Floating Worlds by Cecelia Holland Page A

Styths, fierce.
    “Which one of you did that?”
    Paula stepped back to the wall. That was the wrong approach. The doorway to the lobby was packed with the curious faces of guests.
    Sril said, “We do n-nothing. He just falls off.” He still smelled strong.
    The manager fisted his hands. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”
    “Is something wrong?” said a musical bass voice. A rangy Styth sauntered across the gameroom, his eyes on the Martian. Straw-thin, he towered four or five inches over seven feet. His eyes were light brown. Yellow eyes. The Martian rounded on him.
    “Are you their superior officer?”
    “That’s right.” Tanuojin slid his long hands under his belt. “What’s wrong?” He nodded to Sril and the other man. They bolted out the door, the guests jumping out of their way.
    “Hey!” The hotelman wheeled.
    Tanuojin stood over him. For an instant, looking up, the Martian lost his breath. He regained it in a rush. “You must take me for a fool!”
    The tall Styth snorted. He walked off, away from the hotelman. The Martian puffed up. His lips curled. He headed for the door to the lobby.
    “All right, everybody—” He herded people out of the doorway. “Show’s over. Move along.” He turned back toward the Styth. “You’re a bunch of stinking savages. They ought to run you right out of the Universe.” He left.
    Paula stood still. Tanuojin had not noticed her. He strolled across the room to the outside door, where he had come in, and went away. Loose tiltballs rolled around the floor at her feet. The copper smell was fading in the air. Thoughtfully she went out of the gameroom.
     
    Wherever she went, Sril followed her. She walked around the hotel garden, bought photo-cards in the card shop and wrote them out in the lounge and posted them. The Nineveh had its own photo-relay projector, so they would reach the Earth in a few hours. The trade paper arrived from Jefferson in Barsoom and she took it out to the garden to read. The Styth followed her everywhere, looking bored.
    Paula read half the paper and skimmed the second half. She went back into the hotel, her Styth shadow close behind. As she passed the restaurant off the lobby, she caught sight of the Akellar, sitting at the bar.
    The bar stools on either side of him were conspicuously vacant. She went to the one on his left. In the antiqued mirror behind the bar she saw everybody else in the room watching them. The Akellar put his glass down. He beckoned and the barman hurried toward them. The Styth with the nose wire, Sril, stayed about ten feet away.
    Paula said, “Why is he following me around?”
    The man behind the bar poured whiskey into his glass. The Akellar gestured to Sril, who left. “You’re here alone, I wouldn’t want something happening to you. Somebody might blame it on me.” His gaze caught on something in the mirror. She looked; he was watching a girl come into the bar. While the girl crossed the room, met other people, took off her coat and sat down, the Styth looked her over inch by inch. The barman turned to Paula.
    “Can I get you something, dear?”
    If she had been a Martian he would have called her miss. She said, “Do you have ice cream?”
    “Sure.”
    “A brandy float.”
    He sauntered off behind the bar. The Akellar, with nothing else to look at, was watching her. He said, “I haven’t seen that other—that white woman around. Your friend.”
    “My friend. You mean Cam Savenia? She left.”
    He liked that; he made an approving sound in his chest. “You know her, don’t you?” he said, and stopped, his eyes on the mirror again. Another pretty woman was coming into the bar.
    Paula sat back. The barman put a bell-glass of brandy and ice cream in front of her, and she paid him. The Styth ignored her; he was staring at women. She smothered her irritation. She saw a way to use what he was giving away about himself. She took the spoon out of the glass and sipped the creamy brandy. The object of his