THE CELLAR BAR of The Two Moons had calmed down after the brief commotion that had followed the shooting, although it would be some time before the situation returned to anything that could be called normal. Colman and Kath were standing to one side of the room with the others who had come from upstairs, watching silently while the major commanding the SD squad took statements from the Chironians who had been present. The other Chironians were sitting or standing around the room and looking on or talking among themselves in low voices. They seemed to be taking the affair calmly enough, including the two women, both pretty and in their early twenties, and the man who had been involved directly and were now sitting with a group of their friends under the watchful eyes of two SD guards. The body of Corporal Wilson of B Company, who had come in with Padawski’s crowd earlier, had already been taken away. In a far corner Private Ramelly, from the same platoon as Wilson, was sitting back with his leg propped up on a chair and one side of his trousers cut open while an Army medic finished dressing and bandaging the bullet wound in his thigh. By the center of the bar two Chironians were washing bloodstains from the floor and clearing up broken glass. Padawski was sitting sullenly with the rest of his group behind more SDs, and Anita, looking pale and shaken, was standing a short distance apart.
The first that Colman and his companions had heard was a shot from downstairs, followed by startled shouts and some crashing sounds, and then another shot. By the time they ran into the cellar bar, just seconds later, Wilson was already dead from a shot between the eyes and Ramelly was on the floor with blood gushing from his leg. Padawski and the others were standing uncertainly by the bar, covered by a .38 automatic that one of the young Chironian women was holding. Several other weapons had appeared around the room. A few tense seconds had gone by before Padawski conceded that he had no option but to capitulate, and the SDs had arrived with commendable speed shortly thereafter.
Apparently some of Padawski’s friends had the idea that the Chironian women were among the things that could be had for the taking on Chiron, and two of them had persisted in pressing lewd advances upon the two girls at the bar despite their being told repeatedly and in progressively less uncertain terms that the girls weren’t interested. The soldiers, who had been drinking heavily, became angry and even more unpleasant, paying no attention to dour warnings from around the room. An argument developed, in the course of which Ramelly grabbed one of the women and handled her roughly. She produced a gun and shot him in the leg. There would probably have been no more to it than that if Wilson hadn’t seized the gun and turned it on the Chironians who were about to intervene, at which point another Chironian had shot him dead from the back of the room.
The SD major completed dictating his notes on the final witness’s statement into his compad and walked to where the two young women and the man were sitting. Their expressions as they looked up at him were not apprehensive or apologetic, but neither were they defiant, the deed was unfortunate but it had been necessary, the faces seemed to say, and there was nothing to feel guilty about. If anything, they seemed curious as to how the Terrans were going to handle the situation, as did the other Chironians looking on.
“One of our people has been killed, and there are set procedures that we hove to follow,” the major announced. “My orders require me to take you three back with us. It would make things a lot easier for everybody if you complied. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any choice.”
“Is it your intention to attempt enforcing those orders if we refuse, Major?” the Chironian who had killed Wilson asked. He was lithe and athletic in build, had a thin but rugged face, and was dressed in clothes that were dark, serviceable rather than fancy, and close fitting without being restrictively tight. He reminded Colman of the bad guy in an ancient Western movie. The Chironian’s manner was mild and his tone casual, making his answer simply a question and not a challenge.
The major met his eye firmly. “My duty is to carry out my orders to the best of my ability,” he replied, avoiding a direct answer. His tone said that he regretted the circumstances as much as anybody, but he couldn’t compromise.
The display of tact seemed to do the trick. The Chironian held his eye for a moment longer, and then nodded. “Very well.” Inwardly Colman breathed a sigh of relief. The women were evidently willing to allow the man to speak for them too. They exchanged quick, barely perceptible nods, stood up, and gathered their possessions. Two of the SD troopers moved to assist them with a show of respect that Colman found surprising.
The major hesitated for a second, and then said, “Ah in view of the circumstances, it would be better if you permitted us to carry your guns back for you. Would you mind?”
“Are you telling us we’re prisoners?” the Chironian man asked.
“I would prefer not to use that term,” the major answered. “The legal ramifications are not for me to comment on. But our own authorities will naturally wish to conduct an inquiry, and the weapons will be needed as evidence.”
“By your customs,” the Chironian observed.
“It was one of our people,” the major said.
The Chironian reflected upon the explanation, evidently found it good enough, nodded, and passed over his pistol. The girl who had wounded Ramelly followed suit. Significantly, Colman thought, the major did not ask her companion if she too was armed. As the guards began motioning Padawski and his group to their feet, the major marched over to where Colman and the others from D Company were standing with the Chironians who had been upstairs with them. He had already taken their names and established that they had not witnessed the incident firsthand. “You guys are free to go,” he informed them. “If there’s a hearing, you might be called in to testify. If so, the appropriate people will contact you.”
“They know where to find us,” Colman said.
Kath’s pocket communicator buzzed, and she took it out to answer. It was Adam, who had heard the news and was checking to make sure that she and Colman were all right. Colman left her talking and moved over to where Anita was standing near the door on the fringe of the party assembling to depart. “Why’d you ever get mixed up with that bunch?” he murmured. “Wise up when it’s all over. Get out of it.”
There was no repentance or remorse in her eyes when she looked at him. “It’s none of your business anymore,” she hissed. “How I choose to have fun is my affair and my life.”
Colman snorted derisively. “You call that fun?”
“You know what I mean. They weren’t doing anything. They’d just had a bit too much to drink. Those two bitches didn’t have to do something like that.”
“Maybe you should try looking at it their way,” Colman said.
Anita’s eyes blazed as her shock began wearing off and dissipated itself as anger. “Why should I? Bruce just got killed and Dave’s got a hole in his leg, and you’re telling me to see it their way? What kind of a man are you anyhow?” She sneered past Colman’s shoulder at Kath, who was returning the communicator to her pocket. “I can see why. It didn’t take you long, did it? Is she good?”
Colman ignored the remark. “Just think about it,” he muttered. “For your own sake.”
“I told you once already, it’s none of your business anymore. Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you. Just—go away and leave me alone.”
Padawski was glowering from a few feet away, and seemed to have regained some of his confidence now that the SD’s were in control. “You stay away from her, Goldilocks,” he spat. “Stick with your nice, murdering friends. We won’t forget you either.” He turned his head back to glare at the whole room before turning for the door. “And that goes for all of you,” he warned in a louder voice. “We won’t forget. You’ll see.”
“On your way.” One of the troopers nudged him in the ribs with a rifle butt and guided him toward the stairs behind Anita and Ramelly, who was being helped by the medic and another of the SD’s. Colman watched until they had all left, then returned to the others.
“Is she a friend of yours?” Kath inquired.
“From a while back. But not anymore, I guess, by the look of it.”
“She’s a good-looking girl. What does she do?”
“A communications specialist at Brigade.”
Kath’s eyebrows lifted approvingly. “Smart as well, eh?”
“She could do a lot better than waste herself with those bums. She’s the kind that prefers the easy road...for as long as it lasts, anyhow.”
“That’s a shame,” Kath said.
Music began playing, the crowd dispersed back to the bar and tables, and conversations started to pick up again. Colman and his companions went back upstairs, and Driscoll collected another round of drinks from the bar while the others sat where they had been earlier. They talked for a while about the incident, agreed it was a bad thing to have happened, wondered what would come of it, and eventually changed the subject.
“I guess you have to learn moderation in this place,” Stanislau remarked, studying his half-emptied glass of dark, frothy Chironian beer. He shook his head slowly. “You know, this sounds crazy but sometimes I wish they would make us pay for it.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Carson said. Driscoll nodded his mute assent also.
“I’m not so sure I agree,” Swyley said, which meant that he did.
Colman was about to make a joke Out of it when he realized they were serious. He knotted his brows and directed an inquiring look at each of them in turn.
“It’s this whole business of not paying for anything,” Stanislau said at last. “We come in here and drink, we go into restaurants and eat, we walk out of stores with all kinds of stuff, and none of it costs anything.” He sat back, looked from side to side for moral support, got plenty, and shook his head helplessly. “It seemed too good to be true at first, but that soon wears off. It’s not funny anymore, chief. It’s getting to all of us.”
“We feel we owe something, and we want to pay our way,” Driscoll confirmed. “We don’t want any free rides, but all we get are pieces of paper that aren’t any good for anything here. What can you do?”
“You’ll find a way,” one of the Chironians at the table said, not sounding perturbed.
“Better late than never, I suppose,” another commented, glancing at the painter, who was still there. The painter nodded but didn’t reply.
“What does that mean?” Driscoll asked, looking at the Chironian who had spoken.
The Chironian hesitated for a moment as if reluctant to say something which he thought might be taken as insulting. Kath caught his eye and nodded reassuringly. “Well,” the Chironian began, then paused again. “Most people here start to feel that way by the time they’re about ten. I’m not trying to offend anyone—but that’s the way it is.”
Carson frowned and thought about the implications, then shook his head. “It’s impossible,” he said. “No system could work like that.”
An intrigued and thoughtful look came over Swyley’s face as he listened. He said nothing, which meant that he didn’t agree.