Fuchs nodded gravely, as if afraid to speak.
“Why would he bug the rooms?”
“To learn what we plan to say to him, what our position will be in the negotiation, what our bottom figure will be.” There was more, but he hesitated to tell her. Pancho had hinted that Humphries videotaped his own sexual encounters in the bedroom of his palatial home. Would the man have cameras hidden in
Abruptly, he strode to the phone console sitting on an end table and called for the registration desk.
“Sir?” asked the clerk’s image on the wallscreen. A moment earlier it had been a Vickrey painting of nuns and butterflies.
“This suite is unacceptable,” Fuchs said, while Amanda stared at him. “Is there another one available?”
The clerk grinned lazily. “Why, yessir, we have several suites unoccupied at the moment. You may have your pick.”
Fuchs nodded. Humphries can’t have them all bugged, he thought.
“I’m glad you decided to meet me in person,” Martin Humphries said, smiling from behind his wide desk. “I think we can settle our business much more comfortably this way.”
He leaned back, tilting the desk chair so far that Fuchs thought the man was going to plant his feet on the desktop. Humphries seemed completely at ease in his own office in the mansion he had built for himself deep below the lunar surface. Fuchs sat tensely in the plush armchair in front of the desk, feeling uneasy, wary, stiffly uncomfortable in the gray business suit that Amanda had bought for him at an outrageous price in the hotel’s posh store. He had left Amanda in the hotel; he did not want her in the same room as Humphries. She had acquiesced to his demand, and told her husband that she would go shopping in the Grand Plaza while he had his meeting.
Humphries waited for Fuchs to say something. When he just sat there in silence, Humphries said, “I trust you had a good night’s sleep.”
Suddenly Fuchs thought of hidden cameras again. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, thank you.”
“The hotel is comfortable? Everything all right?”
“The hotel is fine.”
The third person in the room was Diane Verwoerd, sitting in the other chair in front of the desk. She had angled it so that she faced Fuchs more than Humphries. Like her boss, she wore a business suit. But while Humphries’s dark burgundy suit was threaded with intricate filigrees of silver thread, Verwoerd’s pale ivory outfit was of more ordinary material. Its slit skirt, however, revealed a good deal of her long slim legs.
Silence stretched again. Fuchs looked at the holowindow behind Humphries’s desk. It showed the lush garden outside the house, bright flowers and graceful trees. Beautiful, he thought, but artificial. Contrived. An ostentatious display of wealth and the power to flaunt one man’s will. How many starving, homeless people on Earth could Humphries help if he wanted to, instead of creating this make-believe Eden for himself here on the Moon?
At last Verwoerd said crisply, all business, “We’re here to negotiate the final terms of your sale of Helvetia Limited to Humphries Space Systems.”
“No, we are not,” said Fuchs.
Humphries sat up straighter in his chair. “We’re not?”
“Not yet,” Fuchs said to him. “First we must deal with several murders.”
Humphries glanced at Verwoerd; for just that instant he seemed furious. But he regained his composure almost immediately.
“And just what do you mean by that?” she asked calmly.
Fuchs said, “At least three prospectors’ ships have disappeared over the past few weeks. Humphries Space Systems somehow acquired the claims to the asteroids that those prospectors were near to.”
“Mr. Fuchs,” said Verwoerd, with a deprecating little smile, “you’re turning a coincidence into a conspiracy. Humphries Space Systems has dozens of ships scouting through the Belt.”
“Yes, and it’s damned expensive, too,” Humphries added.
“Then there is the out-and-out murder of Niles Ripley on Ceres by a Humphries employee,” Fuchs went on doggedly.
Humphries snapped, “From what I hear, you took care of that yourself. Vigilante justice, wasn’t it?”
“I stood trial. It was declared justifiable self-defense.”
“Trial,” Humphries sniffed. “By your fellow rock rats.”
“Your employee murdered Niles Ripley!”
“Not by my orders,” Humphries replied, with some heat. “Just because some hothead on my payroll gets himself into a brawl, that’s not my doing.”
“But it was to your benefit,” Fuchs snapped.
Coolly, Verwoerd asked, “How do you come to that conclusion, Mr. Fuchs?”
“Ripley was the key man in our habitat construction program. With him gone, the work is stopped.”
“So?”
“So once you acquire Helvetia, the only organization capable of finishing the project will be HSS.”
“And how does that benefit me?” Humphries demanded. “Finishing your silly-assed habitat doesn’t put one penny into my pocket.”
“Not directly, perhaps,” said Fuchs. “But making Ceres safer and more livable will bring more people out to the Belt. With your company in control of their supplies, their food, the air they breathe, even, how can you fail to profit?”
“You’re accusing me—”
Verwoerd interrupted the budding argument. “Gentlemen, we’re here to negotiate the sale of Helvetia, not to discuss the future of the Asteroid Belt.”
Humphries glared at her again, but took in a breath and said grudgingly, “Right.”
Before Fuchs could say anything, Verwoerd added, “What’s done is done, and there’s no way of changing the past. If an HSS employee committed murder, you made him pay the full price for it.”
Fuchs searched for something to say.
“Now we should get down to business,” said Verwoerd, “and settle on a price for Helvetia.”
Humphries immediately jumped in with, “My original offer was based on your total assets, which have gone down almost to nothing since the fire in your warehouse.”
“Which was deliberately set,” Fuchs said.
“Deliberately set?”
“It was no accident. It was arson.”
“You have proof of that?”
“We have no forensics experts on Ceres. No criminal investigators.”
“So you have no proof.”
“Mr. Fuchs,” Verwoerd said, “we are prepared to offer you three million international dollars for the remaining assets of Helvetia Limited, which—frankly—amounts to the good will you’ve generated among the miners and prospectors, and not much more.”
Fuchs stared at her for a long, silent moment. So sure of herself, he thought. So cool and unruffled and, yes, even beautiful, in a cold, distant way. She’s like a sculpture made of ice.
“Well?” Humphries asked. “Frankly, three million is pretty much of a gift. Your company’s not worth half that much, in real terms.”
“Three hundred million,” Fuchs murmured.
“What? What did you say?”
“You could make your offer three hundred million. Or three billion. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to sell to you.”
“That’s stupid!” Humphries blurted.
“I won’t sell to you at any price. Never! I’m going back to Ceres and starting all over again.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Am I? Perhaps so. But I would rather be crazy than give in to you.”
“You’re just going to get yourself killed,” Humphries said.
“Is that a threat?”
