A huge, powerfully built man was standing in front of him, staring at him with an expression of sullen anger stamped on his coarse features. He wore boots, breeches and a leather shirt. Heavy, business-like atomic revolvers were strapped to his thick waist. His hands propped on his hips were the size of battered hams and his bare arms were like the limbs of a gnarled tree.
Beside him, Dirk noticed two other men, smaller, but equally villainous looking. They also carried guns strapped to their waists.
Strength was finding its way back into his numbed legs, and his head was clearing a little from the shock of the landing and the after effects of the Martian brandy. The men on each side of him were not holding him up any longer. They were just holding him.
"Start talking," the big man snapped. "What the hell do you want here? How'd you happen to moor here?"
Dirk passed a hand over his forehead and smiled.
"It was quite accidental, I assure you. I—I'd been drinking and my ship was out of control when I spotted your mooring tower. A lucky thing for me that I did."
"Maybe not," the big man said ominously. "We aren't hospitable to visitors here."
The smile faded from Dirk’s face.
"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled. "I'm sorry about smashing your mooring tower, but I'll make it right with you. My name is Dirk Temple. I'm good for any reasonable amount you say."
He glanced up to the top of the mooring tower appraising the damage done by his faulty mooring.
"A couple of thousand tipecs[1] should take care of the damage," he said.
"So you're Dirk Temple, eh?" the big man said musingly. He flashed a quick meaningful glance at the two men who stood beside him. "In that case well do our best to accommodate you. You need sleep right now so I'll have you taken to a bunk. In the meantime we'll get your ship ready so that you can take off when you feel up to it."
"That's awfully nice of you," Dirk said, smiling. "I suppose I have been acting like a fool, trying to pilot a ship half drunk. A few hours sleep will fix me up though."
"Sure thing," the big man said. He turned to one of the men, a short, stocky blond with a broken nose. "Buck, take Mr. Temple to one of the rooms with a clean bunk. We'll let you know when we've got the ship in shape, Mr. Temple."
"Do that, will you?" Dirk said pleasantly. "And thanks a lot."
"Don't thank me," the big man said.
DIRK followed the man called Buck across the clearing. Houses made of tough, mahogany-like wood from the swamps of Jupiter were erected in a semi-circle, meeting at a huge, steel gate which led, Dirk guessed, to the
open, unexplored regions of this section of the planet. The entire cleared stockade was surrounded by a high steel fence, and over its top Dirk could see tall rambling buildings. Except for the wooden dwellings in the stockade the only other object was the tall gleaming mooring tower. Long freight ramps connected with it and led off to a side gate in the stockade fence.
There was one wooden building larger than the rest, that was obviously some sort of office. Dirk wasn't particularly interested however, in anything but sleep.
His guide led him to one of the dwel-
- ↑ Tipecs—worth approximately five Earth dollars.—Ed.
