"No."
"The city will find him. What is his number?"
"I have forgotten it."
"You have forgotten it? Is not Adam Stone a Magnate of the
Instrumentality? Are you truly his friend?"
"Truly." Martel let a little annoyance creep into his voice.
"Watcher, doubt me and call your Subchief."
"No doubt implied. Why do you not know the number? This must go into
the record," added the voice.
"We were friends in childhood. He has crossed the--" Martel started
to say "the Up-and-Out" and remembered that the phrase was current only
among Scanners. "He has leapt from Earth to Earth, and has just now
returned. I knew him well and I seek him out. I have word of his
kith. May the Instrumentality protect us!"
"Heard and believed. Adam Stone will be searched."
At a risk, though a slight one, of having the sphere sound an alarm for
_non-human_, Martel cut in on his Scanner speaker within his jacket.
He saw the trembling needle of light await his words and he started to
write on it with his blunt finger. _That won't work_, he thought, and
had a moment's panic until he found his comb, which had a sharp enough
tooth to write. He wrote: "Emergency none. Martel Scanner calling
Parizianski Scanner."
The needle quivered and the reply glowed and faded out: "Parizianski
Scanner on duty and D. C. Calls taken by Scanner Relay."
Martel cut off his speaker.
Parizianski was somewhere around. Could he have crossed the direct
way, right over the city wall, setting off the alert, and invoking
official business when the petty officers overtook him in mid-air?
Scarcely. That meant that a number of other Scanners must have come in
with Parizianski, all of them pretending to be in search of a few of
the tenuous pleasures which could be enjoyed by a haberman, such as the
sight of the newspictures or the viewing of beautiful women in the
Pleasure Gallery. Parizianski was around, but he could not have moved
privately, because Scanner Central registered him on duty and recorded
his movements city by city.
The voice returned. Puzzlement was expressed in it. "Adam Stone is
found and awakened. He has asked pardon of the Honorable, and says he
knows no Martel. Will you see Adam Stone in the morning? The city
will bid you welcome."
Martel ran out of resources. It was hard enough mimicking a man
without having to tell lies in the guise of one. Martel could only
repeat: "Tell him I am Martel. The husband of Luci."
"It will be done."
Again the silence, and the hostile stars, and the sense that
Parizianski was somewhere near and getting nearer; Martel felt his
heart beating faster. He stole a glimpse at his chestbox and set his
heart down a point. He felt calmer, even though he had not been able
to scan with care.
The voice this time was cheerful, as though an annoyance had been
settled: "Adam Stone consents to see you. Enter Chief Downport, and
welcome."
The little sphere dropped noiselessly to the ground and the wire
whispered away into the darkness. A bright arc of narrow light rose
from the ground in front of Martel and swept through the city to one of
the higher towers--apparently a hostel, which Martel had never entered.
Martel plucked his aircoat to his chest for ballast, stepped
heel-and-toe on the beam, and felt himself whistle through the air to
an entrance window which sprang up before him as suddenly as a
devouring mouth.
A tower guard stood in the doorway. "You are awaited, sir. Do you
bear weapons; sir?"
"None," said Martel, grateful that he was relying on his own strength.
The guard let him past the check-screen. Martel noticed the quick
flight of a warning across the screen as his instruments registered and
identified him as a Scanner. But the guard had not noticed it.
The guard stopped at a door. "Adam Stone is armed. He is lawfully
armed by authority of the Instrumentality and by the liberty of this
city. All those who enter are given warning."
Martel nodded in understanding at the man and went in.
Adam Stone was a short man, stout and benign. His grey hair rose
stiffly from a low forehead. His whole face was red and merry looking.
He looked like a jolly guide from the Pleasure Gallery, not like a man
who had been at the edge of the Up-and-Out, righting the Great Pain
without haberman protection.
He stared at Martel. His look was puzzled, perhaps a little annoyed,
but not hostile.
Martel came to the point. "You do not know me. I lied. My name is
Martel, and I mean you no harm. But I lied. I beg the Honorable gift
of your hospitality. Remain armed. Direct your weapon against me--"
Stone smiled: "I am doing so," and Martel noticed the small Wirepoint
in Stone's capable plump hand.
"Good. Keep on guard against me. It will give you confidence in what
I shall say. But do, I beg you, give us a screen of privacy. I want
no casual lookers. This is a matter of life and death."
"First: whose life and death?" Stone's face remained calm, his voice
even.
"Yours, and mine, and the worlds'."
"You are cryptic but I agree." Stone called through the doorway:
"Privacy please." There was a sudden hum, and all the little noises of
the night quickly vanished from the air of the room.