Paula turned around. Her bedroom door was opening. A big Styth walked through it, not a tall man, for a Styth, massively built. He was staring at Cam. He said, “You think you’re a man, I’ll treat you like a man. You have until the light comes back to leave.”
Cam stood straight as a flagpole. She said, with great dignity, “This is my Planet, Akellar.”
Paula set her glass down. “Cam, you made your speech, now go.”
“I’m sorry for you, baby, but you’ll get what you deserve.” She went to the door. Her white face appeared over her shoulder. “You know, breaking and entering is against the law on Mars.”
The Styth took two steps toward her, and Cam went out. The sliding door sighed closed. Paula rested her hands on the edge of the bar. The big man wheeled toward her and looked at her down his long Styth nose. His eyes were round and black, protuberant, eyes for the dark. He said, “When I come into the room, you stand up.”
“I am standing up,” she said. “I’m very short. How did you get in here?”
“I walk through walls.”
“That must be hard work. Would you like a drink?”
He picked up her glass and swirled the dark amber liquor and drank the whole two fingers straight down. “Give me some of this.”
Paula filled up the short glass to the top. The sliding door whisked back into the wall, and Cam Savenia came in again. Three men followed her, identically dressed in gray jackets. One carried a weapon with a trumpet muzzle. Paula started around the bar.
Savenia pointed at the Akellar. “Him.” She touched the wall switch and the ceiling lights burst up, dazzlingly bright. The Akellar reached for the glass of Scotch. The air smelled of hot copper. Paula sniffed, puzzled. The three policemen stopped midway across the room, and the gun disappeared.
“Dr. Savenia, we’ve been told not to interfere with the Styths.”
Paula stopped at the end of the bar, relieved. Cam said, “Do you know who I am?” in a voice that squeaked.
The guards backed to the door. “Yes, sir, Dr. Savenia.”
Paula went around behind them to the light switch and dimmed the lights. The policemen filed quickly out. Cam stood where she was, staring at the Akellar. Paula said, “You must be tired, Cam, after all your labors. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Cam said, “When the Council hears this, there will be hell, I can tell you.” She left. The door slid closed behind her.
Paula laughed. The Styth rubbed his eyes. She put the bar between them again and poured another three fingers of Scotch into his glass. Maybe she could get him drunk.
“Do you think you’re a man?” he said.
“I’m not a Martian. I don’t have to be a man.” The stink of copper was coming from him. She opened the cold drawer. “Do you want some ice?”
“Ice.”
She used the tongs to put two ice cubes into his glass. He fished one lump out with his fingers and put it in his mouth. She made herself another drink. His mustaches hung down past his collarbones, so Cam was right, he was her age, or a little older, thirty-five or forty. The ice crunched between his teeth.
“Do you want to see my credentials?” she said.
“I know who you are. What is this stuff?” He drank his glass empty.
“Scotch whiskey.”
“It’s not bad.”
She poured his glass full again, remembering Kary’s capacity. He ate the other ice cube. She stooped behind the bar, found a bowl in the back, and filled it with ice cubes and put it down on the counter next to him.
“From now on,” he said, “when I send for you, you come.”
“What did Cam tell you about us?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know.” He laid his forearms on the bar. “We know all about the Committee.” He stared at her a moment, eating ice. She busied herself neatening up the bar. The coppery stink was gone. He reached for the bottle and topped off his glass.
“This is Earthish, this drink?”
“Whiskey? Yes. It’s distilled in Scotland.”
“Is that where you live?”
She shook her head. “I grew up in Havana. Now I live in New York. You speak the Common Speech very well.”
His chest swelled; he was proud of that. “I taught myself. Reading engine manuals. Do you speak Styth?”
“Not very well.”
“Say something to me in Styth.”
She did not want him to know she was fluent. Ungrammatically, she said, “I hope you have a good time on Mars.”
“We’d better keep to the Common Speech.” He put his glass down with a thunk. His voice dropped half an octave under the weight of authority. “The Earth is an anarchy.”
“Yes.”
“No government. No laws. No army.”
“That’s right. No taxes, either.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Paula rolled whiskey on her tongue. It was late; she was tired, and she had to call Jefferson. She said, “Well, it won’t be the last time.”
His black eyes glinted. He folded his arms on the bar top. “Aren’t you supposed to be convincing me to trust you?”
“You’d be a fool to trust anybody. You don’t look like a fool to me.”
He stared at her a moment. Finally he slid off the stool and walked across the room. The back of his shirt was dark with sweat. His black hair was pulled down and knotted at the nape of his neck. She put her elbows on the bar. She did not want to talk much in this room before she had taken out any relics of Cam Savenia.
He said, “I can understand Savenia. She’s ambitious. She’s just hauling her own freight. What’s yours? What do you want in this?”
“It’s my job.”
He spun around, his hands on his hips. “Where I come from, women don’t have jobs—they stay home with their families where they belong.” He walked back up to the bar and leaned on it, bending over her. “Savenia says I shouldn’t believe anything the Committee tells me—you’re all thieves and liars.”
“Say flexible. It’s a nicer word.”
“Are you? What do you want? Money?”
She raised her head. “Are you offering me a bribe?”
“Yes.”
“To do what?”
“As you’re told.”
She burst out laughing. “How much did you pay the Nineveh not to interfere with you? I’ll bet it was too much. You should have come to the Committee. We’re good at negotiating bribes.”
He sat down again on the stool and reached for the ice. She caught a whiff of the coppery heat. He said, “You’re saying no?”
“That’s right.”
He mashed an ice cube in his teeth, his eyes on her. Paula smiled broadly at him. He was embarrassed; he pulled on his mustaches, getting his face in order.
“Are you married?”
“No. Anarchists don’t usually get married.”
“But you do breed.”
“Sometimes.”
