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good,” Pete told him. “I’m quitting. If you keep on bothering me, I’ll report you to the police. And that’s a promise.”
    “Sonny! Is that any way to act?” Ganymede Gus came closer, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jumper. He moved in close enough to touch Pete, and then something hard was prodding Pete’s stomach.
    Ganymede Gus whispered, “That’s a blaster you feel. I press the little button, and it kills you. Just walk ahead of me — there, that’s right. Now you feel it in your back. It’ll stay there, so don’t try any tricks.”
    As he walked, Pete could feel the hard round bore of the blaster against the small of his back. He did not look behind him once, but after they left the Spaceport and reached the crowded streets of White Sands, Ganymede Gus began a meaningless, animated conversation, and the crowds of passers-by did not give them a second glance.
    It was a hot summer night, still early, but darkness had covered the Carnival area by the time they reached it. Pete was drenched with sweat.
    They entered a small sideshow several blocks off the Midway, walked quickly past the phony freaks on exhibit, then climbed a dingy flight of stairs.
    In the darkness, Gus knocked on a door, three taps in quick succession, then a fourth after an interval of perhaps two seconds. A muffled voice told them to come in.
    The door swung open, and the harsh light within the room momentarily blinded Pete. When he could see, a huge figure of a man was looking at him, a six-foot giant with beady little eyes, a much battered nose and a very grim expression on his face.
    Gus said cheerfully, “Sonny, I want you to meet Sam Smith. Sam is one of our strong-arm boys. When any of our associates balk, he keeps them in line. Sam, this is Pete Hodges; you know all about him.”
    Sam Smith nodded his huge head, offered a big hand to Pete. Doubtfully, Pete shook it. Without warning, the hulking figure pulled him forward. Pete stumbled, cried out, saw the left fist coming at him from some place behind the man’s belt buckle. He tried to duck under it, but the fist exploded against his jaw, tumbling him over flat on his back.
     

Chapter 6 — Reunion
     
    Shaking his head sadly, Ganymede Gus helped Pete to his feet. “You can’t blame Sam,” he said. “Sam was mighty disappointed when the Capricorn didn’t turn up. Weren’t you, Sam?”
    Sam nodded, grunted something which Pete could not quite hear. There was a ringing in his ears and his jaw felt numb. He broke loose from Gus’s grip and ran for the door. He got one hand on it and threw it open, lunging out into the hallway. He didn’t make it.
    Something big and muscular circled his neck, and he knew it was Sam’s arm. He was spun around savagely, and he heard the door close again. He scrambled loose, hammered with his fists at Sam’s face. The big man looked surprised. He blinked his eyes rapidly, took a step backward and shook his head. But the blows had done no harm!
    “Sam used to be a heavyweight fighter,” Ganymede Gus explained, “You need a club to hurt him, sonny.”
    This couldn’t he happening , Pete thought wildly. Not here in this modern age . Only it was, and what was the expression? They had him good.
    Sam hit him again, harder. He crashed back against the wall, slumped down to the floor. He got up slowly, felt the warm, salty taste of blood in his mouth. He plodded grimly forward, trying to raise his arms and swing them.
    Ganymede Gus sounded genuinely sorry this time. “Quit, sonny! Don’t come back for more. Why don’t you just lay down and quit? The boss wanted us to teach you a lesson, but you don’t have to stand and take it. . . .”
    Sam hit him again — and again. He did not feel the blows — a numbness had taken their place. But he remembered falling down and then climbing wearily to his feet. Falling down and getting up. . . .
    He lay on his back and someone was applying a cold, wet towel to his face. He moaned and tried