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* * *
There was more of the same general meaning, as the mayor's sleek, all-purpose car landed lightly. Some
of the questions must have reached his honor, for he stood up in the open two-seater and held up his
hand for silence.
To Fara's astonishment, the plump-faced man looked at him with accusing eyes. The thing seemed so
impossible that, quite instinctively, Fara looked behind him. But he was almost alone; everybody else
had crowded forward.
Fara shook his head, puzzled by that glare; and then, astoundingly, Mayor Dale pointed a finger at him,
and said in a voice that trembled, "There's the man who's responsible for the trouble that's come upon us.
Stand forward, Fara Clark, and show yourself. You've cost this town seven hundred credits that we could
ill afford to spend."
Fara couldn't have moved or spoken to save his life. He just stood there in a maze of dumb
bewilderment. Before he could even think, the mayor went on, and there was quivering self-pity in his
tone, "We've all known that it wasn't wise to interfere with these weapon shops. So long as the Imperial
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Give Me Liberty
government leaves them alone, what right have we to set up guards, or act against them? That's what I've
thought from the beginning, but this man . . . this . . . this Fara Clark kept after all of us, forcing us to
move against our wills, and so now we've got a seven-hundred-credit bill to meet and "
He broke off with, "I might as well make it brief. When I called the garrison, the commander just
laughed and said that Jor would turn up. And I had barely disconnected when there was a money call
from Jor. He's on Mars."
He waited for the shouts of amazement to die down. "It'll take three weeks for him to come back by ship,
and we've got to pay for it, and Fara Clark is responsible. He "
The shock was over. Fara stood cold, his mind hard. He said finally, scathingly, "So you're giving up
and trying to blame me all in one breath. I say you're all fools."
As he turned away, he heard Mayor Dale saying something about the situation not being completely lost,
as he had learned that the weapon shop had been set up in Glay because the village was equidistant from
four cities, and that it was the city business the shop was after. This would mean tourists, and accessary
trade for the village stores and
Fara heard no more. Head high, he walked back toward his shop. There were one or two catcalls from
the mob, but he ignored them.
He had no sense of approaching disaster, simply a gathering fury against the weapon shop, which had
brought him to this miserable status among his neighbors.
* * *
The worst of it, as the days passed, was the realization that the people of the weapon shop had no
personal interest in him. They were remote, superior, undefeatable. That unconquerableness was a dim,
suppressed awareness inside Fara.
When he thought of it, he felt a vague fear at the way they had transferred Jor to Mars in a period of less
than three hours, when all the world knew that the trip by fastest spaceship required nearly three weeks.
Fara did not go to the express station to see Jor arrive home. He had heard that the council had decided
to charge Jor with half of the expense of the trip, on the threat of losing his job if he made a fuss.
On the second night after Jor's return, Fara slipped down to the constable's house, and handed the officer
one hundred seventy-five credits. It wasn't that he was responsible he told Jor, but
The man was only too eager to grant the disclaimer, provided the money went with it. Fara returned
home with a clearer conscience.
It was on the third day after that the door of his shop banged open and a man came in. Fara frowned as
he saw who it was: Castler, a village hanger-on. The man was grinning.
"Thought you might be interested, Fara. Somebody came out of the weapon shop today."
Fara strained deliberately at the connecting bolt of a hard plate of the atomic motor be was fixing. He
waited with a gathering annoyance that the man did not volunteer further information. Asking questions
would be a form of recognition of the worthless fellow. A developing curiosity made him say finally,
grudgingly, "I suppose the constable promptly picked him up."
He supposed nothing of the kind, but it was an opening.
"It wasn't a man. It was a girl."
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