“Forget it,” Saba said. He straightened, his arms braced on the drafting table on either side of the sketch, and bent and gave her a fast kiss on the forehead. “That was almost before the treaty, anyway.”
Tanuojin came around him and took the paper from her. “This is a lie.” He sounded outraged. He shook the subpoena under her nose. “It’s a biased, prejudiced frame-up. The whole print job is a fraud.”
Paula looked away from him. The walls were chambered with bookracks. Charts and black and white recognition posters of spaceships hung above them. Saba stuck his pen in his hair.
“I like the scoopnose better.”
“That damned Machou. How did he get this?” Tanuojin read through the subpoena again. “They blew up their own ship and they’re hanging it on me. And what’s this theft charge? We should have stolen everything they had. What’s contempt of authority?”
“Do you remember telling General Gordon he was ignorant and superstitious?” Paula said.
“He is.”
“Contempt of authority.” She tapped the paper. “That’s a sieve, those charges. You can’t be held for that, it’s only a crime on Luna.”
“So the damned treaty only works one way, you see? They keep us in line, but they do whatever they please.”
Saba tore the top sheet of his drawing off the pad. “Forget it. Report the kill, maybe the fleet will vote you your fifth stripe.” He bent over the sketchpad. “They can’t do anything to us.”
“Call you nasty names,” she said. “Stop payments on your contracts.”
Tanuojin went to the window. Paula watched him through the corner of her eye. Through the window came the rhythmic ringing strokes of an ax, or maybe a hammer.
“How was the bus ride?” Saba asked.
“Not bad.”
Tanuojin said, “Where is this nickel-dime court?”
“In Crosby’s Planet. The man-made planet at Venus’s aft lagrangian.”
He put his hands on the red window frame, his eyes aimed out toward the sound of the hammer. Beside her, Saba said, “What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to shove the thing down Machou’s throat.” He turned. “Come on.”
They followed him out to the hall. Paula skipped every few strides to keep up with them. Saba said, “Are you thinking of going down there?”
“Why not?” Tanuojin opened a door, and they went out to the yard. “You said yourself we could use another reconnaissance. Here they are sending us an invitation. And that’s deeper than we’ve ever been, that’s as far down as they go.”
They walked across to another white building. At the far end of the yard, his son was striking at something on the ground with great full strokes of a sledgehammer. Paula went after the two men into the house. They turned a corner and led her into a room stacked around with boxes. Against the wall, under a window, was a bed covered with a gray blanket, the only piece of furniture there.
“Look at this place,” Saba said to her. He flung his hand out at the piles of crates. “Do you know how long he’s been living here? It looks as if he’s still moving in. Even you unpacked your clothes. He’s lived in this room since he entered the rAkellaron.”
Tanuojin sprawled across the bed. Saba went around the small, barren room. He took a bottle of his Scotch out of the box at the foot of the bed and pulled the stopper out.
“He used to fire it up,” Tanuojin said. “Now he just drinks it.” He twisted around to shout out the window. “Kasuk!”
The hammer stopped. His son’s shaggy head appeared in the open square of the window. Tanuojin said, “Stop for a while. You’re driving me crazy.”
“I’m almost done.”
“Stop for a while.”
Kasuk slung the hammer over his shoulder and went away. Paula sat down on a box. The walls of the room were bare. He had lived here more than five years without making one personal impression on the place.
“Tell me about this court,” Saba said.
“It’s very simple. There’s one judge, drawn by lot out of a pool of three hundred, most of whom for one reason or another are anarchists.”
“Why?” Tanuojin said.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Most of the people in the pool are so anarchistic they don’t even call themselves anarchists. Sybil Jefferson is a judge of the court.”
He was staring at her, his yellow eyes unblinking. His hard look put her nerves on end. He said, “Let me touch her.”
Saba turned, on the opposite side of the little room, and Paula backed up a few feet. “Touch me?”
“Do you want to do that?” Saba said.
“She already knows enough about me to get me killed.”
“Touch me how?” she said.
“Come here.” Saba sat down on the bed’s foot, his hands out. She faced them both, wary.
“What are you going to do?”
“Do you have something to hide?” Tanuojin said. “I won’t hurt you.”
Saba got her by the skirt and drew her over against his knees. “Don’t be afraid.” He put his arm around her waist. She had no way to escape. Tanuojin sat up and took her by the wrists.
“Look over my shoulder.”
She stared into his face, her arms stiff in his grasp. Saba held her uncomfortably tight. Tanuojin said, “Look over my shoulder, damn you, you’re distracting me.” She turned her head, aiming her eyes past him, at the blank white wall. Her arms were warm. She felt a warmth and a pleasant lassitude climbing through the muscles of her arms, across her shoulders, and into her back. Her neck felt hot. He let her go; Saba let her go.
“She had the Committee send that paper to Machou,” Tanuojin said. He lay down on his elbows again. “She’s been meeting somebody from the Committee behind your back.”
She went cold down to her heels. “How did you know that?”
“I know everything you know.”
Saba gripped her shoulder. Her mind refused to work. She stared stupidly at Tanuojin, who had read her mind. He said, “I told you she was a spy.”
“How often has she met him?” Saba asked. His hand clutched her painfully hard.
“Only once. She’ll do it again.”
She said, “If you know—everything, you know I told him not to come back.”
Tanuojin’s yellow eyes gave her a flickering glance. He said, “Lock her up.”
“She’s useless if she’s locked up.” Saba’s free hand landed on her other shoulder. He stood up, holding her fast.
“Then kill her.”
“She wouldn’t be much good then, either, would she?” He held her between them, his hands so tight she bit her lower lip, resisting the pain. “She’s not like us. She doesn’t know better. You can’t expect her to change all at once.”
“You have to do something with her, she’s dangerous.”
“Is it true? Did she tell him not to come back?”
Reluctantly Tanuojin said, “Yes, she did. But just to keep out of trouble.”
Saba pushed her away toward the door. “She’ll learn.”
“She works on the worst things in you,” Tanuojin said. “All your vices.”
“We can’t all be pure and holy like you. Throw that paper away.” He steered Paula out to the hall.
“What is that—how did he do that?” She looked up at him while they walked. “Did he read my mind? What did he do?”
His hand slipped off her shoulder. They went along the corridor at his speed. She jogged beside him. “He has a gift—he healed you, that time, remember? It’s a gift he has, an influence.”
They turned a corner and he stopped and opened a door. Paula went ahead of him into a room like Tanuojin’s. This one was flooded with signs that Saba lived here. His dirty clothes lay piled on the floor and three empty whiskey bottles ranged along the window sill. At the foot of the long narrow bed was her valise.