"Well, he couldn't be a good citizen of United Stars. In that case he would have turned over his discovery to the Commonwealth at once. It's too hot for one man to handle."
"So he must be either an Incor or a Big Shot! Please pass those credits, Frank."
"Not yet, my pet. He must be a Big Shot, and only a Big Shot. No Incor could get his hands on enough fissionable material to conduct the necessary research. Only the Big Shots could do that."
"The credits are yours. Now ... what can we do about it?"
Frank twirled his empty glass and stared out at the lights of rainswept Venusport. He was fond of the little place and the thought that it stood in the shadow of disaster made him feel ill. When he and Sadie had helped the Underground to take over the town five years before, it had been a dripping pesthole where arriving Incors were robbed of credits and equipment, then shipped off to virtual slavery in Big Shot uranium mines. Now it was a U.S. outpost, clean, rebuilt and thriving.
Adventurous youths who elected to leave the well-ordered societies of Earth or Mars to sow their wild oats under conditions of untrammelled freedom on Venus were well protected while passing through the port. Even criminals and other anti-social exiles were entitled to a stiff S. P. indoctrination course in the weird geography and topsy-turvy customs of their new planet. One and all were guaranteed free return trips to their homes whenever they gave proof that they had reformed.
"I suppose this means another war," Frank said at last. "And if it comes it really will smash everything beyond repair."
"Maybe not." Sadie thrust out her dimpled chin.
"You mean the Big Shots will give up their discovery without a battle?"