“These people have been yapping at me since I got here,” he said. He found the spring catch and opened it. “And they keep jumping my men.” He raised the lid of the box.
His hands paused. Paula moved around the desk to stand by the window, so she could watch his expression. He took the dagger out of the white lining and drew the knife from the sheath.
“What is this?” he said.
“It was made in Damascus for a Seljuk prince. When there were still princes on the Earth.”
He turned it over in his hands, admiring it, and held it so that the emeralds glittered. Abruptly he rammed it back into the sheath, stuck it into the box, and pushed the box away.
“I have nothing for you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Take it back.”
“If you want.”
She made no move to pick it up. He pulled on his mustaches. “I guess you are a woman. A man wouldn’t give me a present without getting something in return.”
“Why not?”
“Because all systems equalize.” He got out of the chair and pulled the curtains closed across the window. A gloom fell. It was dark in Uranus, cold and dark. She was comfortable enough in the light dress but he was sweating.
“If it bothers you so much that I’m a woman, why did you pick me?” she said. “There’s a man in the case.”
“Very little of this was my idea.” He pulled his chair around and sat down. “There is only one thing we have to say to you. Styth will rule everything, sooner or later. We have a saying: ‘One Sun, one law, one Empire.’ We are your natural masters. If you submit to us, we will rule you justly. If you don’t, then you’ll have to suffer the consequences.”
Paula sat down on the floor. “That’s amazing. Did you make that up?” she said, and he flared.
“I don’t make things up. Do you think I’m a child? I know how the Universe works. Are you calling me a liar?”
“No,” she said.
“You are a liar.”
“When have I lied to you?”
He slapped his hand flat on the desk. “The other watch, when I was in your place. You said there’s no government in the Earth.”
“There isn’t. Why don’t you think people can take care of themselves?”
“Because it’s not human nature.”
He was sweating heavily, and the chair was too small for him, pinching him between its round arms. “Nobody does anything he doesn’t have to do. Who takes care of the city, for instance? People don’t see that large—all most people see is the tunnel of their own little lives.”
“The dome is owned by a private company. When you pay for your heat and water, you subscribe to the dome maintenance.”
His round black eyes were unblinking. He made a disbelieving noise in his chest. Picking up the case on the desk, he took the dagger out of it again. “This is a beautiful thing.”
“Yes.”
“What if it was yours, and someone stole it?”
“I’d do what I could.”
“What about credit? Who issues your money? Do you use money?”
“Yes. Those are private companies, too. Like the Committee.”
“You mean anybody can go down there and make any amount of money?”
“Nobody would use money unless they knew it was worth something. Moneying is a very conservative profession. There’s only twenty-four companies on the whole Planet and they have big conventions about the future of credit-mongering and they all wear the same clothes. Very dull.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No. I’m sorry. I was making fun of us.”
He drew the dagger and turned it and laid the flat of the knife against his cheek. They stared at each other awhile. His head turned toward the door.
“Ketac!”
The brush-headed boy came in: his son. The Akellar said to her, “He’ll take you back. I’ll send for you when I want to talk to you again.”
She got to her feet, pulling the skirts of the black dress straight with her hands. In their own language he was telling the young man to escort her back as if her room were a million miles away. She started toward the door, and the big man said, “And when I call, you come. You understand?”
She took hold of her temper, enough not to say anything, and gave him a long look down the room. He flicked the dagger back into its sheath. She went out after his son.
In the corridor, Ketac watched her the whole way back to her room. She avoided meeting his stare. He made her uneasy. At her door, she stopped and pressed her thumb into the key patch and the door slid open.
“Thank you.”
He put his hand on the doorjamb, so that his arm blocked her way. “I want—” He swallowed. With a jerk of his head he indicated the room beyond. “Go in. I go in.”
“No.” She backed into the middle of the corridor. “Get out of my way.”
“I hear—anarkisto—”
“Ketac, get out of my way.”
He moved aside. She went past him into the safety of her suite and pulled the door closed.
“It doesn’t sound promising,” Jefferson said.
“I don’t know. He’s that curious.” Paula touched the frame of the videone. “They’re tearing the place apart.”
“What? Who? The Styths?”
“Not deliberately. They don’t get along with the Martians. Mr. Black here bribed the security, so nobody is putting the arm on them.”
“Are you all right?”
“So far.”
Sybil wiped the corner of her eye with her forefinger. “I have an idea. Two ideas. He’s throwing money around as if he believes in it, maybe we can throw some at him. Not ours, naturally. I’m sending you a book on interplanetary trade relations.”
“I don’t know anything about economics.”
“This is politics, dear girl. Your weapon of choice.”
“I don’t think you know me very well.”
Jefferson cackled. Someone knocked on the door. Paula went to answer it. Outside was the short Styth with the gold wire in his nose. He gave her a heavy object wrapped in a piece of black cloth. “Paulo Mendoz’,” he said. “With the—the compliment of the Matuko Akellar.” He nodded down at her and went away.
Inside the soft black cloth was a clear crystal the size of a peach. When she put it on the screen for Jefferson to see, the old woman grunted. The crystal was cut in perfect octagonal facets and caught light like a diamond.
“Balancing an equation,” Paula said. “I guess he’s keeping the dagger.” She picked up the crystal and measured it in her hand.
“That belongs to the Committee,” Jefferson said swiftly.
“He gave it to me.” The crystal weighed at least a pound.
“We paid for the knife. That thing is worth a fortune.”
Paula wrapped the crystal back up in the black cloth. A thousand dollars an ounce, on the Earth; how much would it cost in Uranus? She began to see a way to use Jefferson’s trade paper.
“What else?”
“Hmmm?”
“You said you had two suggestions.”
“Oh.” Jefferson fingered the flabby skin of her throat. “Bring him to the Earth.”
Paula opened a drawer and put the piece of crystal inside. That would be easy, with his curiosity already hot. “If you want, Sybil.”
She sat on the couch watching the fish zigzag back and forth through the wall aquarium. The big Styth’s arrogance tempted her. He had weaknesses; he could be had. She switched off the lights and went to the bedroom. Just into the darkened room, she caught a whiff of a coppery odor.
Her nerves tingled with warning. She backed up into the front room again. The little pocket torch she had bought was in the bar, and she took it in her left hand and went into the bedroom again.
Halfway across the room to the bed, she was engulfed in the coppery reek. She whirled around. A hand closed on her right wrist. She switched on the hand torch and shot the bright beam stra
ight up into his eyes.
He released her. His arms crossed over his face, he staggered back from her. It was Ketac. She ran around the foot of the bed and turned the torch off. She heard nothing and saw only a flicker of movement in the dark but when she reached the bedside lamp and lit it, he was gone.
The window in the washroom was open. She slammed it shut. There was no way to lock it. She closed the washroom door, moved the bed table over against it, and went to bed.
The following morning, when she took the receiver down from the closet shelf, about two inches of the wire had been run off. She wound it back to play. The device bleeped, to show it was working. The transmitter in the dagger was designed to pick up only voices. She listened to their talk about the Sun, the law and the Empire. Her own voice always sounded strange to her, deeper than she expected.
“Pop,” Ketac said, “Tanuojin is back.”
The Akellar uttered a low, indefinite sound. Keyed to his voice, the device would pick up every vocal noise he made. She plunged her face into a steaming hot towel.
“What’s the matter with you?” a deep, musical voice said.
“I drank too much. There’s some liquor here, like fluid explosive, the Earthish woman told me about it.”
“Naturally. What is she like?”
The Akellar laughed. “She’s this big. She’s mouse-brown, her eyes slant like a snake’s, her hair is like gold wire all on end. She looks as if she has one toe stuck in a charge socket.”
She put on a pair of overalls and took the recorder into the front room. A breakfast cart was standing alone by the couch. The page had abandoned her. She poured hot water into a china teapot with a decal of the hotel on its belly. While the tea was steeping, she buttered toast.
“Did you get to Barsoom?” the Akellar said, and she dropped the butter knife on the floor.
“Yes,” the deep voice said. “It’s impossible to see it on foot. It goes on and on, and even when it’s turned away from the Sun, it’s all lit up, every little corner.”
She ate the toast. Had he walked to Barsoom? She imagined the uproar if he had been caught. But he had not been caught: amazing.
“What about this anarchist? What have you found out?”
“Oh, she comes down with the same story, no government, no army, nothing. I offered her money and she laughed. She’s a liar, like every other nigger in the Universe.”
Paula took the teacup across the room to the windows and pulled the drapes half-open. It was another splendidly sunny day, manufactured in Barsoom. Two men with a cart were pulling up the blue delphinium below her window and installing daffodils, yellow and white.
“Tanuojin,” the Akellar said, “I don’t think this was one of your better ideas.”
“We’re in the wrong place, that’s all.”
Before she could find out the right place, the wire ran out. She reloaded the receiver and put it up on the top shelf of the closet, behind her shoes. The name Tanuojin, like all Styth names, was made up of word particles; it meant “the ninth boy” or “the new boy,” she was unsure. She went down to the lobby.
The headline on the current hourly read: BARSOOM SUPERS REACH CUP PLAY-OFFS. She went across the lobby. In a side room, the small Styth with the nose wire was shooting pool. Two Martian men played dik-dakko at the opposite end of the room, three other game tables between them and the Styth. There was a tiltball machine against the wall. She put her paper down, got out ten cents, and started the machine. The lights came on in the multicolored cube. She pushed the trigger and a ball fell into the top. She used the handles to shake the ball down through the maze.
“Hello,” the Styth said, beside her.
“Hello.”
“I am supposed to watch you. It will make it that much easier if you help.”
She pushed the trigger button. “What’s your name?”
He leaned against the wall. At her eye-level, a chain hung around his throat, inside the wide collarless neck of his shirt: an order medal. He said, “My name is Sril. What is this engine?”
She turned back to the tiltball machine. This time she had drawn two balls. They careened off in opposite directions. She kept the cube moving. The balls reeled through the levels of colored plastic. With two it was easy: she held one in a cul-de-sac while slipping the other past the traps. When the two balls rolled through the gate, lights flashed, a bell jangled: FREE BALL.
“I will try.” Sril pushed her out of the way.
“I’m in the middle of—”
“What do I do? This?” He pushed the button. He was lucky: the machine was random-loaded, and only one ball fell into the maze. He touched the handles. The ball dropped like a stone down the center trap. The machine went dark.
“What happened?” he cried.
“You lost. Try it again. You see the holes, there, you’re supposed to avoid them.”
“No—you do. I watch.”
She fed the machine another dime and pushed the trigger. Five balls rolled into the chute at the top of the maze. She teased them to the last level, hardly moving the cube at all, and then turned one handle too far and lost the middle and the last down a side trap.
Sril groaned in disappointment. Paula said, “That’s good, for me. You play it.”
Another Styth was coming across the room toward them, a big man with a scar on his cheek. In Styth, he said, “You’re supposed to be on watch. Where is the Man?”
“I am on watch,” Sril said. “I’m on squaw-duty.” He turned back to the tiltball machine. “Saba is upstairs.” He reached for the trigger.
Paula stepped back. A ball fell with a ping into the maze. Sril fought it, cursed it, and pleaded it down to the third level, where it dropped through.
“Let me try.” The big man shoved at him. Sril thrust him off. They crowded into each other, swearing and laughing. The steady patter of the dik-dakko ball across the room stopped; a man said, “What’s that stink?” This time, getting three balls, Sril managed to take one successfully through the maze. When he lost the next ball down the central chute, he let out a yell, grabbed the tiltball machine, and tore it off the wall.
A dik-dakko player shouted. Paula dodged a flying tiltball. The machine sagged over onto its side. Steel balls cascaded out of the bin across the floor.
Sril backed off, looking apprehensively around. The other Styth grabbed his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Too late,” Paula said.
A tall white man was moving toward them at top speed, his body at an attacking angle. She wondered nervously if she had broken any Martian law. He walked straight up to her. His gaze raked the Styths.
“Are you all right, Miss Mendoza?”
“I’m fine,” she said, relieved.
The two black men were standing on the far side of the wreckage of the machine. Tiltballs rolled around on the floor, clicking into each other. The Martian turned on the Styths, fierce.
“Which one of you did that?”
Paula stepped back to the wall. That was the wrong approach. The doorway to the lobby was packed with the curious faces of guests.
Sril said, “We do n-nothing. He just falls off.” He still smelled strong.
The manager fisted his hands. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”
“Is something wrong?” said a musical bass voice. A rangy Styth sauntered across the gameroom, his eyes on the Martian. Straw-thin, he towered four or five inches over seven feet. His eyes were light brown. Yellow eyes. The Martian rounded on him.
“Are you their superior officer?”
“That’s right.” Tanuojin slid his long hands under his belt. “What’s wrong?” He nodded to Sril and the other man. They bolted out the door, the guests jumping out of their way.
“Hey!” The hotelman wheeled.
Tanuojin stood over him. For an instant, looking up, the Martian lost his breath. He regained it in a rush. “You must take me for a fool!”
The tall Styth snorted. He walked off, away from
the hotelman. The Martian puffed up. His lips curled. He headed for the door to the lobby.
“All right, everybody—” He herded people out of the doorway. “Show’s over. Move along.” He turned back toward the Styth. “You’re a bunch of stinking savages. They ought to run you right out of the Universe.” He left.
Paula stood still. Tanuojin had not noticed her. He strolled across the room to the outside door, where he had come in, and went away. Loose tiltballs rolled around the floor at her feet. The copper smell was fading in the air. Thoughtfully she went out of the gameroom.
Wherever she went, Sril followed her. She walked around the hotel garden, bought photo-cards in the card shop and wrote them out in the lounge and posted them. The Nineveh had its own photo-relay projector, so they would reach the Earth in a few hours. The trade paper arrived from Jefferson in Barsoom and she took it out to the garden to read. The Styth followed her everywhere, looking bored.
Paula read half the paper and skimmed the second half. She went back into the hotel, her Styth shadow close behind. As she passed the restaurant off the lobby, she caught sight of the Akellar, sitting at the bar.
The bar stools on either side of him were conspicuously vacant. She went to the one on his left. In the antiqued mirror behind the bar she saw everybody else in the room watching them. The Akellar put his glass down. He beckoned and the barman hurried toward them. The Styth with the nose wire, Sril, stayed about ten feet away.
Paula said, “Why is he following me around?”
The man behind the bar poured whiskey into his glass. The Akellar gestured to Sril, who left. “You’re here alone, I wouldn’t want something happening to you. Somebody might blame it on me.” His gaze caught on something in the mirror. She looked; he was watching a girl come into the bar. While the girl crossed the room, met other people, took off her coat and sat down, the Styth looked her over inch by inch. The barman turned to Paula.
“Can I get you something, dear?”
If she had been a Martian he would have called her miss. She said, “Do you have ice cream?”
“Sure.”
“A brandy float.”
Floating Worlds Page 8
