 What is the Mercury Sam’s Garden?
But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life against the soft touch of a woman's lips. On the stage of Mercury Sam's Garden , a tight-frocked, limber-hipped, red-head was singing " The Lady from Mars ." The song was a rollicking, ribald ditty, a favorite of the planters and miners, the space pilots and army officers who frequented the garden. He did not look up at the singer but kept his pale, immature face bent over the keys, while his fingers lightly, automatically picked out the tune. The night was very hot; but then it is always hot on Mercury, the newest, the wildest, the hottest of Earth's frontiers. Fans spaced about the garden's walls sluggishly stirred the night air, while the men and women sitting at the tables drank heavily of Latonka, the pale green wine of Mercury. The pianist swung around on his stool, lifted his black eyes to the gate leading to the street. "No! Mercury is not ready for freedom. The revolution is scheduled to break during the Festival of the Rains. The Mercurians worship him. Jaro Moynahan refilled their empty glasses. "Ah," said Jaro Moynahan; "so that's the way it is." One moment the garden was glowing in light, the next the hot black night swooped down on the revelers, pressing against their eyes like dark wool. Unexpectedly, the deep, ringing voice of Mercury Sam boomed out from the stage. Jaro Moynahan sat quietly back down and poured himself another glass of Latonka. On the hot, teeming planet of Mercury it was as refreshing as a cold plunge. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. Only at night did they emerge to work their fields and ply their trades. Back on the narrow alley-like street Jaro Moynahan headed for his hostelry. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the revolutionist, and the girl. At infrequent intervals green globes cut a hole in the night, casting a faint illumination. They were never visible, but to his trained ears there came stealthy, revealing noises: the brush of cloth against the baked earth walls, the sly shuffle of a step. Jaro Moynahan In the East a sullen red glow stained the heavens like the reflection of a fire. Once back in his room, Jaro Moynahan stripped off his clothes, unbuckled a shoulder holster containing a compressed air slug gun, stepped under the shower.
 A club
 An apartment building  A club  An amusement park  A family restaurant