She glanced inquiringly at the papers in his hand but answered, “Starved.”

“Let’s get out of here and shoot a cow.”

He said nothing more while they went to the roof and took a taxi, and he still kept quiet during a flight to the Alexandria platform, where they switched to another cab. Ben selected one with a Baltimore serial number. Once in the air he set it for Hagerstown, Maryland, then settled back and relaxed. “Now we can talk.”

“Ben, why all the mystery?”

“Sorry, pretty foots. Probably just nerves and my bad conscience. I don’t know that there is a bug in my apartment—but if I can do it to them, they can do it to me . . . and I’ve been showing an unhealthy interest in things the administration wants kept doggo. Likewise, while it isn’t likely that a cab signaled from my flat would have a recorder hidden in the cushions, still it might have; the Special Service squads are thorough. But this cab—” He patted its seat cushions. “They can’t gimmick thousands of cabs. One picked at random should be safe.”

Jill shivered. “Ben, you don’t really think they would . . .” She let it trail off.

“Don’t I, now! You saw my column. I filed that copy nine hours ago. Do you think the administration will let me kick it in the stomach without doing something about it?”

“But you have always opposed this administration.”

“That’s okay. The duty of His Majesty’s Loyal Opposition is to oppose. They expect that. But this is different; I have practically accused them of holding a political prisoner . . . one the public is very much interested in. Jill, a government is a living organism. Like every living thing its prime characteristic is a blind, unreasoned instinct to survive. You hit it, it will fight back. This time I’ve really hit it.” He gave her a sidelong look. “I shouldn’t have involved you in this.”

“Me? I’m not afraid. At least not since I turned that gadget back over to you.”

“You’re associated with me. If things get rough, that could be enough.”

Jill shut up. She had never in her life experienced the giant ruthlessness of giant power. Outside of her knowledge of nursing and of the joyous guerilla warfare between the sexes, Jill was almost as innocent as the Man from Mars. The notion that she, Jill Boardman, who had never experienced anything worse than a spanking as a child and an occasional harsh word as an adult, could be in physical danger was almost impossible for her to believe. As a nurse, she had seen the consequences of ruthlessness, violence, brutality—but it could not happen to her.

Their cab was circling for a landing in Hagerstown before she broke the moody silence. “Ben? Suppose this patient does die. What happens?”

“Huh?” He frowned. “That’s a good question, a very good question. I’m glad you asked it; it shows you are taking an interest in the work. Now if there are no other questions, the class is dismissed.”

“Don’t try to be funny.”

“Hmm . . . Jill, I’ve been awake nights when I should have been dreaming about you, trying to answer that one. It’s a two-part question, political and financial—and here are the best answers I have now: If Smith dies, his odd legal claim to the planet Mars vanishes. Probably the pioneer group the Champion left behind on Mars starts a new claim—and almost certainly the administration worked out a deal with them before they left Earth. The Champion is a Federation ship but it is more than possible that the deal, if there was one, leaves all the strings in the hands of that redoubtable defender of human rights, Mr. Secretary General Douglas. Such a deal could keep him in power for a long time. On the other hand, it might mean nothing at all.”

“Huh? Why?”

“The Larkin Decision might not apply. Luna was uninhabited, but Mars is inhabited—by Martians. At the moment, Martians are a legal zero. But the High Court might take a look at the political situation, stare at its collective navel, and decide that human occupancy meant nothing on a planet already inhabited by non-human natives. Then rights on Mars, if any, would have to be secured from the Martians themselves.”

“But, Ben, that would logically be the case anyhow. This notion of a single man owning a planet . . . it’s fantastic!”

“Don’t use that word to a lawyer; he won’t understand you. Straining at gnats and swallowing camels is a required course in all law schools. Besides, there is a case in point. In the fifteenth century the Pope deeded the entire western hemisphere to Spain and Portugal and nobody paid the slightest attention to the fact that the real estate was already occupied by several million Indians with their own laws, customs, and notions of property rights. His grant deed was pretty effective, too. Take a look at a western hemisphere map sometime and notice where Spanish is spoken and where Portuguese is spoken—and see how much land the Indians have left.”