"Saw your playmate about half an hour ago, Corporal," the Chief Spacesparks said casually.
I grunted.
"You guys planning to break the gambling joints on Saturn?" he asked.
I looked up sharply. "What makes you say that?"
"Shane was in the Federation Bank when I saw him. He was taking out a stack of leaves half a foot thick." Chief Spacesparks said this casually. But it didn't hit me that way. Something turned in my stomach.
"Fifteen hundred bucks?" I asked weakly.
I watched Spacesparks shake his head indifferently. "Naw, more than that. Must have been two or three thousand at least."
Two or three thousand! The space-radio room began to wheel before my eyes. The walls, gray normally, went green. I didn't say a word. I lurched out of there like a space-sick rookie on his first void drift. Two or three thousand, undoubtedly three. Shane had undoubtedly gone against my express wishes. There was no question but that he withdrew our entire bank balance to stick into the slick Saturnian realty deal!
My sickness was leaving. I was cold, then hot, then cold. Then I was burning, mad. I kept telling myself again and again that I deserved this. Deserved it for having been stupid enough to think he'd do anything but go ahead with the deal as he'd planned it in the first place.
An orderly was passing. I called him and he stepped over, saluting. I gave him the check report sheaf I had in my hand.
"See this gets to the Adjutant," I told him. "Check report from Corporal Cork."
There was still a chance to catch that hare-brain. Still a chance to stop him. Frantically, I started down the duralloy companionway toward the launch landing deck. I could hear the throb of a launch's atomic motors readying for a 'cross harbor jaunt to Saturn. I dashed for it . . .
AT THE Federation Bank, the teller was smiling affably.
"Yes, Corporal," he said. "That's right. Sergeant Shane removed the entire balance just a little while ago. He told me that the two of you contemplated some investment of some sort. He said that you'd be redepositing the money, plus several thousand more in a few days."
I had been burning as I entered the bank. Now the confirmation of my fears had been made, and even the perspiration that beaded my brow sizzled.
"Look," I asked, "do you have a book listing the real estate corporations on Saturn?"
The teller said he did.
"Then find me one whose owner is a Martian named Clenoka," I said urgently.
The teller found a little book, paged through it.
"Ah, yes. Here it is, Corporal." He gave me the address. I got out of there like a burst from a long-range rocket gun . . .
It was on one of those crazy, twisting, little Saturnian side streets just off the main business section. The door was plain, of gray duralloy. On it, in black electrolettering, was stamped an unobtrusive legend.
A. Clenoka & Co.
Asteroid Realty Holdings
I stood there looking at the sign on the plain little door in that dingy street.
