dark as Paula, and several years younger, in her early twenties. She said, “Funny you should ask. Dr. Camit Savenia asked me the same question.”
“I’m happy to hear it. How well do you know Cam?”
“Not very. I thought you were interested in the Styths.”
A tall model in mink pants strolled past their table, reversed, posed a moment, and went off. “Did you talk to her much?” Paula said.
“Just once, since the Styths came.”
On the far side of the room the Martian guests applauded in a patter of gloved hands. Paula took the straw out of her soda and licked cream off it. “How long was she here?”
“Two or three days. She’s easy to get to know. She likes an audience.”
“I’ll say.”
Lilly’s eyes were dramatically painted, like a butterfly’s wing. With her dark skin, she was probably not Martian-born. Paula said, “Who’s your client with the Styths?”
“The main one? Saba. The Akellar.”
“Oh, really.”
“He thinks he’s a rocket.”
“Is he any good?”
The whore made a little languid gesture. “Not as good as he thinks he is.”
“Who is?”
Lilly laughed. She put her forearms on the table and leaned forward, her voice softer. “Are you interested in the fact one of them is gone?”
“Gone.” Paula glanced at the clock. It was four-thirty. “What do you mean?”
“A real tall one with yellow eyes. I haven’t seen him since the first night they were here.”
“Yellow eyes.”
“That’s how I remembered. All the others have those big round black eyes.”
Paula stuck her straw back into the soda glass. “I’m interested.”
“I thought so.” Lilly gave her a broad wink and walked away.
Paula went to her room and put on her fancy black dress. She stood at the mirror combing out her kinky red- gold hair. Her chin was pointed, and her eyes tipped up at the outer corners. Cat-faced, Tony had called her. That reminded her of the clubman’s euphemism for the whores: working women. She got the package out of her satchel and unsnapped the lid.
The short jeweled knife inside had come from Persepolis. There was a listening device in the handle, which would tune itself to the first voice it heard after the knife was drawn out of its brocaded sheath. She put it back in its satin bed and took it down the hall to the Styths’ suite.
The man who answered her knock was short, his face broad across the cheekbones. A round of thin gold wire pierced his left nostril. He backed off a step and called, in his own language, “It’s not one of the whores, so it must be the anarchist.” He looked down at the box in her hand. “What is that?” To her he used the Common Speech.
“It’s a present for the Akellar.”
She went into a long room full of Styths. The lights were dimmed and the window drapery pulled. Half a dozen men sprawled in the chairs or stood along the walls, all watching her. They were dressed in identical long gray shirts, leggings, and soft boots. The bar was broken into two pieces, and the rug was stained. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the half-light. A young man came toward her, his homely face misshapen with bruises. The inch-long spikes of his mustaches ran straight across his upper lip, and his hair grew in a fur over his skull. He did not look like the Akellar, especially battered.
“What’s that?”
The man with the gold wire in his nose went to a door on the far side of the room and opened it. “In here,” he said to her.
The boy said, “Wait—what if that’s a bomb?” and all the men laughed. She went into the next room.
It was much smaller than the one she had just left, although the blank walls and the absence of furniture made it seem big. The outdoor light was pouring in the windows. The Akellar sat in front of them, so that to face him she had to look into the dazzling light. The only furniture was the desk in front of him and the chair he sat in. She put the package down on the desk.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a present from the Committee,” she said. “Kind of an earnest of our intentions.” With the light behind him she could not see his face. He turned the box over.
“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?”
