the man stated. "We'll walk and we'll take the most deserted streets."

Farrell led the way through the small Martian city that bordered the spaceport and across a narrow stretch of desert to Dankor canal.

At the canal, he turned and followed it northward, walking on the huge, weather-smoothed stones that formed one wall of the large waterway.

Thousands of feet below them, muddy water gurgled roaringly as it moved southward to the Martian farmlands. In the clear atmosphere, the opposite wall of the canal ten miles away was a thin, dark line.

"What's your name?" Farrell asked suddenly.

"Tharp."

"Where do you work?"

"None of your business."

They walked in silence, the two moons casting double shadows from each of their bodies.

With a sinking sensation in his stomach, Farrell realized the odds were against his seeing his family again.

"How did you learn I had the money?" Farrell asked.

Tharp grinned broadly. "When anyone makes a reservation on the flight to Earth, the news gets around. It got around to me." His laughter sounded brittle in the thin atmosphere.

After what seemed like years, they arrived at the outskirts of Dankor. Although it was off-limits, the police patrolled infrequently and even those patrols were publicly known schedules.

Dankor was a small cluster of low crumbling buildings. The streets were littered with filth and pale Martians dressed in rags shuffled aimlessly with blank eyes as if their world had already died.

Jars of brilliant fireflies on roof tops illuminated the village. Imprisoned in the transparent containers, the fluttering insects cast an eerie, pulsating glow on the dismal buildings.

Farrell paused before a thick wooden door and kicked it with his right foot. "The first time I came here," he explained, "I almost broke my knuckles before they heard me."

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