The monorails came out onto the surface in bunches like very massive
cables and then began to branch out, the separate "wires" of the cables
eventually spreading into a network that covered the entire moon. The
taxi picked up speed, clicking over points as it swerved and swung,
feeling its way onto the one clear track that led where its scanner
had told it to go. Durham was aware obliquely of other monorail taxis
in uncountable numbers going like the devil in all directions, and of
other types of machines moving below on the surface, and of mobile
cranes that walked like buildings, and of a horizon filled with the
upthrust noses of great ships like the towers of some fantastic city.
Beside him Susan Hawtree sat, rigid and quivering, and before him on
the opposite seat were the two young people with the guns.
Durham said, in a voice thick with anger and fright, "Why did you have
to drag her into it?"
The man shrugged. "She is perhaps part of the conspiracy. In any case,
she would have made an alarm."
"What do you mean, conspiracy? I'm going home to Earth. She came to say
good-bye--" Durham leaned forward. "You're the same two bastards from
last night. What do you--"
"Please," said the man, contemptuously. He gestured with the gun. "You
will both sit still with your hands behind your heads. So, Wanbecq-ai
will search you. If either one should attempt to interfere, the other
will suffer for it."
The wiry young woman did her work swiftly and efficiently. "No
weapons," she said. "Hai! Wanbecq, look here!" She began to gabble in a
strange tongue, pointing to Durham's passport and ticket, and then to
Susan's ID card. Wanbecq's narrow eyes narrowed still further.
"So," he said to Durham. "Your name has changed since yesterday, Mr.
Watson. And for one who returns to Sol III, you choose a long way
around."