This was it all right, thought Scat. The regional court had knuckled under; the _Newsbeam_ was finished. Kemmerdygn's victory was so complete that they were being saved up as a kind of tidbit for the Mystic X. Just like the Martian Clinic in Scarnston. Of course, they'd known it was coming. The _Free Martian_ would demand that the regional government send in troops to prevent violence. Failing there, they would ship some of their own people into Bronsco. If they could. "Thanks for telling us, kid," said Scat. "You better beat it now. No objections! Push him out, Len." * * * * * Slowly the night came down. It was like being in a fortress with the silence, and the pocket illuminators casting a ghostly light and every now and then one of the Martians clicking a terse report. Scat's stump bothered him. Gradually a crowd gathered, outside the range of Martian telepathy, but inside perception. "Mostly pensioners, but some bug guard," one of the Martians coded. "Donnolan's there, and...." He ticked off the names of a half dozen fairly prominent Bronsco figures. "Hold on; there's a new contingent moving in; they're wearing masks." The talk-see began to work again. "Jonas Scatterday and Len Cutt, we're giving you one more chance. We want all of you outside. You two come out with your hands in the air, your bugs on all fours." "We don't propose to die so quietly," Scat answered. "If you want us, come get us. I intend to defend my property. We're armed--_all_ of us." Arming bugs! If they'd had any chance, that action had queered it. The minutes dragged. From somewhere a pellet gun opened up and began to rattle interminably against the glastic. Len began to swear in a low, steady voice. The Martians moved their guns around as if admiring the internal workmanship. Scat realized that he was tapping out "Come on, Come on," in Martian code over and over again with his duraplast fingers. "There's a new bunch joined them," a Martian informed him finally. "They seem to be arguing. I don't know about what--too far. They're moving off!" "Kemmerdygn Interests calling Mr. Scatterday." They all started at that musical voice--even the Martians. Scat jumped for the desk and flipped on the screen. He recognized the secretary he had conferred with. "Mr. Kemmerdygn hopes you haven't suffered any unpleasantness," she informed him smilingly. "He took steps as soon as he heard you were in trouble. He particularly desires you to resume publication of the evening edition of the _Newsbeam_. Oh, and about that article you were planning. He would like to confer on it at some later date. You _will_ finish beaming the evening edition, won't you? Good evening." As she flashed off, Len began to swear again, but in a different vein. "There's more in this than ..." Scat began. "... but we got tapes to beam. Get going!" * * * * *