The Rock Rats

“What spooks me,” George was saying, “is how the fookin’ bastard knew where our antennas were.”

He and Nodon were taking off their spacesuits, dog-tired after a five-hour EVA. They had patched the laser- punched holes in the propellant tanks, but most of the hydrogen and helium had already leaked away. Their communication antennas, even the backups, were slagged and useless.

“He must have had complete specs on this ship,” Nodon said, as he lifted off the torso of his hard-shell suit and placed it carefully on its rack. “Every detail.”

“Every fookin’ detail,” George agreed. He sat on the tiny bench in front of the suit racks, filling it so completely that Nodon sat on the deck to start removing his boots. George felt too weary even to bend over and pull his boots off.

Piece by piece they finished unsuiting at last, then made their way to the galley. George mused aloud, “Y’know, somebody must’ve given him the specs for this ship.”

“Yes,” Nodon agreed, trailing along behind him. The passageway was too narrow for them to proceed side by side.

“But who? This is a piece of private property, its specs aren’t public knowledge. You can’t look ’em up in a fookin’ net site.”

Nodon scratched his lean, bristly chin, then suggested, “Could he have access to the manufacturer’s records?”

“Or to the maintenance files at Ceres, maybe,” George muttered.

“Yes, that is possible.”

“Either way,” said George, with growing conviction, “it has to be somebody in Humphries Space Systems. Their people do the maintenance on it.”

“Not Astro?”

“Naw. HSS offered me a bargain price if I signed up for the maintenance contract.”

“Then it must be someone in HSS,” Nodon agreed.

“But why? Why did the bastard attack us?”

“To invalidate the claim to the asteroid, certainly.”

George shook his head irritatedly. “There’s millions of rocks in the Belt. And Humphries is the richest shrewdie in the fookin’ solar system. What’s he need a lousy asteroid claim for?”

“Perhaps not him,” Nodon said. “Perhaps someone in his corporation.”

“Yeah.” George nodded. “Maybe.”

With a resigned shrug, Nodon said, “It is all academic, anyway.”

“Whatcha mean, mate?”

Tapping a lean finger against the small wallscreen that displayed the galley’s contents, Nodon pointed out, “We have enough food for only another twenty-two days. Perhaps as much as forty days, if we cut our daily ration to starvation level.”

George grunted at him. “No sense starvin’ ourselves. We’re gonna die anyway.”

CHAPTER 21

Through the week-long trip on the Harper, Amanda sensed a strangeness in her husband, something odd, different, something she couldn’t put her finger on. He seemed—not distant, exactly— certainly not distant: Lars spent almost the entire journey in bed with her, making love with a fierce intensity she had never known before. And yet, even in the midst of their passion there was something withdrawn about him; something that he was hiding from her. She had always been able to read his thoughts before: one look at the set of his jaw and she knew. He had never held anything back from her. But now his face was impassive, his expression guarded. His deepset blue eyes showed her nothing.

It frightened Amanda to realize that Lars was keeping a secret from her. Perhaps more than one.

Once they arrived back at their quarters on Ceres and began unpacking their travel bags, Amanda decided to confront the issue directly.

“Lars, what’s the matter?”

He was stuffing a handful of socks and underwear into his bureau drawer. “The matter?” he asked, without looking up at her. “What do you mean?”

“Something’s on your mind and you’re not sharing it with me.” Straightening up, he came back toward her at the bed. “I’m thinking of everything that we have to do. The insurance, restocking the warehouse, getting Starpower back.”

Amanda sat on the bed, next to her opened bag. “Yes, of course. And what else?”

His eyes shifted away from her. “What else? Isn’t that enough?”

“There’s something more, Lars. Something that’s been bothering you since we left Selene.”

He looked down at her, then turned his attention to his travel bag again, started rummaging through it, muttering about his shaving kit.

Amanda put her hand atop his, stopping him. “Lars, please tell me.”

He straightened up. “There are some things you shouldn’t know, dear.”

“What?” She felt shocked. “What things?”

He almost smiled. “If I told you, then you would know.”

“It’s about Martin, isn’t it? You’ve been this way ever since your meeting with him.”

Fuchs took a deep breath. She could see his chest expand and then deflate again. He pushed his bag aside and sat next to her on the bed.

“All through our trip back here,” he said, his voice heavy, low, “I’ve been trying to think of a way that we can stop him from gaining complete control of the Belt.”

“So that’s it.”

He nodded, but she could see that there was still more. His eyes looked troubled, uncertain.

“He wants that. He wants complete control of everyone and everything out here. He wants absolute power.”

Amanda blurted, “What of it? Lars, we don’t have to fight against him. We can’t! You’re only one man. You can’t stop him.”

“Someone has to do it.”

“But not you! Not us! We can cash in the insurance money and go back to Earth and forget about all this.”

With a slow shake of his head, Fuchs said, “Perhaps you can forget about it. I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“I can’t.”

“Lars, you’re obsessed with a foolish macho delusion. This isn’t a battle between you and Martin. There’s nothing to fight about! I love you. After all these years, don’t you know that? Don’t you believe it?”

“It’s gone beyond that,” Fuchs said grimly.

“Beyond …?”

“He’s killed people. Friends of ours. Ripley. The men and women aboard the ships that have disappeared. He’s a murderer.”

“But what can you do about it?”

“I can fight.”

“Fight?” Amanda felt truly frightened now. “How? With what?”

He held up his thick-fingered hands and slowly clenched them into fists. “With my bare hands, if I have to.”

“Lars, that’s crazy! Insane!”

He snapped, “Don’t you think I know it? Don’t you think it horrifies me down to the bottom of my soul? I’m a civilized man. I’m not a Neanderthal.”

“Then why… ?”

“Because I must. Because there’s an anger in me, a fury that won’t let go of me. I