“Saba, I—”
“Get out of this room!”
Tanuojin’s long legs carried him fast out of the room. Paula let out her breath. Saba came slowly up the room from the model of the solar system.
“I’ve had the feeling you’ve been avoiding me,” she said.
He reached the couch and sat on it, his legs straight out before him. “Did you want my company?”
“No. Why did you tell David I’m crazy? Tell him you raped me. Maybe you can fit it into the lecture on honor.”
“You started that.”
She could not remember where she had bitten his face. The wound was gone without a scar, Tanuojin’s work, keeping him perfect. His sleeve half-hid the cuff on his wrist.
“Look, Paula,” he said, “you have to help me.”
“Help you,” she said, surprised. “To do what?”
“With this Newrose.”
“Oh? Shall I hold him while you hit him a few times?”
“Damn you, I’m asking you for help. Why do you have to fight me all the time?”
“Bah.”
“You don’t give a damn about me any more, but you could do this for Vida’s sake. You don’t want him to be killed, do you?”
“Why did you bring him, anyway? He’s too young to be here.”
“He wanted to come. When we found out you were still alive, he wanted to come rescue you.”
She was clenching her fists. She had to keep calm, to stay uninvolved, but talking to him made her angry. She loosened her hands on the edge of the shelf where she was perched. “How did you know I was alive?”
“Tanuojin had a dream about you.”
“And you trusted that. From so far away?”
Saba made a gesture with his hand. “What does time and distance mean to him? It was the watch before we fought Machou. He was ready for anything.”
She imagined the Chamber, boiling with voices, the scent of rage and blood, the excitement: not just a pit fight, but a fight for the Primit cuff. Saba watched her from the couch. He was too large for the furniture, too tall for the room. He belonged in his cold city, not here. But he was stuck here, in Tanuojin’s war that could go on forever. His shoulders looked as broad as the door. She had been crazy to fight him; he could have killed her with one hand.
“Do you like being Prima?” she said.
“I’m getting used to it.”
“I don’t understand what you want me to do.”
“Talk to Newrose for me. You’re the only person I trust who knows the Martians. I’ll support any reasonable settlement of the war.”
“Give me an earnest.”
“What?”
“How many anarchists are there up in those slave cars?” The pens of prisoners were in a high orbit over Luna.
“I don’t know. It should be easy to find out.”
“Let them go back to the Earth. Give them a dome.”
He straightened his mustaches. “I can’t.”
“One dome!”
“I can’t do that. Tanuojin is right, the Planet breeds revolutions.”
She slid off the shelf to her feet. “You don’t want my help very much.”
“I’ll separate them out. We’ll let them go to Mars and Venus.” Smoothly he said, “When you settle the war for me.”
Finally she said, “All right.”
“Come down to my trap for the high meal—we can talk over the small things.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send Vida for you.” He went out.
Alvers Newrose was a short man with an egg-shaped, hairless head. He smelled of lavender. A small group of his aides followed him into the room where Saba was to meet him. From the far end of the room Paula watched the Martians arrange themselves around Newrose, and the Styth escort draw back to the walls. She went toward the man from the Council.
“Mr. Newrose?”
“I’m Alvers Newrose.”
“My name is Paula Mendoza.”
They had not known she was here. One of his aides made an undiplomatic gasp. Newrose’s watery pale eyes blinked. He held his hand out. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from some of your colleagues on the Committee.”
She let him pump her limp hand. Ketac announced the Prima, and Saba came in, alone. He took the big chair at the head of the room. Paula led Newrose up to him. Even sitting, Saba was taller than the Martian. She said, “Prima, this is Alvers Newrose, First Secretary of the Interplanetary Council.”
Saba looked him over at leisure. Proper and composed, Newrose did not speak. He would say nothing until Saba was formally introduced to him and he was certain he was talking to the right man. The Styth said to Paula, “Tell him as long as he’s in Luna he is under my protection.”
She translated it, watching Newrose for any sign that he spoke Styth. She said, “This is the Prima Akellar, the Matuko Akellar, Saba, Kritona, the Guardion, the prima General of the Styth Imperial Fleet.”
Newrose started to offer his hand but stopped, without embarrassment, when he saw Saba would not take it. The Martian inclined his head in a shadow of a bow.
“I hope our mission here will be fruitful and of advantage for everybody concerned.”
“You tell him,” Saba said, “that the only advantage he can hope for now is ours.”
“Give me a chance to translate.”
“He knows all about me, he knows I understand him, look at him.”
Newrose was watching them, his face bland. She said, “I don’t think he speaks Styth.”
“I don’t think he speaks anything that I speak.”
Ketac was standing in the doorway. Saba got out of his chair and Newrose backed away a stride to give him room; his eyes followed the big man up. Saba waved to his son. “Mind him.” Without another word to Newrose, the Prima left the room.
Paula grunted. “He isn’t a diplomat.” Ketac advanced toward her, and she took his arm and brought him face to face with Newrose. “Mr. Newrose, the Prima’s son will attend you.” Leaving them together, she went out after Saba.
“They’re stalling,” Saba said. “Newrose is just here to gain time for the Martian Army.”
Paula sat down on the edge of the bed. There were eight rooms in his suite, but this was the only place they could talk in private. Everyplace else was given over to his aides and officers. She said, “I wish Tanuojin had been there.”
“I’m trying to keep him away from Leno.”
He went restlessly around the overcrowded room. She fingered the shaved nap of the bedcover, thinking of Newrose. All the furniture in the room, the bed, the three padded chairs, and the sideboard, had been picked for size, not design. Nothing matched, not even the colors. He opened the sideboard and took out a bottle.
“I’d offer you a drink if you’d take it..”
“Never mind. I’m going back to my room.” She went to the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
A dogleg corridor led through his suite to the trunk corridor. It was jammed with Styths. She went in among them. In their midst was a tall redheaded girl, saying, “But I have to see him. Please—”
The girl was at least twenty years younger than Paula. An aide of Newrose’s: she recognized the fiery hair. Her one-piece suit, of some metallic cloth, was cut out over the stomach and most of the back and the holes filled with net. Paula said, “What is she looking for? Or am I silly to ask.”
The Styths’ faces were broad with their smiles. Ketac sat on the table at the mouth of the small corridor. He said, “She says she wants my father.” The other men laughed.
The girl clutched Paula’s arm. “Please—I have to see the Prima.”
“Did Newrose send you? Let go of my arm.”
The girl’s fingers opened but her hand rested on Paula’s forearm. “I just have to meet him. I know I can change his mind about us.” She was six inches taller than Paula and had to bend to talk to her. Paula looked around. There were no other Martians; she had come alone. Paula looked past the fluffy red head at Ketac.