"Here we are!"
They had reached a squat, basaltic building which bore the legend TRI-PLANETARY MINING CORPORATION.
"Enter the lair of the Octopus," Conley laughed, glancing at the gilded sign above him.
Wessel frowned at the words, and by that token Jim knew that he was a Corporation man to the hilt.
Within, Jim found himself in an atmosphere as far removed from Mars as day is from night. The office was plain and unpretentious. There was an old-fashioned desk, a few chairs and some iron lockers against the wall. On the walls, in curious contrast, were pictures of cinema stars several years out of date, and a few yellowed maps of the company's workings.
"Not only has Frank's claim petered out," Conley explained, "but Tri-Planet is beginning to. That's the reason Wessel's here, to try and trace these radite veins to their source. We think they must stem from somewhere up in the Cap."
Jim nodded. "You haven't many Earthmen here now, have you?"
"About a dozen," Conley shrugged. "More than enough to handle what little radite's left."
"And we wouldn't even need them," Wessel spoke for the first time, "if we could get these damn lazy Martians to stir themselves."