Chapter 5

Maya Cara Nome looked from her furnished room through cracked shutters at the building across the street.

A barber college. The building at 49 Sage Avenue, Mars City, was a barber college.

That surprised her. She didn’t know exactly what she had expected: a hospital, perhaps, or even a kindergarten. But a barber college!

But the source of the information she had received that 49 Sage Avenue was the address she sought was unimpeachable. She had ferreted it out, after a long time and through devious ways, and she was sure she could trust it.

“The Childress Barber College” read the neatly lettered sign above the door. Maya’s landlady, moon-faced Mrs. Chan, had pointed out Oxvane Childress to her as he left the building one day: a big man, comfortably stomached, with a heavy brown beard which, even at that distance, she could see was shot with gray.

As innocent as you please. Childress came out and went in, the students went in and came out. Still, it was the address she had been given.

Maya had to gain entrance to the building. She could learn nothing watching it from outside. She was established here as a tourist from Earth; besides, the position and activities of women were prescribed rigidly by Martian colonial convention, and women did not study to become barbers on Mars.

She would have to have help. She, thought at once of Nuwell, and as immediately rejected him.

“Maya, I don’t see why you insist on working alone,” he had complained. “I can set the whole machinery of government in motion to help you, whenever you need it.”

“Primarily because you’re well known and your activities are observed,” she had answered. “Your whole government machinery hasn’t been effective in tracking down the rebel headquarters yet, and it’s reasonable to assume that the rebels have a fairly effective intelligence network. My job is to find that headquarters, and if I were seen very often with you or tried to utilize your government machinery, they’d have me pinpointed pretty soon.”

She left the window, filled a tiny basin with precious water, shrugged out of her negligee and sponged her small, perfect body. She donned form-fitting tunic, briefs and short skirt, pulled on knee-length socks and laced up Martian walking shoes. She spent some time preparing her hair and face.

Then she left the room and the house and walked uptown. The walk was about a kilometer, along sidewalks bordered by cubical, functional houses and trim lawns of terrestrial grass and small trees. Above the city, its dome was opalescent in the morning sun.

The small houses gave way to larger business buildings, also cubical, and the lawns dwindled and vanished. Farther down, the buildings were even larger and the streets were wider and busier; but she was not going into the heart of Mars City.

She turned into an office building, and studied the directory in the lobby. The offices were those of doctors and lawyers. On the directory she found “Charlworth Scion, Attorney-at-Law, Room 207.”

There was no elevator. Maya walked up the stairs and down a corridor, finding a door that had nothing on it but the number. She turned the knob and went in.

The small outer office was uninhabited. It was carpeted and desked, with two straight chairs against a wall, for clients. Through a door, she could see part of the inner office, cluttered and stacked with papers and books.

She stood there, hesitating. The outer door clicked shut behind her. At the sound, a gray-haired, preoccupied man with spectacles and stooped shoulders peered from the inner office.

“Oh!” he said. “I’m sorry, my secretary went to lunch a bit early today. Can I help you, Miss?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Scion,” she said.

“I’m Charlworth Scion.”

“Terra outshines the Sun,” said Maya.

Scion’s eyes were suddenly wary behind the spectacles.

“Well, well,” he murmured. “Come in, please.”

She went into the cluttered inner office, and Scion closed and locked the door.

“And you are... ?” said Scion behind his desk, his pale hands fumbling aimlessly with papers.

“Maya Cara Nome,” she said.

Scion found a paper and scanned it. He apparently found her name there.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he admitted. “Our information was that you would be working entirely alone.”

“I am,” said Maya. “Or I was. I was told not to contact you unless I had to, Mr. Scion, but it seems I’m going to need some help.”

Scion inclined his head, but said nothing.

“As you may or may not know, my specific assignment is to locate the nerve center of rebellious activity,” said Maya. “It seems that the rebels have an intelligence network about as effective as the government’s, and it was felt that a woman tourist from Earth might be successful where any unusual probing by local agents might arouse suspicion.”

“That’s true,” conceded Scion. “I doubt that they’re really sure of the identity of more than a few of our agents, but sometimes I think they have a card file on every person on Mars. We have to be very careful that movements of our agents are consistent with their pretended occupations.”

“I have a reliable tip that their nerve center is the Childress Barber College here,” she said. “I can’t find out anything, though, unless I get into the building over a period of time. As a woman, I can’t very well apply to study barbering.”

“No,” said Scion. “I see your problem.”

He turned to a filing cabinet, unlocked it and searched through it, whistling tunelessly. He found a folder, pulled it out and studied it.

“If it is, they’ve certainly kept it well covered,” he said. “There’s not a mark of suspicion entered against the Childress Barber College. But here’s a possibility for getting you in. The barber college employs one secretary, female. Now, if you could take her place...”

Maya smiled.

“I might as well apply as a barber student,” she said. “You propose to remove a trusted member of their own group from their midst and replace her with a complete unknown?”

“We don’t know that she’s a rebel,” answered Scion. “If she isn’t, she can be lured away to another job at a much better salary. If she is, and can’t be lured ... well, there are other methods. The Mars City Employment Agency is operated by one of our agents, and you’ll be the only secretary available when the barber college asks for a woman to fill her place.

“Believe me, Miss Cara Nome, as easy as it is for a woman to get married on Mars, it is difficult to find women to do any sort of business work. It won’t seem at all strange that you’re the only one available.”

“The only trouble is that I’m known in the neighborhood as a tourist from Earth,” objected Maya.

“Well,” said Scion, “things have been more expensive than you planned for on Mars. You’ve run short of money. You have to work for a while to pay living expenses here until the next ship leaves for Earth.”

“My account at the bank?”

“It will vanish quietly from the records,” said Scion with a smile. “The bank is a government institution.”

“Very well,” said Maya, taking her purse from his desk. “Let me know when I’m to apply.”

“You won’t hear from me again,” said Scion, shaking his head. “The employment agency will notify you to appear at the barber college for an interview.”

Maya knew of Scion only as her emergency contact on Mars. She did not know what position he held in that underground network of terrestrial agents which was largely unknown even to Nuwell Eli, the government prosecutor. But, whatever his position, he got things done in a hurry.

Within two weeks, Maya was typing up applications, examination reports and supply orders in the Childress Barber College, joking and flirting with barber students between classes, and naively declaiming to her ostensible employer, phlegmatic Oxvane Childress, how lucky it was for her that she was able to get a job right across the street from her rooming house.