He went inside. An officer of the Middle Guard sat at a desk, looking at Don's papers. "Donald Harvey?"
"Yes, sir."
"Frankly, your case puzzles me. We've had no trouble identifying you; your prints check with those recorded when you were here before. But you aren't a citizen."
"Sure I am! My mother was born here."
"Mmmm-" The official drummed on his desktop. "I'm not a lawyer. I get your point, but, after all, when your mother was born, there wasn't any such nation as Venus Republic: Looks to me as if you were a test case, with precedent still to be established."
"Then where does that leave me?" Don said slowly.
"I don't know. I'm not sure you have any legal right to stay here at all."
"But I don't want to stay here! I'm just passing through."
"Eh?
"I'm on my way to Mars."
"Oh, that! I've seen your papers-too bad. Now let's talk sense, shall we?"
"I'm going to Mars," Don repeated stubbornly.
"Sure, sure! And I'm going to heaven when I die. In the meantime you are a resident of Venus whether we like it or not. No doubt the courts will decide, eventually, whether you are a citizen as well. Mr. Harvey, I've decided to turn you loose."
"Huh?" Don was startled; it had not occurred to him that his liberty could be in question.
"Yes. You don't seem like a threat to the safety of Venus Republic and I don't fancy holding you in quarantine indefinitely. Just keep your nose clean and phone in your address after you find a place to stay. Here are your papers."
Don thanked him, picked up his bags and left quickly.
Once outside, he stopped to give his arms a good scratching.
At the dock in front of the building an amphibious launch was tied up; its coxswain was lounging at the helm.
Don said, "Excuse me, but I want to send a radio. Could you tell me where to go?"
"Sure. I. T. & T. Building, Buchanan Street, Main Island. Just down in the Nautilus?"
"That's right. How do I get there?"
"Jump in. I'll be making another trip in about five minutes. Any more passengers to come?"
"I don't think so."
"You don't sound like a fog-eater." The coxswain looked him over.
"Raised on the stuff," Don assured him, "but I've been away at school for several years."
"Just slid in under the wire, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Lucky for you. No place like home, I guess." The coxswain looked happily around at the murky sky and the dark waters.
Shortly he started his engine and cast off lines. The little vessel slopped its way through narrow channels, around islands and bars barely above water. A few minutes later Don disembarked at the foot of Buchanan Street, main thoroughfare of New London, capital of the planet.
There were several people loafing around the landing dock; they looked him over. Two of them were runners for rooming houses; he shook them off and started up Buchanan Street. The street was crowded with people but was narrow, meandering, and very muddy. Two lighted signs, one on each side of the street, shone through the permanent fog. One read: ENLIST NOW!!! YOUR NATION NEEDS YOU; the other exhorted in larger letters: Drink COCACOLA - New London Bottling Works.
The I. T. & T. Building turned out to be several hundred yards down the street, almost at the far side of Main Island, but it was easy to find as it was the largest building on the island. Don climbed over the coaming at the entrance and found himself in the local office of Interplanetary Telephone and Televideo Corporation. A young lady was seated behind a counter desk. "I'd like to send a radiogram," he said to her.
"That's what we're here for." She handed him a pad and stylus.
"Thanks." Don composed a message with much wrinkling of forehead, trying to make it both reassuring and informative in the fewest words. Presently he handed it in.
The girl raised her brows when she saw the address but made no comment. She counted the words, consulted a book, and said, "That'll be a hundred and eighty-seven fifty." Don counted it out, noting anxiously what a hole that made in his assets.
She glanced at the notes and pushed them back. "Are you kidding?"
"What's the matter?"
"Offering me Federation money. Trying to get me in trouble?"
"Oh." Don felt again a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach that was getting to be almost a habit. "Look-I'm just down in the Nautilus. I haven't had time to exchange this stuff. Can I send the message collect?"
"To Mars?"
"What should I do?"
"Well, there's the bank just down the street. If I were you I'd try there."
"I guess so. Thanks." He started to pick up his message; she stopped him.
"I was 'about to say that you can file your message if you like. You've got two weeks in which to pay for it."
"Huh? Why, thanks!"
"Don't thank me. It can't go out for a couple of weeks and you don't have to pay until we are ready to send it."
"Two weeks? Why?"
"Because Mars is right smacko back of the Sun now; it wouldn't punch through. We'll have to wait on the swing."
"Well, what's the matter with relay?"
"There's a war on-or hadn't you noticed?"
"Oh-" Don felt foolish.
"We're still accepting private messages both ways on the Terra-Venus channel - subject to paraphrase and censoring but we couldn't guarantee that your message would be relayed from Terra to Mars. Or could you instruct someone on Earth to pay for the second transmission?"
"Uh - I'm afraid not."
"Maybe it's just as well. They might not relay it for you even if you could get someone to foot the bill. The Federation censors might kill it. So give me that traffic and I'll file it. You can pay for it later." She glanced at the message. "Looks like you sort of ran into hard luck. How old are you" She glanced again at the form. "-Don Harvey?"
Don told her.
"Hmmm... you look older. I'm older than you are; I guess that makes me your grandmother. If you need any more advice, just stop in and ask Grandmother Isobel - Isobel Costello."
"Uh, thanks, Isobel."
"Not at all. Usual I. T. & T. service." She gave him a warm smile. Don left feeling somewhat confused.
The bank was near the center of the island; Don remembered having passed it. The sign on the glass read: BANK OF AMERICA & HONGKONG. Over this had been stuck strips of masking tape and under it was another sign handwritten in whitewash: New London Trust & Investment Company. Don went in, picked the shortest queue, and presently explained his wants. The teller hooked a thumb toward a desk back of a rail. "See him."
At the desk was seated an elderly Chinese dressed in a long black gown. As Don approached he stood up, bowed, and said, "May I help you, sir?"
Don again explained and laid his wad of bills on the banker's desk. The man looked at it without touching it. "I am so sorry."
"What's the matter?"
"You are past the date when one may legally exchange Federation currency for money of the Republic."
"But I haven't had a chance to before! I just got in."
"I am very sorry. I do not make the regulations."
"But what am I to do?"
The banker closed his eyes, then opened them. "In this imperfect world one must have money. Have you something to offer as security?"
"Uh, I guess not. Just my clothes and these bags."
"No jewelry?"
"Well, I've got a ring but I don't suppose it's worth much."
"Let me see it."
Don took off the ring Dr. Jefferson had mailed to him and handed it over. The Chinese stuck a watchmaker's loop in his eye and examined it. "I'm afraid you are right. Not even true amber-merely plastic. Still-a symbol of security will bind the honest man quite as much as chains. I'll advance fifty credits on it."