which she had not made anyway.
“You’re as much of a slob as he is,” Bunker said.
“If it bothers you so much, make it yourself.”
They went up to the roof. Below, in the gray trees, several people were shooting their bows. The wind flapped her jacket. They sat on the low rail at the edge of the building and watched the sunset light flash on the dome wall. She taught him Styth grammar.
“It’s like a game. All those rules.”
Darkness settled over them, so cold the air hurt her lungs. The blue domelight flickered overhead. She thought of Tony, wondering what he was doing. If he had another friend yet.
“What do you make of the Sunlight League?”
She bundled her hands into her sleeves. The domelight ran in ripples across the darkness high overhead. “The Styths are black. You know how Martians are about skin color. They’re harmless.”
“Fascists are always harmful in mass. And they don’t come any other way.”
“I’m freezing. I’m going inside.”
He slid off the rail to his feet. They went down the stairs together.
“By Melleno. We will take Richard Bunker for a hostage. Paula Mendoza will meet at the Nineveh Club with the Matuko Akellar, by your time the ten mid-days of April 1853. You arrange safe-conducts for the Styth Fleet ship
MARS
April 1853
Paula walked down an accordion tunnel from the rocket. Every few yards, there was a sign on the pleated wall reading “Terminal,” with an arrow pointing ahead, like encouragement, since there was nowhere else to go. When she walked out of the mouth of the ramp into the expanse of the waiting room, a tall blond woman stepped forward to meet her.
“Hello, Madame Diplomat.”
“Cam,” Paula said. She switched her bag to her left hand. “How did you know I was coming? I was going to call you when 1 got here.”
Cam Savenia’s handshake was cool and white. “Oh, I have ways. How long has it been?”
“Five years,” Paula said. She was tempted to say, Four and a half years and six months in prison. Cam was much taller than she was. “You came here just to meet me. I’m flattered.”
They started across the waiting room, cutting through the rows of molded plastic benches. The flooring was rippled for traction. Cam said, “This is a pretty important mission. When did you join the Committee?”
“A year ago.”
“I always thought you had too much brain to waste your life sitting under a tree. You’ll go far with them, if you’re as smart as I think you are.”
Paula followed her up an ascending ramp. The other passengers from the rocket went on before them. They passed a videone screen showing times of arrival and departure. In spite of the crowd, the place looked barren. Nobody lived here, they just came and went. The walls were papered with the drawings of schoolchildren: giant birds, and people like monsters in space helmets and uniforms. Cam led her to the rooftop parking lot.
“I’ll take you out to the Nineveh.” She steered Paula down a lane between a wall and a rope. Ahead, a row of air cars waited under a sign that read INTERDOME TRANSPORT.
“Doesn’t your term end this year?” Paula asked.
“Yes. The Senate is impossible. Really small beer. I’m announcing for the Council. I have three party endorsements, how do you like that? Want to write my speeches?”
Paula laughed. “Write your own. Mine were awful.” She slid into the back seat of a cab.
“Oh, no. I know my limits. I can think and I can do, but I can’t express.” Cam leaned across the back of the front seat. “Driver, the Nineveh Club.” Sitting down, she slid the door closed and locked it.
The cab rolled forward, its engine sputtering, and leaped up in a rush that turned Paula’s stomach over. They sailed away across Barsoom. Paula looked out the window. They were entering a stream of traffic, three or four lanes deep and a dozen lanes wide. Below the clutter of cars streamed the puffed heads of the palm trees that lined Cleveland Avenue.
“Do you know what’s ahead of you?” Cam said. “Incidentally, I’ve met this Styth.”
“You have?” Paula swiveled around, her arm on the satchel between them. “When?”
“Yesterday.”
“He’s here already?”
“He’s at the Nineveh. Him and eight bodyguards. Turning the place into a zoo.”
Just beyond the cab window a private air car flew. Inside it, the old woman driving hunched forward over the steering grips, her teeth set. Below them the land was cut into perfect squares of green, each framing a tilted roof, set with the blue jewel shapes of swimming pools.
“He’s at the Nineveh. What’s he like?”
Cam shook her head. “Impossible.” She took a cigarette from her purse and set it into a long black holder.
“Does he speak the Common Speech?”
“Yes. He’s not stupid. I didn’t realize they’re so big.”
They were coming to the lock. The driver swore softly. The traffic was packed around the entrance to the lock, and far ahead a red light flashed. The driver turned his head.
“Be a little while, ladies.”
Cam leaned forward. “Go around by the auxiliary.”
“I’m not supposed—”
The Martian woman flashed a badge under his nose. “My authority.”
“Yes, Senator.” The driver pulled the car straight up, out of the traffic jam, and swung it off to the side, and Cam sat back, smiling. She puffed on her cigarette.
“How old is he?” Paula said.
“I can’t tell. Older than I am.” Cam was thirty-two. “God, they are black, too.”
Paula stiffened. She looked out the window again. They passed through the auxiliary lock in the wall of the dome and went into the dark Martian day. Barsoom was at the edge of a line of craters. They flew above the hollow hills. For miles around them the surface of the Planet was heaped up with red dust, the wastes of the water bears, the native organisms that mined out the minerals and water. There was no wind. They flew above a crater. The dust lay in geometric cones among the steep red walls. She wondered if Cam were here to pitch to her or just to spy. The smoke from the Senator’s cigarette hurt her nose. Now they were flying over the virgin Planet. They crossed a rill like a seam in the red crust. Paula knew Cam was watching her. Ahead, the sunlight glanced off the shining dome of the Nineveh.
“What do you think of the Committee?” Cam asked.
“It’s a job.”
“Sybil Jefferson has the morals of an ax-murderess. As for that rat Bunker—”
“The guts of a burglar,” Paula murmured, looking out the window.
“Right. And to prove it they send a green girl in to take their beating for them.”
“Thanks for the confidence.”
“Damn it, you don’t know what you’re into.”
Paula stared out the window at the dark world. “I learn.”
“These people are animals.”
“You’re so civilized, Cam.”
“You’re damned right.” Cam sucked intently on the last of the cigarette. Her fingernails were shaped to points. “I believe in law and order and authority, right and wrong, little old-fashioned things like honor and
