She turned the latch. Wu-wei was standing at the desk on the far side of the small half-round room. He said, “Oh. Mendoza. Come in.”
She crossed the room. On the wall behind him were three or four Japanese woodcuts of women bathing and combing their hair. The little yellow judge sat down behind his desk.
“I’ll warn you, Mendoza, the past two days’ experience has not inclined me toward your people.”
“Don’t blame us for the ambush at the Committee office.” She nodded at the woodcuts. “Those are beautiful. Are they originals?” The black and white studies were of the style called “the floating world,” delighting in the ordinary.
“Yes,” he said. “ ‘Ambush’ is rather a suggestive word.”
She looked from the prints to the smooth face of the judge. “Yes, ambush. Dick Bunker is in jail on a charge of forgery in that sector. He’ll tell you what happened.” She went back out to the courtroom.
Tanuojin had gone. She stopped, surprised: Saba was sitting in the chair his lyo had been using. She crossed to the other of the big armchairs.
“Where were you? Not at prayers.”
“You two didn’t seem to need me.” He looked around the courtroom. Even in recess the audience still packed the gallery chairs. They sat eating lunches they had brought, a hundred faces moving around mouthfuls of food. Saba said, “Is he hotted up at me?”
“He’s yours, not mine. I don’t know what he thinks.”
“What has happened? Are you still going through the maneuvers with this cockspur lawyer?”
“Yes, here. The big events are all outside the courtroom.” She told him about the fight at the Committee office and General Gordon’s confession. “So we are acting as if we have the tape. To see how that makes Parine jump.”
“A fight. Was he hurt?”
“Momentarily.” She nodded past him toward the big doors at the back of the courtroom. “Here he comes.”
Tanuojin walked down the aisle, his men at his back, ignoring the hisses and insults of the crowd on either side. He swung the gate open, gave Saba a brief angry look, and came over to Paula, in the other armchair.
“Get up.”
She stayed in place as long as she dared, about fifteen seconds, and gave up the chair to him. Saba was looking off in another direction. While she brought a straight chair from the wall to the space between the armchairs, Parine led his staff down the aisle, his chest puffed round under the sunlight-yellow vest, the heavy raised heels of his shoes tap-tapping on the floor. The bailiff stood up.
“Please rise for the Bench.”
Paula stood. Everybody else but the Styths got up in a clatter of feet and chairs. Abruptly, Saba straightened onto his feet. He tapped Tanuojin on the shoulder.
“Get up. I outrank you.”
Tanuojin threw him a look white with temper. He put his feet under him and stood. A mutter ran through the audience, swelling to a roar of comment, and a few people clapped. Wu-wei sat down behind his table. Parine went forward, bristling.
“Your Excellency, this is rank theatrics—”
Paula sat. She glanced at Saba, who was smiling. Wu-wei said mildly, “First you complain when they don’t stand, now you complain when they do. Bailiff, read the case.”
The bailiff read the case. Paula could hear the nervous click of Tanuojin’s claws on the arm of his chair. Saba murmured, “It’s damned hot in here.”
“I know,” Tanuojin said. “They’ve turned the heat up.”
Among Parine’s staff, a young man stood, a paper in his hand. “Bench, in view of some recent developments, we’d like a twenty-four-hour extension.”
The crowd groaned. Tanuojin leaned forward. His shirt clung to his back. “So you can change your lie?”
The Martian gave him a harried glance and turned back to the Bench. “Your Excellency—” Parine brushed by him, headed for Tanuojin.
“We have three twenty-four-hour extensions on demand, by right.” He glared at the Styth, still in his chair. “Learn the law, black boy.”
“Don’t push me,” Tanuojin said. He got up, his head turning toward Wu-wei. “They waived their right to extensions when they set a limit to the time.”
“Maybe by your backwater laws,” Parine said. His face was red as a kettle. “But here—”
Tanuojin jerked around to face him. Parine’s voice clogged up. They stared at each other an instant. Saba barged in between them. He got Parine by the arm and swung him around. Paula took her fingers out of her mouth. Parine in a flashy show of strength flung off Saba’s grip.
“Your Excellency—”
Saba put his broad back between the lawyer and the judge. “Are you going to let him drain our time?”
“I’ll keep the time, Akellar,” Wu-wei said. “I’ll grant Parine’s extension and extend the case. Akellar?” He looked past Saba at Tanuojin.
The tall Styth got up out of his chair. He was hot; his face shone with sweat. “Do whatever you want. Keep us here until we cook.” He strode toward the rail.
“Tanuojin,” Wu-wei said. “If you walk out I’ll find you in contempt.”
At the railing, Tanuojin wheeled around to face him, but his furious gaze went to Saba. He spun and marched out of the courtroom. His men trailed him. The crowd booed him thunderously. The bailiff rang her bell, trying to quiet them.
Wu-wei said, “We’ll stand in recess until ten tomorrow.”
Parine was watching him expectantly. The little judge closed his workbook, and the Martian leaped forward.
“Your Excellency, may I remind Your Excellency of the contempt charge—”
Wu-wei’s round yellow face turned up. “I’m not finding him in contempt, Parine, I see no reason to do something that won’t work.” He stood, gathering his notes, and left.
Parine glared at the judge’s back. He and Paula exchanged a barbed look. Saba took her arm. They went down the aisle, through the crowd. A small woman hovered before them, her gray hair decorated with blue plastic birds. “Thank you,” she said to Saba.
He smiled at her. Paula looked at the packed rapt faces of the crowd. Unnoticed, she followed him out to the corridor. In the tail of her eye, something moved toward him, a hand, a gun—when she turned, her nerves shivering, it was only a camera.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said. Crosby’s Planet seemed to be fraying Tanuojin’s nerves even worse than hers.
“Watch me,” Saba said. He went off across the plaza.
Hedges shielded the broad meadow of the park from the streets all around it. The plastic grass was flushed with artificial sunlight. She walked across the lawn, past the fountain. Two boys were throwing a ball back and forth. A brown and white dog ran between them, barking. David was climbing around in the fountain, fully clothed. She watched him scramble up the water spout. His shirt bellied out, full of water. His black skin shone.
“Mendoz’!”
Sril was sitting under a tree. She plopped down next to him on her stomach. Crumpled papers surrounded him, smeared with mustard and minji sauce. She gathered them up.
“I see you’re keeping fed.” She found an ice-cream stick and skewered the wrappers to the ground. The spongy plastic turf tore reluctantly.
“I have to eat. Every time I go off watch, Tanuojin comes out with something else for me to do.”
“Go on. I’ll take care of David.”
He rolled up to his feet, still crouched, his eyes on her face. “Thanks, Mendoz’. Can you loan me some money?”
She gave him the money in her pocket. “Thanks.” He went off at a trot.
She sat on the ground, pulling at the grass. As long as she did not look up, she could pretend she was alone.
