withradio-electronics and remote control power operations. I'd make a goodmine-operator--"
"I can read," the man cut in sharply, gesturing toward the applicationform with the ink blot in the middle. "I read all about yourexperience. But I can't use you. There aren't any more openings."
Tam's ears went red. "But you're always advertising," he countered."You don't have to worry about me working on Mars, either--I've workedon Mars before, and I can work six, seven hours, even, without a maskor equipment--"
The man's eyebrows raised slightly. "How very interesting," he saidflatly. "The fact remains that there aren't any jobs open for you."
The cold, angry flame flared up in Tam's throat suddenly, forcing outthe sense of futility and defeat. "Those other men," he said sharply."I was here before them. That girl wouldn't let me in--"
Randall's eyes narrowed amusedly. "What a pity," he said sadly. "Andjust think, I hired every one of them--" His face suddenly hardened,and he sat forward, his eyes glinting coldly. "Get smart, Peters. Ithink Marsport Mines can somehow manage without you. You or any otherSharkie. The men just don't like to work with Sharkies."
Rage swelled up in Tam's chest, bitter futile rage, beating at histemples and driving away all thought of caution. "Look," he grated,bending over the desk threateningly. "I know the law of this system.There's a fair-employment act on the books. It says that men are to behired by any company in order of application when they qualify equallyin experience. I can prove my experience--"
Randall stood up, his face twisted contemptuously. "Get out of here,"he snarled. "You've got nerve, you have, come crawling in here withyour law! Where do you think you are?" His voice grated in the stillair of the office. "We don't hire Sharkies, law or no law, get that?Now get out of here!"
Tam turned, his ears burning, and strode through the office, blindly,kicking open the door and almost running to the quiet air of thestreet outside. The girl at the desk yawned, and snickered, and wentback to her typing with an unpleasant grin.
Tam walked the street, block after block, seething, futile rageswelling up and bubbling over, curses rising to his lips, clipped offwith some last vestige of self-control. At last he turned into a smalldowntown bar and sank wearily onto a stool near the door. The angerwas wearing down now to a sort of empty, hopeless weariness, dullinghis senses, exaggerating the hunger in his stomach. He had expectedit, he told himself, he had known what the answer would be--but heknew that he had hoped, against hope, against what he had known to bethe facts; hoped desperately that maybe someone would listen. Oh, heknew the laws, all right, but he'd had plenty of time to see thecourts in action. Unfair employment was almost impossible to makestick under any circumstances, but with the courts rigged the way theywere these days--he sighed, and drew out one of his last credit-coins."Beer," he muttered as the barkeep looked up.
The bartender scowled, his heavy-set face a picture of fashionabledistaste. Carefully he filled every other order at the bar. Then hegrudgingly set up a small beer, mostly foam, and flung some small-coinchange down on the bar before Tam. Tam stared at the glass, the littleproud flame of anger flaring slowly.
A fat man, sitting nearby, stared at him for a long moment, then tooka long swill of beer from his glass. "'Smatter, Sharkie? Whyncha drinky'r beer 'n get t' hell out o' here?"
Tam stared fixedly at his glass, giving no indication of having hearda word.
The fat man stiffened a trifle, swung around to face him. "God-damSharkie's too good to talk to a guy," he snarled loudly."Whassa-matter, Sharkie, ya deaf?"
Tarn's hand trembled as he reached for the beer, took a short swallow.Shrugging, he set the glass on the bar and got up from his stool. Hewalked out, feeling many eyes on his back.
He walked. Time became a blur to a mind beaten down by constantrebuff. He became conscious of great weariness of both mind and body.Instinct screamed for rest....
* * * * *
Tam sat up, shaking his head to clear it. He shivered from the chillof the park--the cruel pressure of the bench. He pulled up his collarand moved out into the street again.
There was one last chance. Cautiously his mind skirted the idea,picked it up, regarded it warily, then threw it down again. He hadpromised himself never to consider it, years before, in the hot, angrydays of the Revolt. Even then he had had some inkling of the shape ofthings, and he had promised himself, bitterly, never to consider thatlast possibility. Still--
Another night in the cold out-of-doors could kill him. Suddenly hedidn't care any more, didn't care about promises, or pride, oranything else. He turned into a public telephone booth, checked anaddress in the thick New Denver book--
He knew he looked frightful as he stepped onto the elevator, felt thecold eyes turn away from him in distaste. Once he might have beenmortified, felt the deep shame creeping up his face, but he didn'tcare any longer. He just stared ahead at the moving panel, avoidingthe cold eyes, until the fifth floor was called.
The office was halfway down the dark hallway. He saw the sign on thedoor, dimly: "United Continents Bureau of Employment", and down insmall letters below, "Planetary Division, David G. Hawke."
Tarn felt the sinking feeling in his stomach, and opened the doorapprehensively. It had been years since he had seen Dave, long yearsfilled with violence and change. Those years could change men, too.Tam thought, fearfully; they could make even the greatest men change.He remembered, briefly, his promise to himself, made just after theRevolt, never to trade on past friendships, never to ask favors ofthose men he had known before, and befriended. With a wave of warmth,the memory of those old days broke through, those days when he hadroomed with Dave Hawke, the long, probing talks, the confidences, thedeep, rich knowledge that they had shared each others dreams andideals, that they had stood side by side for a common cause, thoughthey were such different men, from such very different worlds. Idealshad been cheap in those days, talk easy, but still, Tam knew that Davehad been sincere, a firm, stout friend. He had known, then, thesincerity in the big lad's quiet voice, felt the rebellious fire inhis eyes. They had understood each other, then, deeply,sympathetically, in spite of the powerful barrier they sought to teardown--
The girl at the desk caught his eye, looked up from her work withoutsmiling. "Yes?"
"My name is Tam Peters. I'd like to see Mr. Hawke." His voice wasthin, reluctant, reflecting overtones of the icy chill in his chest.So much had happened since those long-dead days, so many things tomake men change--
The girl was grinning, her face like a harsh mask. "You're wastingyour time," she said, her voice brittle.
Anger flooded Tarn's face. "Listen," he hissed. "I didn't ask for youradvice. I asked to see Dave Hawke. If you choose to announce me now,that's fine. If you don't see fit, then I'll go in without it. And youwon't stop me--"
The girl stiffened, her eyes angry. "You'd better not get smart," shesnapped, watching him warily. "There are police in the building. You'dbetter not try anything, or I'll call them!"
"That's enough Miss Jackson."
The girl turned to the man in the office door, her eyes disdainful.
The man stood in the doorway, a giant, with curly black hair above ahigh, intelligent forehead, dark brooding eyes gleaming like livecoals in the sensitive face. Tam looked at him, and suddenly his kneeswould hardly support him, and his voice was a tight whisper--
"Dave!"
And then the huge man was gripping his hand, a strong arm around histhin shoulders, the dark, brooding eyes soft and smiling. "Tam,Tam--It's been so damned long, man--oh, it's good to see you, Tam.Why, the last I heard, you'd taken passage to the Rings--years ago--"
Weakly, Tam stumbled into the inner office, sank into a chair, hiseyes overflowing, his mind a turmoil of joy and relief. The huge manslammed the door to the outer office and settled down behind the desk,sticking his feet over the edge, beaming. "Where have you _been_, Tam?You promised you'd look me up any time you came to New Denver, and Ihaven't seen you in a dozen years--" He
fished in a lower drawer."Drink?"
"No, no--thanks. I don't think I could handle a drink--" Tam sat back,gazing at the huge man, his throat tight. "You look bigger and betterthan ever, Dave."
* * * * *
Dave Hawke laughed, a deep bass laugh that seemed to start at thesoles of his feet. "Couldn't very well look thin and wan," he said. Hepushed a cigar box across the desk. "Here, light up. I'm on theseexclusively these days--remember how you tried to get me to smokethem, back at the University? How