickly, moving only his eyes. "Yeah. I see," he
said softly.

"This your first trip?" asked Clayton.

"First one to Mars. Been on the Luna run a long time."

"Low pressure bother you much?"

"Not much. We only keep it at six pounds in the ships. Half helium and
half oxygen. Only thing that bothers me is the oxy here. Or rather, the
oxy that _isn't_ here." He took a deep breath through his nose tube to
emphasize his point.

Clayton clamped his teeth together, making the muscles at the side of
his jaw stand out.

Parks didn't notice. "You guys