all the chances at once, he thought.
The watcher stopped him with a searching Wire. The sphere thumped suddenly against Mattel's chest.
'Are you a Man?' said the unseen voice. (Mattel would have known that as a Scanner in haberman condition, his own field-charge would have illuminated the sphere.)
'I am a Man.' Mattel knew that the timbre of his voice had been good; he hoped that it would not be taken for that of a Manshonjagger or a Beast or an Unforgiven one, who with mimicry sought to enter the cities and ports of Mankind.
'Name, number, rank, purpose, function, time departed.'
'Mattel.' He had to remember his old number, not Scanner 34. 'Sunward 4234, 182nd Year of Space. Rank, rising Subchief.' That was no lie, but his substantive rank. 'Purpose, personal and lawful within the limits of this city. No function of the Instrumentality. Departed Chief Outport 2019 hours.' Everything now depended on whether he was believed, or would be checked against Chief Outport.
The voice was flat and routine: 'Time desired within the city.'
Martel used the standard phrase: 'Your Honorable sufferance is requested.'
He stood in the cool night air, waiting. Far above him, through a gap in the mist, he could see the poisonous glittering in the sky of Scanners. The stars are my enemies, he thought: / have mastered the stars but they hate me. Ho, that sounds Ancient! Like a Book. Too much crunching.
The voice returned: 'Sunward 4234 dash 182 rising Subchief Martel, enter the lawful gates of the city. Welcome. Do you desire food, raiment, money, or companionship?' The voice had no hospitality in it, just business. This was certainly different from entering a city in a Scanner's role! Then the petty officers came out, and threw their beltlights in their fretful faces, and mouthed their words with preposterous deference, shouting against the stone deafness of a Scanner's ears. So that was the way that a Subchief was treated: matter of fact, but not bad. Not bad.
Martel replied: 'I have that which I need, but beg of the city a favor. My friend Adam Stone is here. I desired to see him, on urgent and Personal lawful affairs.'
The voice replied: 'Did you have an appointment with Adam Stone?'
'No.'
'The city will find him. What is his number?' 'I have forgotten it.'
'You have forgotten it? Is not Adam Stone a Magnate of the Instrumentality? Are you truly his friend?'
'Truly.' Martel let a little annoyance creep into his voice. 'Watcher doubt me and call your Subchief.'
'No doubt implied. Why do you not know the number? This must go into the record,' added the voice.
'We were friends in childhood. He has crossed the—' Martel started to say 'the Up-and-Out' and remembered that the phrase was current only among Scanners. 'He has leapt from Earth to Earth, and has just now returned. I knew him well and I seek him out. I have word of his kith. May the Instrumentality protect us!'
'Heard and believed. Adam Stone will be searched.'
At a risk, though a slight one, of having the sphere sound an alarm for non-human, Martel cut in on his Scanner speaker within his jacket. He saw the trembling needle of light await his words and he started to write on it with his blunt finger. That won't work, he thought, and had a moment's panic until he found his comb, which had a sharp enough tooth to write. He wrote: 'Emergency none. Martel Scanner calling Parizianski Scanner.'
The needle quivered and the reply glowed and faded out: ' 'Parizianski Scanner on duty and D. C. Calls taken by Scanner Relay.'
Martel cut off his speaker.
Parizianski was somewhere around. Could he have crossed the direct way, right over the city wall, setting off the alert, and invoking official business when the petty officers overtook him in mid-air? Scarcely. That meant that a number of other Scanners must have come in with Parizianski, all of them pretending to be in search of a few of the tenuous pleasures which could be enjoyed by a haberman, such as the sight of the newspictures or the viewing of beautiful women in the Pleasure Gallery.
Parizianski was around, but he could not have moved privately, because Scanner Central registered him on duty and recorded his movements city by city.
The voice returned. Puzzlement was expressed in it. 'Adam Stone is found and awakened. He has asked pardon of the Honorable, and says he knows no Martel. Will you see Adam Stone in the morning? The city will bid you welcome.'
Martel ran out of resources. It was hard enough mimicking a man without having to tell lies in the guise of one. Martel could only repeat: 'Tell him I am Martel. The husband of Luci.'
'It will be done.'
Again the silence, and the hostile stars, and the sense that Pariziansk1 was somewhere near and getting nearer; Martel felt his heart beating faster. He stole a glimpse at his chestbox and set his heart down a point- He felt calmer, even though he had not been able to scan with care.
The voice this time was cheerful, as though an annoyance had been settled:
'Adam Stone consents to see you. Enter Chief Downport, and welcome.'
The little sphere dropped noiselessly to the ground and the wire whispered away into the darkness. A bright arc of narrow light rose from the ground in front of Martel and swept through the city to one of the higher towers— apparently a hostel, which Martel had never entered. Martel plucked his aircoat to his chest for ballast, stepped heel-and-toe on the beam, and felt himself whistle through the air to an entrance window which sprang up before him as suddenly as a devouring mouth.
A tower guard stood in the doorway. 'You are awaited, sir. Do you bear weapons, sir?'
'None,' said Martel, grateful that he was relying on his own strength.
The guard let him past the check-screen. Martel noticed the quick flight of a warning across the screen as his instruments registered and identified him as a Scanner. But the guard had not noticed it.
The guard stopped at a door. ' 'Adam Stone is armed. He is lawfully armed by authority of the Instrumentality and by the liberty of this city. All those who enter are given warning.'
Martel nodded in understanding at the man and went in.
Adam Stone was a short man, stout and benign. His grey hair rose stiffly from a low forehead. His whole face was red and merry looking. He looked like a jolly guide from the Pleasure Gallery, not like a man who had been at the edge of the Up-and-Out, fighting the Great Pain without haberman protection.
He stared at Martel. His look was puzzled, perhaps a little annoyed, but not hostile.
Martel came to the point. 'You do not know me. I lied. My name is Martel, and I mean you no harm. But I lied. I beg the Honorable gift °f your hospitality. Remain armed. Direct your weapon against me—'
Stone smiled: 'I am doing so,' and Martel noticed the small Wire- Point in Stone's capable plump hand.
'Good. Keep on guard against me. It will give you confidence in Wnat I shall say. But do, I beg you, give us a screen of privacy. I want n° casual lookers. This is a matter of life and death.'
'First: whose life and death?' Stone's face remained calm, his voice even.
'Yours, and mine, and the worlds'.'
'You are cryptic but I agree.' Stone called through the doorway: nivacy please.'
There was a sudden hum, and all the little noises of ne night quickly vanished from the air of the room.
Said Adam Stone: 'Sir, who are you? What brings you here?'
'I am Scanner Thirty-four.'
'You a Scanner. I don't believe it.'
For answer, Martel pulled his jacket open, showing his chestbox. Stone looked up at him, amazed. Martel explained:
'I am cranched. Have you never seen it before?'
'Not with men. On animals. Amazing! But—what do you want?'
'The truth. Do you fear me?'
'Not with this,' said Stone, grasping the Wirepoint. 'But I shall tell you the truth.'
'Is it true that you have conquered the Great Pain?'
Stone hesitated, seeking words for an answer.
'Quick, can you tell me how you have done it, so that I may believe you?'
'I have loaded the ships with life.'
'Life.'
