"Hallstock's getting ready to dump Ravick out the
airlock. He sees, now, that Ravick's a dead turkey; he doesn't want to
go into the oven along with him."
"Walt, can't you ever give anybody credit with trying to do something
decent, once in a while?" Dad asked.
"Sure I can. Decent people. There are a lot of them around, but Mort
Hallstock isn't one of them. There was an Old Terran politician named
Al Smith, once. He had a little saying he used in that kind of case:
'Let's look at the record.'"
"Well, Mort's record isn't very impressive, I'll give you that," Dad
admitted. "I understand Mort's up at the fire now. Don't spit in his
eye if you run into him."
"I won't," I promised. "I'm kind of particular where I spit."
Things must be looking pretty rough around Municipal Building, I
thought. Maybe Mort's afraid the people will start running Fenris
again, after this. He might even be afraid there'd be an election.
By this time, I'd gotten the jeep around the dredger--we'd come to the
end of the nuclear-power plant buildings--and cut off into open
country. That is to say, nothing but pillar-buildings two hundred
yards apart and piles of bagged mineral nutrients for the hydroponic
farms. We could see a blaze of electric lights ahead where the fire
must be, and after a while we began to run into lorries and
lifter-skids hauling ammunition away from the area. Then I could see a
big mushroom of greasy black smoke spreading out close to the ceiling.
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