Tanuojin began, “No. I—” and his head turned, his gaze went to Paula. “All right.” He nodded to Junna. “Go fetch her here.”
Paula folded her arms over her chest. She was about to be the object of a demonstration. Junna left. Saba wandered around the room, looking at the illusion pictures on the wall. He came up beside her, so close she was uncomfortable, but she did not move away. She was not afraid of him.
“Any word from Vribulo?”
Tanuojin shook his head. “They are being very, very unconcerned. You know Machou.”
The door slid open and Marus came into the room. “Akellar.”
Cam Savenia walked past him. Paula wheeled. It had been ten days since Tanuojin had found her. She still wore white: loose trousers and a tunic. Paula had never seen her without makeup before. Her face looked peeled.
Tanuojin stood with his hand on Saba’s shoulder. Cam went into the middle of the room, beside the couch, her arms at her sides.
“Dr. Savenia.”
She raised her head. “Yes, Akellar.”
“Look at that woman there.” Tanuojin pointed at Paula. “Do you know her?”
Paula met Cam’s blue eyes. Cam said, “Yes, she’s Paula Mendoza.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s an anarchist.” Cam’s voice was perfectly even. “She betrayed us. She’s corrupt. Perverse. I hate her. I wish I could kill her.”
“No,” Tanuojin said. “You’re wrong. She is a Styth. She’s black. She’s the Prima’s wife. Sometimes she’s bad but she follows the law.”
“I follow the law,” Cam said.
“Then tell me who she is.”
Cam’s wide eyes stared at Paula. “She is Styth. She is good. She’s black. She’s the Prima’s wife.”
Paula went around the couch. Taller by half a head, Cam turned to face her. Paula said, “You remember Dick Bunker, Cam. Don’t you? Who is he?”
Cam’s lips parted. She looked uncertainly at Tanuojin.
“He’s dead,” the Styth told her.
Cam said, monotone, “Richard Bunker is dead.”
Paula jabbed her chin at Tanoujin and Saba. “Who are they?”
Cam’s hands clasped together. “Do I have to talk to her?”
“Answer her, Dr. Savenia.”
“He is the Prima. You’re my friend. You know everything.”
“That’s right.”
“Who is he?” Paula said.
“My friend.”
“What’s his name?”
“He’s my friend.”
“Do you know his name?”
“He’s my friend.”
Paula stared at the pale womanly face above her. Cam would not look at her. Her hands hung at her sides.
“Would you like to go to Mars?” Tanuojin said.
“Yes.” Eagerly.
“You’ll have to do just as I say.”
“I will.”
“Good. You’re a good girl. Marus. Take her back.”
Marus took Cam Savenia out the door. Paula let out her breath in a sigh. Her hands were trembling.
Saba said, “She’ll have to do better than that.”
“Don’t worry.” Tanuojin paced away. “She’ll be right, before Newrose sees her. She’s come a long way. You didn’t see her at first.”
“It’s vicious,” Paula said. She sat down on the end of the couch.
“Why? She’s happy now. She doesn’t have to think, she doesn’t worry. She isn’t afraid. She’s on the right side, that’s all she cares about.”
“How long would she stay like that?” Saba said. “If you weren’t there?”
“I’ll always be there. In her mind.”
Paula scrubbed her palm over her face. “What mind does she have left?” She was glad David had gone.
“She never used it that much. She’s always done as she was told. That’s why it was so easy to—” Tanuojin’s eyes closed. “Re-educate.”
Saba paced around the room. “I don’t see that she’ll be much use.” He went down to the model. Her gaze followed him. Tanuojin didn’t frighten him. His hair was gray as iron; he looked tired.
“Besides,” Tanuojin said, to Paula. “She’s a woman. Her prime function is centered somewhere much lower than her mind.”
“She wasn’t much of a woman.”
“Because she’s not like you with that guillotine between your legs?”
Saba wheeled around. “Damn you, I’ve had enough of your filthy mouth. You’re dismissed.”
“Saba, I—”
“Get out of this room!”
Tanuojin’s long legs carried him fast out of the room. Paula let out her breath. Saba came slowly up the room from the model of the solar system.
“I’ve had the feeling you’ve been avoiding me,” she said.
He reached the couch and sat on it, his legs straight out before him. “Did you want my company?”
“No. Why did you tell David I’m crazy? Tell him you raped me. Maybe you can fit it into the lecture on honor.”
“You started that.”
She could not remember where she had bitten his face. The wound was gone without a scar, Tanuojin’s work, keeping him perfect. His sleeve half-hid the cuff on his wrist.
“Look, Paula,” he said, “you have to help me.”
“Help you,” she said, surprised. “To do what?”
“With this Newrose.”
“Oh? Shall I hold him while you hit him a few times?”
“Damn you, I’m asking you for help. Why do you have to fight me all the time?”
“Bah.”
“You don’t give a damn about me any more, but you could do this for Vida’s sake. You don’t want him to be killed, do you?”
“Why did you bring him, anyway? He’s too young to be here.”
“He wanted to come. When we found out you were still alive, he wanted to come rescue you.”
She was clenching her fists. She had to keep calm, to stay uninvolved, but talking to him made her angry. She loosened her hands on the edge of the shelf where she was perched. “How did you know I was alive?”
“Tanuojin had a dream about you.”
“And you trusted that. From so far away?”
Saba made a gesture with his hand. “What does time and distance mean to him? It was the watch before we fought Machou. He was ready for anything.”
She imagined the Chamber, boiling with voices, the scent of rage and blood, the excitement: not just a pit fight, but a fight for the Primit cuff. Saba watched her from the couch. He was too large for the furniture, too tall for the room. He belonged in his cold city, not here. But he was stuck here, in Tanuojin’s war that could go on forever. His shoulders looked as broad as the door. She had been crazy to fight him; he could have killed her with one hand.
“Do you like being Prima?” she said.
“I’m getting used to it.”
“I don’t understand what you want me to do.”
“Talk to Newrose for me. You’re the only person I trust who knows the Martians. I’ll support any reasonable settlement of the war.”
“Give me an earnest.”
“What?”
“How many anarchists are there up in those slave cars?” The pens of prisoners were in a high orbit over Luna.
“I don’t know. It should be easy to find out.”
“Let them go back to the Earth. Give them a dome.”
He straightened his mustaches. “I can’t.”
“One dome!”
“I can’t do that. Tanuojin is right, the Planet breeds revolutions.”
She slid off the shelf to her feet. “You don’t want my help very much.”
“I’ll separate them out. We’ll let them go to Mars and Venus.” Smoothly he said, “When you settle the war for me.”
Finally she said, “All right.”
“Come down to my trap for the high meal—we can talk over the small things.”
“Yes.”
�
��I’ll send Vida for you.” He went out.
Alvers Newrose was a short man with an egg-shaped, hairless head. He smelled of lavender. A small group of his aides followed him into the room where Saba was to meet him. From the far end of the room Paula watched the Martians arrange themselves around Newrose, and the Styth escort draw back to the walls. She went toward the man from the Council.
“Mr. Newrose?”
“I’m Alvers Newrose.”
“My name is Paula Mendoza.”
They had not known she was here. One of his aides made an undiplomatic gasp. Newrose’s watery pale eyes blinked. He held his hand out. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from some of your colleagues on the Committee.”
She let him pump her limp hand. Ketac announced the Prima, and Saba came in, alone. He took the big chair at the head of the room. Paula led Newrose up to him. Even sitting, Saba was taller than the Martian. She said, “Prima, this is Alvers Newrose, First Secretary of the Interplanetary Council.”
Saba looked him over at leisure. Proper and composed, Newrose did not speak. He would say nothing until Saba was formally introduced to him and he was certain he was talking to the right man. The Styth said to Paula, “Tell him as long as he’s in Luna he is under my protection.”
She translated it, watching Newrose for any sign that he spoke Styth. She said, “This is the Prima Akellar, the Matuko Akellar, Saba, Kritona, the Guardion, the prima General of the Styth Imperial Fleet.”
Newrose started to offer his hand but stopped, without embarrassment, when he saw Saba would not take it. The Martian inclined his head in a shadow of a bow.
“I hope our mission here will be fruitful and of advantage for everybody concerned.”
“You tell him,” Saba said, “that the only advantage he can hope for now is ours.”
“Give me a chance to translate.”
“He knows all about me, he knows I understand him, look at him.”
Newrose was watching them, his face bland. She said, “I don’t think he speaks Styth.”
“I don’t think he speaks anything that I speak.”
Ketac was standing in the doorway. Saba got out of his chair and Newrose backed away a stride to give him room; his eyes followed the big man up. Saba waved to his son. “Mind him.” Without another word to Newrose, the Prima left the room.
Paula grunted. “He isn’t a diplomat.” Ketac advanced toward her, and she took his arm and brought him face to face with Newrose. “Mr. Newrose, the Prima’s son will attend you.” Leaving them together, she went out after Saba.
“They’re stalling,” Saba said. “Newrose is just here to gain time for the Martian Army.”
Paula sat down on the edge of the bed. There were eight rooms in his suite, but this was the only place they could talk in private. Everyplace else was given over to his aides and officers. She said, “I wish Tanuojin had been there.”
“I’m trying to keep him away from Leno.”
He went restlessly around the overcrowded room. She fingered the shaved nap of the bedcover, thinking of Newrose. All the furniture in the room, the bed, the three padded chairs, and the sideboard, had been picked for size, not design. Nothing matched, not even the colors. He opened the sideboard and took out a bottle.
“I’d offer you a drink if you’d take it..”
“Never mind. I’m going back to my room.” She went to the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
A dogleg corridor led through his suite to the trunk corridor. It was jammed with Styths. She went in among them. In their midst was a tall redheaded girl, saying, “But I have to see him. Please—”
The girl was at least twenty years younger than Paula. An aide of Newrose’s: she recognized the fiery hair. Her one-piece suit, of some metallic cloth, was cut out over the stomach and most of the back and the holes filled with net. Paula said, “What is she looking for? Or am I silly to ask.”
The Styths’ faces were broad with their smiles. Ketac sat on the table at the mouth of the small corridor. He said, “She says she wants my father.” The other men laughed.
The girl clutched Paula’s arm. “Please—I have to see the Prima.”
“Did Newrose send you? Let go of my arm.”
The girl’s fingers opened but her hand rested on Paula’s forearm. “I just have to meet him. I know I can change his mind about us.” She was six inches taller than Paula and had to bend to talk to her. Paula looked around. There were no other Martians; she had come alone. Paula looked past the fluffy red head at Ketac.
“Go ask him if he wants to see her.”
“Thank you.” The girl gripped Paula’s hand. “I can—we may save the Middle Planets.” Her hand was slick. The Styths were all trying to see through her clothes. Paula freed herself from the moist grip. Ketac came back.
“He says to send her in.”
Paula nodded to her. “Go on. It’s the last door on the right.”
The girl reached for her again, and Paula avoided her grasp. “Please,” the redhead said. “Come with me.”
“I’d be an inhibiting factor.”
“But I don’t speak their language.”
Paula let herself be drawn up the narrow corridor, away from the Styths. “I think you might. Anyway he’s bilingual.” At the door, her hand on the latch, she turned, admiring the smooth skin of the girl’s net-covered belly. It would be fun to tease him. She opened the door and let the girl in ahead of her.
“Prima, now they’re sending you virgins.”
He was standing near the foot of the bed. The girl went toward him, her hand out. “My name is Lore Smythe. I’d like to talk to you.”
“Talk.” He took her hand, not to shake it, and smiled at her. “Why would a pretty girl like you want to do something that boring?”
Paula leaned over the back of one of his stuffed chairs. “You are so subtle.”
He nudged Lore Smythe toward the sideboard. “The liquor is in that cabinet.” His head swiveled toward Paula. “I thought you were leaving.”
“She thinks she’ll need an interpreter.” Paula smirked at him.
“Good-bye, Paula.”
“Not even a stirrup cup?”
“Miss Mendoza,” Lore Smythe said, in a new sharp voice. “Stay where you are.” Paula and Saba turned in unison toward her. In her hand she held a gun.
Saba lunged toward her and the gun snapped. Paula heard the thunk of the missile hitting him. He fell on his face and rolled over. A short clear dart stuck up out of his left chest. He clawed at it once and his hand slid limp to the floor.
“That was stupid,” Paula said. Lore Smythe pointed the gun at her.
“The rest of the shots are all killers,” the redhead said. Her voice was different than when she had been pleading to see him. “And I don’t have any orders to bring you back alive.”
“Is Newrose behind this?”
Lore’s full mouth curled with contempt. “Newrose.” She stuck two fingers down into the front of her metallic suit and took out a small blue piece of plastic. “Here. This is a thumblock, you see? Put it on him.” She threw the plastic at Paula. Too light to carry far, it landed on the brown tile floor midway between them. Paula stooped to pick it up, and Lore Smythe circled behind her to the door. She heard the lock click.
“That’s narcolepta in the dart,” the redhead said, in her hard, crisp voice. “It will drip into his system for the next twenty hours. By then I’ll have him halfway to Mars.”
The thumblock was shaped like a figure-of-eight. Paula went over to Saba’s body. The girl called, “Don’t get between me and him. And don’t try to pull the nail out—it’s long, and it’s barbed. Hurry up.”
The dart’s clear three-inch barrel stuck up straight out of his chest. Blood tinged it pink at the needle end. Paula circled behind him and knelt. She touched his cheek and his throat. His skin was cool, but not cold. He was only asleep, then, not knocked out.
“This will never work,” she said. �
��They’ll kill all three of us before they let you take him to Mars.”
“Just thumb him.”
His left arm lay half under him. She pulled it free. “Do you want me to tie his hands behind him or in front?” Surreptitiously she took a fistful of his shirt under his armpit and tugged, which tilted the dart toward her.
“Unh—”
“Have you tried this on any real Styths? You know they’re much stronger than we are. Him especially.”
Lore’s eyes narrowed. Her cheeks were flushed. “Just do as I tell you.” She waved the little gun. Its narrow barrel was longer than its body. “All I have to do is pull this trigger, lady, and in thirty seconds you’ll be dead.”
There was a knock on the door, and the redhead wheeled, the gun aimed at it. The latch moved up and down. While Lore was watching the door, Paula tugged once on the dart. It was fast in his chest. The pink color was spreading in the drug. He traded a drop of blood for a drop of narcolepta. The knock sounded again.
“Papa.”
“David,” she called, alarmed. She was afraid to speak Styth to him; Lore might think she was calling him in. “Come back later. We’re busy.”
The Martian turned toward her, her blue eyes direct above the gun. “That’s right. Put that lock on him. Take his arms behind his back.”
Paula reached across him for his right arm and hauled him up onto his side, his back to Lore Smythe. His wrist seemed cooler, his pulse slower. She had to hurry.
“Be careful when you roll him over,” the Martian girl said. “Do it slow and you won’t run that nail through his lung.”
Paula stepped around him, between him and Lore, to turn him onto his stomach. She brought his hands behind him and took a tight grip on his shirt. When she rolled him slowly onto his stomach, just as his chest turned onto the floor, she wrenched on his shirt to tilt the dart. For an instant the dart braced him up. She leaned on him and heard a tiny splintering crack, and he lay flat. She crossed his thumbs behind him and bound them with the plastic bridge.
“Back off,” Lore said, and she moved away across the room. The redhead went cautiously to him and pushed him with her foot.
“He doesn’t look so big now, does he? Not so big at all.” She kicked him. Bending, she pulled on the bond on his thumbs. “Good, you did it right.”
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