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troubles with the outer provinces will be resolved, as well as the disturbances in the cities. As the High Leader’s representative, I can assure you that relations between Earth and Mars have never been better than they are at this moment. And we see nothing but a continuance of the current special status, shall we say, of the relations of our two worlds—”
    Barely taking a breath, Acron cut the man off. “Mars and Earth will continue to be friends, Ambassador Cal-Fen, as long as Mars does not meddle in Earth’s affairs. Let us call this a new era of cooperation.”
    Cal-Fen gave a diplomat’s smile and prepared to launch into another flowery speech, which Acron snuffed before it could begin.
    “A new era,” the prime minister said coldly, “in which Earth takes care of its own problems.”
    For emphasis, Acron drew the knife he had so recently slipped between Besh’s ribs and threw it on the table, where it came to rest pointing at the Martian ambassador. Its reddened tip was like an accusing finger.
    “Let me be blunt, Ambassador,” Acron said. “I am going to crush the rebellion on Earth, and, in the process, I am going to crush any Earthling with sympathetic ties to Mars. As of this moment Earth and Mars are once again two separate worlds. And you will be on a shuttle home to Mars tonight, to deliver that message personally to the High Leader.”
    Ambassador Cal-Fen rose; for a moment he sought to lock stares with Acron, but when the prime minister reached over to retrieve his dagger, bringing it up under the ambassador’s chin and nicking it with the blade before sheathing it, Cal-Fen’s eyes widened and he gave up, turned on his heel, and marched out of the room.
    When the door had slid closed behind him, Acron laughed, but his laughter was the only sound in the room.
    “Relax, gentlemen,” Acron said, sitting down and taking a hugely deep breath. “I have no intention of breaking ties with Mars. That little charade was for Ambassador Cal-Fen’s benefit. The High Leader asked me to send him home with his tail between his legs; it seems he’s been skimming profit money from some of the Martian textile concerns here, and not sharing the proceeds. I’m afraid he has a fate similar to Besh’s waiting for him when he gets home.”
    Prime Minister Acron’s florid face broke into a grin; and in a moment the other ministers, led by Chang, were guffawing at the joke.
    “And now,” Acron said, “we really do have much work to do.”
    And in the back of Prime Minister Acron’s iron mind was the thought, No intention of breaking ties with Mars—yet.
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    T he summons came at the oddest time: in the middle of the night.
    Visid awoke, feeling a nearby presence. The room was etched in shadows; Arnie was soundly asleep on her opposite pallet, head turned outward, mouth slightly open, breathing like a child; from out in the hallway came the softly unending murmur of Lessons, the osmotic drone of hidden voices telling Venusian children, even in the midst of dreams, that they were destined to serve their home planet and destined to serve their Martian masters.
    And yet –
    Visid looked at the doorway; something was blocking it.
    An attendant: a box on wheels, a primitive retriever model.
    “You will come with me,” the attendant said. Visid rose.
    “Dress,” the attendant said. “Quietly.”
    Visid did as she was told.
    In a few moments she was leaving the room, looking back at Arnie, still asleep. One of her friend’s hands trailed over the side of the pallet, fingertips touching the floor.
    “Good-bye,” Visid whispered, and followed the attendant into the hallway and out to a waiting transport.
     
    F or the second time in a month, she had a transport to herself.
    But now it was nighttime, and the stars were out. She knew the Martian names for constellations from Lessons: Great Pot, Small Pot, Hourglass. Once, there had been a lesson under the stars, on a dusty night, with an