The two blown tires were shredded beyond repair. There wasn't enough rubber left in them to make a child's balloon. He had used up his spares ten days back crossing Devil's Grill. Used them and discarded them. He couldn't go on without tires. Morrison unpacked his telephone. He wiped dust from its black plastic face, then dialed Al's Garage in Presto. After a moment, the small video screen lighted up. He could see a man's long, mournful, grease-stained face. "Al's Garage. Eddie speaking." "Hi, Eddie. This is Tom Morrison. I bought that GM sandcar from you about a month ago. Remember?" "Sure I remember you," Eddie said. "You're the guy doing a single into the Southwest Track. How's the bus holding out?" "Fine. Great little car. Reason I called--" "Hey," Eddie said, "what happened to your face?" Morrison put his hand to his forehead and felt blood. "Nothing much," he said. "I went over a dune and blew out two tires." He turned the telephone so that Eddie could see the tires. "Unrepairable," said Eddie. "I thought so. And I used up all my spares crossing Devil's Grill. Look, Eddie, I'd like you to 'port me a couple of tires. Retreads are fine. I can't move the sandcar without them." "Sure," Eddie said, "except I haven't any retreads. I'll have to 'port you new ones at five hundred apiece. Plus four hundred dollars 'porting charges. Fourteen hundred dollars, Mr. Morrison." "All right." "Yes, sir. Now if you'll show me the cash, or a money order which you can send back with the receipt, I'll get moving on it." "At the moment," Morrison said, "I haven't got a cent on me." "Bank account?" "Stripped clean." "Bonds? Property? Anything you can convert into cash?" "Nothing except this sandcar, which you sold me for eight thousand dollars. When I come back, I'll settle my bill with the sandcar." "_If_ you get back. Sorry, Mr. Morrison. No can do." "What do you mean?" Morrison asked. "You know I'll pay for the tires." "And you know the rules on Venus," Eddie said, his mournful face set in obstinate lines. "No credit! Cash and carry!" * * * * * "I can't run the sandcar without tires," Morrison said. "Are you going to strand me out here?" "Who in hell is stranding you?" Eddie asked. "This sort of thing happens to prospectors every day. You know what you have to do now, Mr. Morrison. Call Public Utility and declare yourself a bankrupt. Sign over what's left of the sandcar, equipment, and anything you've found on the way. They'll get you out." "I'm not turning back," Morrison said. "Look!" He held the telephone close to the ground. "You see the traces, Eddie? See those red and purple flecks? There's precious stuff near here!" "Every prospector sees traces," Eddie said. "Damned desert is full of traces." "These are rich," Morrison said. "These are leading straight to big stuff, a bonanza lode. Eddie, I know it's a lot to ask, but if you could stake me to a couple of tires--"