"This discharge," the Martian went on. "I see you were employed as first assistant-engineer on the luxury liner Cosmos. That's United Spaceway's crack ship. Would you care to tell me, Mr. Murdock, what persuaded you to apply for this post on the Nova?"
"Blacklisted," Mr. Murdock said succinctly. "Belted the old man in the nose. I've been on the beach here in Venusport ever since. None of the shipping lines'll touch me." He lapsed into silence again.
The Martian drummed long white fingers on the desk top.
"You realize, Mr. Murdock, that when you sign the Nova's articles you forfeit your citizenship on Terra? The Earth Congress issued a proclamation to the effect that any Terran employed in the slave trade...."
"What d'you expect me to do?" Murdock interrupted with a wry expression. He was a tall angular man in his early thirties. "Rot here on Venus? I'm not thrilled at taking a third's rating aboard a Jovian slaver. But it's a job."
The Martian still hesitated, doubt registering on his paper-white, sharply-chiseled features.
At length he said, "Very well," in a dry tone. "You'll have to go to the Commissioner's and sign the articles this afternoon. The Nova sails tomorrow. I'll give you your orders in writing."
But he made no move to do so.
Gavin Murdock stiffened imperceptibly, an alarm pealing in his brain. The Martian, he sensed, was stalling. For what?