of the top of the desk and gave it to Tanuojin, who put it into his sleeve. Paula followed him up the ladder and out of the powerhouse.
In the yard, he pulled two rubber plugs out of his ears. Paula’s head buzzed. He turned toward her, his mouth open, and she said, “What were you doing?”
“Turning down the radiation. Stay out of there, you’ll go deaf.”
They went out the gate. Marus came along after them, staying ten feet behind them, like a wife. Paula looked down the city. It seemed as bright as before; she supposed it would slowly fall dark.
“Then the pala harvest is over?”
“Yes. Did you go to the Martians?”
“They don’t like you down there.”
He bent and took her wrist. They walked on toward his compound; after ten or twelve strides he let go of her, throwing her wrist back at her.
“You meddle, piglet.”
“You have eighteen slaves you can’t sell. The Martians will buy them. What’s in the way?”
“You stay out of my business. If you want to work you can scrub floors.”
She veered off away from him. All thorns and no rose. Kasuk was coming toward them along the path at a lope. Tanuojin stopped, and the young man ran up to them.
“Pop, there’s a call for you from the Fleet Office. They’re holding.”
Tanuojin went off at a fast walk along the path. After he had gone a hundred feet he broke into a run, his son behind him. Paula looked over her shoulder at Marus.
“What do you think that’s about?”
Stoop-shouldered, the big man came up beside her in his slouching walk. “I don’t think, Mendoz’. I just do as I’m told.” They went down the path toward the compound.
The window of her room in the compound opened on the yard. She sat on the ledge playing her flute and watching the vast green city fade into its bright twilight. About midway through the watch the toyman from the White Market came in through the gate, crossed the yard to the main door, and there met Marus who took him into the house. She played a jig. After half an hour the toyman left again. His face was fretted. She was tempted to call to him, to find out how much Tanuojin wanted for his slaves, but there was a knock on her door.
“Mendoz’, the Akellar will see you.”
Tanuojin was in the hall, eating his high meal. His sons waited behind him to serve him. Paula stood on the far side of the table from him, waiting for him to decide to recognize her presence. He ate fast, hardly chewing or savoring anything, as if someone might steal the food out of his mouth. He had grown up an outsider in a flock of children. Kasuk took his empty plate away to the side. He drained his cup and Junna, the younger son, filled it again from a pitcher.
“We’re going to Vribulo in eight watches,” Tanuojin said. He sat back, his hands on his stomach.
“To Vribulo,” she said. “Why? Have you talked to Saba?”
“Not yet. He’ll call this watch. The fleet is awarding us each a flag. For taking Vesta.” Kasuk brought a pala fruit and a knife.
“What’s a flag?” she said.
“The highest award in the fleet. An automatic promotion, among other things. Like money.” He split the fruit in two. She made a face; she was tired of the sweet, damp, greenish meat. He picked the seed out with the tip of the knife. “We’re trading you, too.”
“You mean I’m going home?”
“That’s right.”
“You told me the Vesta mission was a failure.”
“Propaganda. It’s the first time any Styth has mastered an Asteroid. But the Martians took it back again. Psychological warfare, it’s all worthless. Usually the result’s just the opposite of what you expect.”
She laced her fingers together behind her back. “How much are the Martians paying you for those slaves?”
“I told you to stay out of that,” he said. “Get out.”
VRIBULO
The crews of the Styth Fleet overflowed the plain of the House. They stood on the steps and in the street, blocks of men in long gray shirts, arranged by height, standing rigidly at respect. Paula was shivering with cold. She stood with
Saba and Tanuojin stood square as brackets twenty feet in front of her. Beyond them, Machou was reading in a roaring voice from a long citation.
“Salute!”
The thousands of identical figures swung up their fists. “Styth! Styth! Styth!” She folded her arms. Their singlemindedness bewildered her. Machou came up to Saba. He hung a black sash around Saba’s neck and over his left shoulder.
“If you keep doing this, Matuko, we’ll have to invent a new rank for you.” He and Saba shook hands.
“Thank you, Prima.”
Machou draped the flag over Tanuojin’s shoulder. They stared past each other, they did not shake hands. The fleet shouted the salute again. Their commanders dismissed them. Machou and the rAkellaron came up to surround Saba and Tanuojin, congratulating them.
Marus laid his hand flat between her shoulders, and she went obediently across the plain toward Saba and Tanuojin. The spectators rushed over the steps, crowding around the new heroes. Small among them, she was jostled off her feet. Marus thrust one arm out straight to fend off the mob. She walked under his armpit, closed in by huge people, seeing nothing but their backs. Marus led her to Saba.
He stood talking to Machou, with Tanuojin a few feet away. The crowd surged around them, and hands thrust out toward them. Saba shook one hand after another, paying no attention, his eyes on Machou. She hung back from the Prima. Someone stepped on her foot, and an elbow worked her away from Saba.
Marus pushed her. She went into the shelter between Saba and Tanuojin.
“What are you doing?” Tanuojin said.
“I’m being stepped on.”
Marus spoke to him, and he moved off a few steps, stooping to hear, his hand covering one ear to keep the racket out. Saba turned around. A broad hand reached toward him at her eye-level, and he shook it briefly. To Paula, he said, “Are you going to act decent from now on?” Three more hands appeared out of the crowd. He twisted toward Machou, pumping arms. In the roar he had to shout to be heard. “Anarchists, you know, they have the morals of—”
A hand shot past her toward him, a white-skinned hand full of a small black gun. The clamor drowned everything. She heard no shots. She grabbed the arm by the wrist. Someone screamed. The gun arm yanked back and pulled her after it into the mob. She clung tight, left her feet, was dragged into the thick of people suddenly running or trying to run. The body attached to the arm struck her. Its white face screamed at her, a red mouth hedged with teeth, the sound lost in the howl of the mob packed around them. Marus heaved the Martian gunman up away from her. She lost her grip and fell. Through the running legs she saw Saba lying on his stomach on the pavement.
Machou stooped over him. “He’s dead!”
A screech went up around her. She scrambled toward Saba. They would trample him. The mob trapped her in their midst, shoving back and forth. Tanuojin brushed past her. She struggled after him, and at the edge of the crowd someone caught her and held her by the arms.
Tanuojin knelt; he bent over Saba, and his lips moved in Saba’s name. Blood stained the broad black sash
