"Maybe because you're scared to go yourself." Her voice had a cutting edge that grated along Sanderson's nerves. Beside him, he heard L'Sor's sharply indrawn breath, a sure sign of rising anger in the Martian.
"Why don't you go to this ruler and demand water?" The schoolteacher continued. "You're the leader here. Are you going to let your people starve?"
Sanderson wiped a thin film of sweat from his face. "Nobody has starved yet."
"How long before 'yet' becomes 'Died of Starvation A.D. 2179' on a tombstone? Or will Malovel let you erect tombstones?"
"He hasn't objected yet."
"Why don't you do something about this?"
"There are two reasons. One is our own bargain, our own agreement. The other is the esse. Malovel has the esse."
"What's the esse?"
"It's a weapon," Sanderson said, uncomfortably. "We don't talk much about it."
"Which means you're scared and don't knew what you're afraid of. I still think—EEK!" A gust of sharp, protesting sound exploded from her lips. A hand came up. With her index finger, she made little jabbing motions toward the chair where Early had been sitting.