A half hour later he was still trying to persuade Len to take the boys in the truck and make a run for it, when the spokesman of the Young Freeworkers stumbled into the office.
"Ran the slidewalks to warn you, Mr. Scatterday," he panted. "Mystic X. They're planning to get you tonight. Everybody's whispering. There's a lot of cars in the air, and they got big guards on all the trafficways—some of 'em are blocked off."
"What'd I tell you?" crowed Len. "We couldn't have got out anyway."
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.