Bozell added, "There you have it, Mr. Moderator. This hijacker shot up the bus and killed three people and wounded two more... and invented a cock-and-bull story about bandits to cover his crimes. There are no bandits in that area; everybody knows that."
I tried to get a grip on reality. "Mr. Moderator, one moment, please! Captain Marcy is here. I understand he got a picture of the bandits' rolligon."
"I ask the questions, Mr. Johnson."
"But- Did he, or didn't he?"
'That's enough, Johnson! You will be in order. Or you will be restrained."
"What am I doing that is out of order?"
"You're disrupting this investigation with irrelevancies. Wait until you are spoken to. Then answer the question."
"Yes, sir. What is the question?"
"I told you to keep quiet!"
I kept quiet. So did everybody else.
Presently Mr. Mao drummed on his desk and said, "Major, did you have more questions?"
"Hah! He never answered my first question. He evaded it."
The Moderator said, "Johnson, answer the question."
I looked stupid-my best role. "What is the question?"
Mao and Bozell both started to speak; Bozell yielded to Mao who went on, "Let's summarize it. Why did you do what you did?"
"What did I do?"
"I just told you what you did!"
"But I didn't do any of the things you said I did. Mr. Moderator, I don't understand how you got into this. You weren't there. That bus is not from your city. I am not from your city. Whatever happened took place outside your city. What is your connection with the matter?"
Mao leaned back and looked smug. Bozell said, "Hah!" then added, "Shall I tell him, Mr. Moderator? Or will you?"
"I will tell him. In fact I shall enjoy telling him. Johnson, less than a year ago the Council of this sovereign city made a very wise move. It extended its jurisdiction to cover all surface and subsurface activity within one hundred kilometers of the municipal pressure."
"And made the Vigilante Volunteers an official arm of the government," Bozell added happily, "charged with keeping the peace to the hundred-kilometer line! And that fixes you, you murderer!"
Mao ignored the interruption. "So you see, Johnson, while you probably thought that you were out in anarchist wilds, where the writ of law does not run, in fact you were not. Your crimes will be punished."
(I wonder how soon someone will attempt a power grab like this out in the Belt?) "These crimes of mine- Did they take place less than one hundred kilometers from Hong Kong Luna? Or more?"
"Eh? Less. Considerably less. Of course."
"Who measured it?"
Mao looked at Bozell. "How far was it?"'
"About eighty kilometers. A little less."
I said, "What was a little less? Major, are you talking about the bandits' attack on the bus? Or about something that went on inside the bus?"
"Don't put words into my mouth! Marcy-you tell them!"
Having said that, Bozell looked blank. He started to add something, stopped.
I most carefully kept quiet. Presently Mao said, "Well, Captain Marcy?"
"What do you want from me, sir? The director of the port, when he sent me here, told me to cooperate fully... but not to volunteer anything you did not ask for."
"I want everything relevant to this case. Did you give Major Bozell a figure of eighty kilometers?"
"Yes, sir. Seventy-eight kilometers."
"How did you get that figure?"
"I measured it on a monitor at my console. Ordinarily we don't print a satellite photograph, just display it. This man- you say his name is Johnson; I knew him as 'Midnight'-if he's the same man. He called me last night at oh one twenty-seven, stated that he was in the Lucky Dragon bus, reported that bandits had attacked the bus-"
"Hah!"
"-and that the attack had been driven off but the driver, Aunt Lilybet-Mistress Washington-was hurt and that the turret gunner was-"
"We know all that. Captain. Tell us about the photograph."
"Yes, Mr. Moderator. From what Midnight told me, I was able to direct the satellite camera onto target. I photographed the rolligon."
"And you place the bus at that time seventy-eight kilometers from the city?"
"No, sir, not the bus. The other rolligon."
There was the sort of silence sometimes called "pregnant." Then Bozell said, "But that's crazy! There wasn't any-"
"Just a moment, Bozell. Marcy, you were misled by John-son's lies. What you saw was the bus."
"No, sir. I did see the bus; I had it on monitor. But I saw at once that it was moving. So I coached the camera back down the trace about ten klicks... and there was the second rolligon, just as Midnight had said."
Bozell was almost in tears. "But- There was nothing there, I tell you! My boys and I searched that whole area. Nothing! Marcy, you're out of your mind!"
I don't know how long Bozell would have gone on wishing away a rolligon he could not find, as he was interrupted; Gwen came in. And I reswallowed my heart; everything was going to be all right!
(I had been worried sick ever since I had seen Mao's triple defenses against anyone walking in on him. A guard against assassination? I don't know; I simply fretted that Gwen might be balked. But I should have had more confidence in my little giant.)
She smiled and waved me a kiss, then turned and held the door. "Right through here, gentlemen!"
Two of Mao's own police brought in a wheelchair, laid back so that Auntie could recline. She looked around, smiled at me, then said to the Moderator, "Howdy, Jefferson. How's your momma?"
"She's well, thank you. Mistress Washington. But you-"
"What's this 'Mistress Washington' fancy talk? Boy, I've changed your nappies; you call me 'Auntie' same as you always did. Now I heard about how you were planning to pin a medal on Senator Richard for how he saved me from those bandits ... and when I heard that I said to myself, 'Jefferson hasn't heard about the other two that deserve medals quite as much as Senator Richard does-begging your pardon. Senator."
I said, "Oh, you're quite right. Auntie."
"So I brought them. Gwen honey, say hello to Jefferson. He's the mayor of this pressure. Gwen is Senator Richard's wife, Jefferson. And Bill- Where's Bill? Bill! You come in here, son! Don't be shy. Jefferson, while it's true that Senator Richard killed two of those bad men with his bare hands-"
"Not his bare hands. Auntie," Gwen objected. "He did have his cane."
"You hush up, honey. With his bare hands and his walking cane, but if Bill hadn't been right there-and fast and smart- I wouldn't be here; Jesus would have taken me. But the dear Lord said it wasn't my time yet and Bill put patches on my suit and saved me to serve Jesus another day." Auntie reached out, took Bill's hand. "This is Bill, Jefferson. Make sure he gets a medal, too. And Gwen- Come here, Gwen. This baby girl saved all our lives."
I'm not sure how old my bride is, but she is not a "baby girl." However, that was the least distortion of fact that was heard in the next few minutes. To put it in its mildest terms, Auntie told a pack of lies. With Gwen nodding and backing her up and looking angelic.
It was not so much that the facts were wrong as that Auntie testified to things she could not possibly have seen. Gwen must have coached her most carefully.
Two loads of bandits had tackled us but they had fought each other; that saved us, as all but two of them died in that fratricide. Those two I killed with my bare hands and a walking stick-against laser guns. I am so heroic that I amaze myself.
While these brave deeds were going on, I know Auntie was unconscious part of the time, and flat on her back all of the time, able to see only the ceiling of the bus. Yet she seemed to believe-I think she did believe-what she was saying. So much for eyewitnesses.