The Star Palace was a down-at-the-heels plastic building, stained and discolored by the damp molds. Goodenow jerked his head at the clerk.
"Where's Leester?"
"North-Fever," the man said, worrying his lower lip. "This morning ... we couldn't stop him."
"Oh, hell," the consul said hopelessly, turning to Vanning. "That's the way it is. Once the fever hits you, you go crazy. Do everything and anything to get away and head north. Leester was a nice kid. He was going back to Earth, next Christmas."
Vanning looked at the clerk. "A man named Jerome Bentley's staying here."
"He's somewhere around town. Dunno where."
"Okay," the consul said. "If he comes in, phone my office. But don't tell him we were asking."
"Yup." The clerk resumed his vague scrutiny of the ceiling. Vanning and Goodenow went out.
"Where now?"