The marsuits were hanging in the hall: Lori's, Vali's and an extra one that looked like it was big enough for Shaan. He stripped off his own worn and dirty one, emerging in brown coveralls, and went into the bathroom.

While he washed, his nebulous plan of action crystalized. First he must gain possession of the heat-guns in the house and cripple the dome radio. It would be dangerous, maintaining constant watch over three hostile people, but he could live here indefinitely while evolving a permanent plan of existence.

He found gauze and adhesive tape in the bathroom cabinet and put a bandage over the flaming brand on his forehead. He walked out into the parlor.

"I called Mars City and told them to send a rescue 'copter," said Vali, gesturing toward the radio in the corner. "Say, what happened to your head?"

"Banged it on the corner of the cabinet," said Shaan. "What did Mars City say?"

"Haven't got a reply yet. Should hear from them in a minute."

He hadn't expected the radio message to be sent until the girls' father arrived. This changed his plans. Now he'd have to appropriate a marsuit and supplies and flee in the dome's groundcar. What then, he didn't know. There could be no refuge for condemned democrats anywhere on Mars.

Vali's gun was strapped to her side now. Lori evidently had taken her own weapon into the kitchen with her. Lori was taking no chances, and not letting her sister take any.

"I left my watch in the bathroom," said Shaan and went back into the hall. Quickly, he appropriated the hypodermics of suspensene from the pockets of two of the marsuits, and stepped back into the parlor.

"Here comes Mars City now," said Vali, donning the earphones.

He stepped up behind her as she turned to fiddle with the dials. His left hand clasped over her mouth, while with his right he plunged the needle into the fleshy part of her upper arm. Dropping the empty hypodermic vial, he caught her wrist as she reached for her gun.

In a moment, Vali went limp. She would remain in suspended animation for approximately twenty-four hours.

The other hypodermic syringe in his hand, Shaan moved through the dining room toward the kitchen.

"Has father 

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