“No, not at all,” the man murmured.
“Yes, he’s telling the truth,” the box intoned.
“Next!”
“Nothing—I know nothing. I had nothing to do with it.”
“True,” the box said.
The ship was silent. Three people remained, a middle-aged man and his wife and their son, a boy of about twelve. They stood in the corner, staring white-faced at the Leiter, at the rod in his dark fingers.
“It must be you,” the Leiter grated, moving toward them. The Martian soldiers raised their guns. “It must be you. You there, the boy. What do you know about the destruction of our city? Answer!”
The boy shook his head. “Nothing,” he whispered.
The box was silent for a moment. “He is telling the truth,” it said reluctantly.
“Next!”
“Nothing,” the woman muttered. “Nothing.”
“The truth.”
“Next!”
“I had nothing to do with blowing up your city,” the man said. “You’re wasting your time.”
“It is the truth,” the box said.
For a long time the Leiter stood, toying with his rod. At last he pushed it back in his belt and signalled the soldiers toward the exit lock.
“You may proceed on your trip,” he said. He walked after the soldiers. At the hatch he stopped, looking back at the passengers, his face grim. “You may go—But Mars will not allow her enemies to escape. The three saboteurs will be caught, I promise you.” He rubbed his dark jaw thoughtfully. “It is strange. I was certain they were on this ship.”
Again he looked coldly around at the Terrans.
“Perhaps I was wrong. All right, proceed! But remember: the three will be caught, even if it takes endless years. Mars will catch them and punish them! I swear it!”
For a long time no one spoke. The ship lumbered through space again, its jets firing evenly, calmly, moving the passengers toward their own planet, toward home. Behind them Deimos and the red ball that was Mars dropped farther and farther away each moment, disappearing and fading into the distance.
A sigh of relief passed through the passengers. “What a lot of hot air that was,” one grumbled.
“Barbarians!” a woman said.
A few of them stood up, moving out into the aisle, toward the lounge and the cocktail bar. Beside Thacher the girl got to her feet, pulling her jacket around her shoulders.
“Pardon me,” she said, stepping past him.
“Going to the bar?” Thacher said. “Mind if I come along?”
“I suppose not.”
They followed the others into the lounge, walking together up the aisle. “You know,” Thacher said, “I don’t even know your name, yet.”
“My name is Mara Gordon.”
“Mara? That’s a nice name. What part of Terra are you from? North America? New York?”
“I’ve been in New York,” Mara said. “New York is very lovely.” She was slender and pretty, with a cloud of dark hair tumbling down her neck, against her leather jacket.
They entered the lounge and stood undecided.
“Let’s sit at a table,” Mara said, looking around at the people at the bar, mostly men. “Perhaps over there.”
“But someone’s there already,” Thacher said. The heavy set business man had sat down at the table and deposited his sample case on the floor. “Do we want to sit with him?”
“Oh, it’s all right,” Mara said, crossing to the table. “May we sit here?” she said to the man.
The man looked up, half-rising. “It’s a pleasure,” he murmured. He studied Thacher intently. “However, a friend of mine will be joining me in a moment.”
“I’m sure there’s room enough for us all,” Mara said. She seated herself and Thacher helped her with her chair. He sat down, too, glancing up suddenly at Mara and the business man. They were looking at each other almost as if something had passed between them. The man was middle-aged, with a florid face and tired, grey eyes. His hands were mottled with the veins showing thickly. At the moment he was tapping nervously.
“My name’s Thacher,” Thacher said to him, holding out his hand. “Bob Thacher. Since we’re going to be together for a while we might as well get to know each other.”
The man studied him. Slowly his hand came out. “Why not? My name’s Erickson. Ralf Erickson.”
“Erickson?” Thacher smiled. “You look like a commercial man, to me.” He nodded toward the sample case on the floor. “Am I right?”
The man named Erickson started to answer, but at that moment there was a stir. A thin man of about thirty had come up to the table, his eyes bright, staring down at them warmly. “Well, we’re on our way,” he said to Erickson.
“Hello, Mara.” He pulled out a chair and sat down quickly, folding his hands on the table before him. He noticed Thacher and drew back a little. “Pardon me,” he murmured.
“Bob Thacher is my name,” Thacher said. “I hope I’m not intruding here.” He glanced around at the three of them, Mara, alert, watching him intently, heavyset Erickson, his face blank, and this person. “Say, do you three know each other?” he asked suddenly.
There was silence.
The robot attendant slid over soundlessly, poised to take their orders. Erickson roused himself. “Let’s see,” he murmured. “What will we have? Mara?”
“Whiskey and water.”
“You, Jan?”
The bright slim man smiled. “The same.”
“Thacher?”
“Gin and tonic.”
“Whiskey and water for me, also,” Erickson said. The robot attendant went off. It returned at once with the drinks, setting on the table. Each took his own. “Well,” Erickson said, holding his glass up. “To our mutual success.”
All drank, Thacher and the three of them, heavy set Erickson, Mara, her eyes nervous and alert, Jan, who had just come. Again a look passed between Mara and Erickson, a look so swift that he would have not caught it had he been looking directly at her.
“What line do you represent, Mr. Erickson?” Thacher asked.
Erickson glanced at him, then down at the sample case on the floor. He grunted. “Well, as you can see, I’m a salesman.”
Thacher smiled. “I knew it! You get so you can always spot a salesman right off by his sample case. A salesman always has to carry something to show. What are you in, sir?”
Erickson paused. He licked his thick lips, his eyes blank and lidded, like a toad’s. At last he rubbed his mouth with his hand and reached down, lifting upthe sample case. He set it on the table in front of him.
“Well?” he said. “Perhaps we might even show Mr. Thacher.”
They all stared down at the sample case. It seemed to be an ordinary leather case, with a metal handle and a snap lock. “I’m getting curious,” Thacher said. “What’s in there? You’re all so tense. Diamonds? Stolen jewels?”
Jan laughed harshly, mirthlessly. “Erick, put it down. We’re not far enough away, yet.”
“Nonsense,” Erick rumbled. “We’re away, Jan.”
“Please,” Mara whispered. “Wait, Erick.”
“Wait? Why? What for? You’re so accustomed to—”
“Erick,” Mara said. She nodded toward Thacher. “We don’t know him, Erick. Please!”
“He’s a Terran, isn’t he?” Erickson said. “All Terrans are together in these times.” He fumbled suddenly at the catch lock on the case. “Yes, Mr. Thacher. I’m a salesman. We’re all salesmen, the three of us.”
“Then you do know each other.”
“Yes.” Erickson nodded. His two companions sat rigidly, staring down. “Yes, we do. Here, I’ll show you our line.”
He opened the case. From it he took a letter-knife, a pencil sharpener, a glass globe paperweight, a box of thumb tacks, a stapler, some clips, a plastic ashtray, and some things Thacher could not identify. He placed the objects in a row in front of him on the table top. Then he closed the sample case.
“I gather you’re in office supplies,” Thacher said. He touched the letter knife with his finger. “Nice quality steel. Looks like Swedish steel, to me.”