“Do you have any children?”
She shook her head. He was leaning forward across the bar, attacking. “Why not? What are you waiting for? You’re already past the best age.”
“I’m too busy to have a baby.”
“Too busy doing what?”
“My job. My own life.”
“That’s not much of a substitute.”
She finished her drink and put the glass down. “Well, I like it.” His hands lay flat on the bar. His long fingers were tipped in heavy black claws.
He said, “If somebody tried to bribe me, I wouldn’t laugh,” and the claws flexed.
“Aren’t you glad I’m a pacifist?”
He stood up. She raised her head to follow him. He was over six and a half feet tall. Short, for a Styth. She said pensively, “I guess it wouldn’t matter.”
“You’re damned right it wouldn’t. I’m going. You come up to my place tomorrow. Five o’clock. What do I call you?”
“Paula.”
He was on his way to the door. “Will these—Martians sell me that whiskey?”
“It’s expensive. Don’t let them give you the Martian version, it’s wholly other.”
His big head bobbed once. “My name is Saba.” He sounded as if he were granting her a favor. The door opened for him, and he left.
The small hinged window in the shower was unlocked. He was burly, a tight fit through the window. She turned off the light, locked the bathroom door, and went back to the sitting room to call Jefferson.
The old woman’s face was grooved with irritation. “How long have you been there?”
“I’m sorry, Jefferson, I’ve been busy.” She swung out the stool and sat down in front of the camera. “I’ve met him.”
“You have. What’s he like?”
“Remember that list of ships? Saba is his name. He’s very defensive. I think he’s scared. He seems to have made up his mind that the best protection is to attack first. Cam Savenia is here, by the side.”
“Dr. Savenia? The Senator?”
“She and the Akellar have fallen in love.” She told Sybil how he had broken into her suite.
Jefferson cackled with laughter. “Yes, that’s the trouble with law. What is she doing there?”
“Trying to wreck the meeting. If he talked to her the way he talked to me, I can see why she’s angry.” She scratched her chin. “He tried to bribe me.”
“He did. How much?”
“He never said.”
Jefferson’s mouth screwed up thoughtfully. “Do you get along with him?”
“Better than Cam. He read me the sermon on woman’s place, and the way he told me his name I should use it sparingly. He’s all right. He ate half a drawer of ice the first ten minutes he was here.”
There was a ripple of interference across the screen. Jefferson glanced away. Paula fiddled with the image focus.
“Is he intelligent?”
“He’s no genius. He speaks the language like a don.” Another wave rolled slowly over Sybil’s image. “You know someone is getting onto us.”
“I’m aware of that. I’ll deal with it. You have a scanner, don’t you? You’d better look around your suite.”
“I will.”
In the morning, when she tried to call Cam, the computer told her Savenia had checked out. Paula sent down for breakfast. She carried the electronic scanner all over the suite and uncovered two small listening devices. She put them in her suitcase to take back to the technicians in New York. The page who brought her breakfast hovered around her, pouring her tea, and setting out butter and jelly and kefir.
“If you expect a tip, Charley, you’re hanging around the wrong woman.” Her eggs were sprinkled with paprika. She reached for the fork.
“Dr. Savenia gave me a fifty to make things easier for you.” The page set out a dish of sausage. He stepped back, his hands behind him, smiling. He wore a little round cap at an angle on his fair hair.
“Do you see much of Mr. Black?”
“Mr.—” His blank look went suddenly to a broad grin. “Mr. Black. Yes, ma’am. You mean the Styths. They broke up the club last night, up on the roof—did you hear about that?”
“Which Styths?”
His hand flew out toward her, palm up. “Ten dollars.”
Paula ate a link of sausage. Her stomach was still queasy from the space flight. “Charley, I’ll pass.”
The page stiffened. He tucked his arms behind him again. “Yes, ma’am.” He waited until she was finished and took the table away without a word.
She went up to look at the club on the roof of the hotel. The floor was covered with broken glass, and the piany had sat down, its hind legs broken. Three men in aprons were sweeping up. Paula walked through to the back, where a bald, tired Martian sat eating a roll and drinking coffee.
“Hello,” she said. “Did you see the performance?”
The Martian raised his head. “One of them. Who are you?”
“Paula Mendoza. I’m from the Committee.”
“Forget it.” He took a bite out of the roll. “I don’t want to get involved.”
“Do you work for the hotel?”
The bald man chewed, silent. She said, “Last night a Styth broke into my bedroom and the hotel police didn’t see fit to ask him not to do it again.”
His jaw moved steadily. She stood there while he ate the rest of the roll. He pushed the plate away.
“Sit down.”
She sat in the chair across the table from him. “You said you saw one fight. There was more than one?”
“Three.” He held up three fingers. “The first two were nothing. Some regular person bumped into one of those big black bastards, or said something, you know, just funny, and got decked, I didn’t even call Security for the first.” He shrugged. His eyes were puffy with fatigue. “The late-night fight was the all-black wrecking crew. They had some of the cats with them, you know, the working women, and there was some competition, and—”
“Who? Did you hear any names?”
“The names all sound the same. One of them, he’s got a brush cut—” He ran one hand back and forth over the crown of his head. “He’s the high muck-muck’s son, he says, you know, loud. He was the loser. One with a scar—” he gestured at his cheek, “he was the champ.” The Martian’s pale eyes blinked at her. “One of them broke into your room. You know, honey, you’re in trouble.”
She looked around at the rooftop. A sweeper tipped his dustpan over the trash barrel and broken glass rained down into it. “Do you think your troubles are over?”
“That’s right. Because I’m closing. If Security won’t protect me, I’m going on vacation.” A sweeper brought the coffee pot and filled his cup again. “Give this young lady some coffee.”
“No, thank you,” Paula said. “You said they had some of the whores with them?”
“The braver ones.”
“Who?”
“Try Lilly M’ka. She’ll take anything on.” He stirred his coffee, his head turning. What he saw of his club made his face sag. “I wouldn’t go near one. That’s a mean pack. I’d like to see one matched up against something like a little more, you know, natural armament. A wolfdog. Or a leopard.”
Jolted, she said nothing. She watched him drink his coffee down. When she left, she went down to the sportshop in the lobby and bought a hand torch with an intense beam.
In the afternoon, she met Lilly M’ka in the lounge on the second-floor mezzanine. They sat near the windows. A steady parade of models sauntered through the tables, showing off fur clothes. The whore was dark, almost as
