“Come in here,” Tanuojin said. “Turn these lights down.”
She went into the waiting room of the Committee office. Under a glaring ceiling, three other men lay on the tawny carpet. Tanuojin’s hands and the forearms of his sleeves shone with blood. She found the light switch and turned off all the lights but one.
“There’s one more,” Tanuojin said, shutting the door. “Down the hall. He has your friend Bunker, but he’ll probably shoot at me first. Are you all right?”
She nodded. Bent double, she went from one Martian to the next; they were all dead, all their eyes were open wide. When Tanuojin faced her, she saw a ragged hole in his shirt over his chest.
“You were hit.”
“I’m fixing it.” He went to the door behind the desk and opened it.
She watched him go into the corridor beyond. She knew what would happen. Three shots banged out from the end of the hall. Tanuojin went toward the gun, his hands at his sides. Paula went into the hallway behind him. The Martian crouched in the doorway at the end of the hall let out a screech and shot once more, and the Styth reached him.
Behind him, on the floor, Dick Bunker lay tied up like a market hen. Paula brushed by Tanuojin, who let the Martian drop.
“Richard.” She knelt by the bound man. “I didn’t think you fell into things like this.”
She picked out the knot with her fingers and teeth. Tanuojin said, behind her, “Is he hurt?” His voice was thick, as if with pain. Still on one knee, she twisted to face him. The door beside her was open and the light spilled out, glittering on the side of his face. His cheek was laid open down to the white bone. The wound was healing so fast she could see the meat growing. There was no blood.
“No.” she said. She glanced at Bunker. “He’s sound.”
Bunker was untangling himself from the rope. His eyes never left Tanuojin. The stink of blood was heavy over the fading coppery taint. Tanuojin’s face had healed to a thin gray scar. His eye above it looked swollen and he pawed at it with his hand. He was splattered with blood. None of it was his.
“We have to get out of here,” she said. “You can’t walk around the streets like that, there must be a washroom.”
They found a washroom at the end of the hall. The ceiling lights came up.
“He’s going with us,” Tanuojin said. Just inside the door, Paula stopped to dim the lights. Bunker walked in a circle around the blind end of the washroom, his hands in his hip pockets.
“Where?”
“To Uranus,” Tanuojin said. He unbuckled his belt and stripped off his shirt and gave them to Paula. Leaning on his arms on the washbasin, he slumped a moment, his head hanging. She realized he was tired. She turned his shirt inside out, to hide the blood. Bunker was watching from the dim back of the room.
“I’m not going to Uranus.”
“You’re her friend.” The water pounded into the basin. Tanuojin scrubbed his hands. “Otherwise I’d kill you.”
“Tell us about General Gordon,” Paula said to Bunker.
The water ran pink down the drain. Tanuojin said, “I don’t care what he says. He knows about me. I won’t let him go.”
Paula looked across his bent back at the other anarchist. Their eyes met. Tanuojin put on his shirt and she handed him his belt.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“Yes.” He got Bunker by the shoulder again and steered him out the door.
They went down to the rail bus. There was a train in the platform; they went through it until they found an almost empty car. The lights glared on and off. At the far end of the car, a man sat staring at his hourly, ignoring the Styth twenty feet away. Tanuojin yawned.
Beyond Tanuojin, Bunker raised his head. “General Gordon,” he said, staring across the car. “After you shot up Luna, he was kicked down and jailed. Where he seems to have jellied.” He was using Styth, which he spoke badly. “A writer disguised as a priest got to him and encouraged him to, unh, confess. The priest recorded the whole thing on a pocket tape, which he managed to smuggle out of Luna.”
Tanuojin transferred his grip from Bunker’s shoulder to his wrist. Bunker jumped, and his mouth shut. His glance licked at Paula.
“Keep talking,” Tanuojin said.
Bunker looked away down the car. “Anyhow, the priest converted back to a writer, and sold the tape to a publisher in London, who decided it was entirely too ripe for the masses and sold it back to Luna—General Marak—for three and a half million dollars in virgin iron. General Gordon caught a buzz. The writer overdosed. The publisher’s air car crashed outside the dome, and the pollution killed him.”
Tanuojin thumbed down his mustaches. The bright lights made him squint. Paula leaned forward to see Bunker. “But Marak has the tape.”
“Apparently there are copies. I’ve never seen one, I don’t know anybody who has.”
Paula glanced at the man at the far end of the car. Now he was watching them from behind his hourly. Tanuojin said, “Now that interests me,” and yawned again.
“I don’t know anything more,” Bunker said. He slid down slumped on the bench, his wrist caught in the Styth’s grasp. “This is the first time I’ve heard that Gordon said anything about the Ybix incident. The bomb was his version of the ’49 coup. And the things he knew about people still in power. Not the least being Cam Savenia.”
The bus lurched around a curve. Paula looked up at the ceiling. The glaring lights hurt her eyes. “Maybe we can find a copy of the tape.” The checkpoint was coming, and the bus slowed.
“That might take time,” the Styth said. He let go of Bunker and fingered his fleet card and Paula’s out of his left sleeve. The lights flickered. Bunker sat relaxed on the bench, his eyes down, showing no interest in escape.
The bus stopped. The police came into the car and walked toward them: a young man and an old one. “Badges?” Tanuojin gave them the cards. The two men handed them back and forth between them. When the young man gave them back to Tanuojin, he saluted.
“Master commander. Hope you enjoy your stay here.” He turned to Bunker. “Badge.”
The anarchist rose, taking a folder from his hip pocket, and held it out. Paula said, “That badge is forged.”
Tanuojin shot to his feet. The old man snatched the folder from Bunker, and the young one drew his gun. The old man ran the badge through a pocket scanner.
“It is a forgery!”
“Hold it,” Tanuojin said. “He’s mine.”
The young man’s gun jabbed at Bunker. “Spreadeagle. You’re under arrest. You’re responsible for everything you say or do henceforth.” His partner took out his gun and aimed it at Tanuojin.
“You stay out of this, Commander.”
Bunker moved down the car and put his hands on the wall. Tanuojin said, “I’m warning you—” Paula pulled on his sleeve.
“Be careful.”
He struck her arm away. One policeman was groping down Bunker’s sides. The old man pointed the bell-shaped muzzle of his gun at Tanuojin’s stomach. “You keep out of this, or I’ll be forced to shoot.”
The young man turned around, his nose wrinkling. “What’s that smell?”
Tanuojin took a step toward Bunker. Paula got in his way. “If they shoot you,” she said, under her breath, “everybody on Crosby’s Planet will know about you.”
His face gleamed with sweat. He stood rigid while the policemen took Bunker out of the car.
“Don’t worry,” Paula said. “He won’t say anything. Who would believe him?”
His look made her flinch. He sat down beside her on the bench. All the way back to the hotel, he said nothing to her at all.
Saba was not there when they reached the hotel. He had not come back when they left the next morning for the courtroom. Tanuojin cursed him all the way there. Paula bought an hourly from a stand just outside the court building. The Ybix—Luna Case was still in the right top headline. They went into the courtroom. Tanuojin sat down in his chair, scowling.