“That can wait. A walk in the fresh air will be good for you.”
She hesitated a fraction of a second, then capitulated. With a nod, she said, “I’ll meet you at your front door.”
He expected that she would show some strain from the procedure she’d been through, but to Humphries’s eye Diane Verwoerd looked no different than before the implantation.
“The procedure went well?” he asked as they stepped along the brick path that wound through lushly thick bushes of coral pink oleanders and scarlet azaleas.
She gave him a sidelong glance. “The report should be on file.”
“I’ve seen the report,” he replied testily. “I want to know how you feel.”
“Oh,” said Verwoerd. “Concerned for the mother of your son?”
“That’s right.”
She stayed silent for a few steps, then said at last, “I’m fine. Mother and fetus in good condition.”
“Good.”
“By the way, let me offer my congratulations.”
He couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “About Amanda? Thank you.”
They passed a little bench of lunar stone. Verwoerd asked, “Now that you’ll be able to make a baby the old- fashioned way, do you still want me to go to term?”
“Of course I do,” he snapped. “That’s my son you’re talking about.”
“Your clone.”
“I wouldn’t have you abort him. I can have more than one child.”
“But this one,” she patted her stomach lightly, “carries your genes and nobody else’s.”
“Damned right.”
“He won’t be exactly like you, you know,” Verwoerd said, a teasing smile playing across her lips. “Genetically, he’ll be identical, but he’ll be affected by the enzymes of my body and—”
“I know all that,” Humphries interrupted.
“I’m sure you do.”
He glared at her. “You’re downright sassy today, aren’t you?”
“And why shouldn’t I be, Martin? I’m carrying your child. You’re going to reward me very handsomely for that, aren’t you?”
“If the boy is healthy when he’s born.”
“No, I don’t want to wait until then. I want my payoff now. I want a seat on the board of directors. I’ve earned it. And I’ll be a lot better at it than most of those fossils.”
Power, Humphries thought. She’s after power. Aloud, he asked, “Is that all?”
“I want money, too. I want a lot of money, Martin. I know you can afford it.”
He stopped walking and planted his fists on his hips. “Since when do you call me by my given name?”
She smiled saucily. “I’m taking a very large risk for this fetus of yours. I think that works out to a first-name relationship, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Very well then, we’ll keep everything strictly on a business level,
“Ten mil—” He barked out a bitter laugh. “You’re dreaming. I could get a hundred women to do what you’re doing and it wouldn’t cost me a fraction of that.”
Verwoerd began walking along the brick path again, slowly. Humphries had no choice but to follow her.
“Yes, I’m sure you could buy a surrogate mother for your clone on the cheap. But I’m worth ten million. Even more, in fact.”
“Are you?” he asked sullenly, realizing now where she was heading.
“I know a lot about you, about what you’ve done in the Belt. I’ve been a faithful employee,
Strangely, Humphries felt no anger. He almost admired her audacity. “So it’s come to this,” he said.
“Yes, it has.”
With a slow, disappointed shake of his head, Humphries said, “I was afraid you’d get delusions of grandeur. This isn’t the first time an employee of mine had tried to extort money from me.”
“Don’t you think I’m worth ten mil per year?” she asked, rank impudence on her smiling lips.
Before he could think of an appropriate reply, Verwoerd added, “And don’t think you can conveniently get rid of me. I’m not going to have an accident, Martin. I have a very good insurance policy against accidents of all kinds.”
Then it dawned on him. “So that’s why you’re rushing Harbin back here.”
She nodded. “Dorik’s my insurance policy. If you attempt any violence against me, he’ll kill you. He’s good at it. Ask Grigor; Grigor’s terrified of him.”
“Is he?”
“Yes. And for good reason. You should be terrified of him, too, if you think you can get rid of me. It’s cheaper to pay the ten million, Martin. That covers both of us, Dorik and me together.”
“A real bargain,” Humphries growled.
CHAPTER 57
It was maddening. All day long Lars Fuchs paced his one-room apartment like a caged tiger, to the door, turn around, to the far wall where the wallscreen stood blank and mute. Again and again: the door, then past the bed where he and Amanda had slept together, made love together…
He wanted to scream. He wanted to pound the walls, smash down the flimsy door and run through the dusty tunnels until someone shot him down and put an end to it all.
He recalled the phrase the Americans used: cruel and unusual punishment. To be put under house arrest, to be locked in the room that had for so many years been his home, to know that his wife was millions of kilometers away and preparing to marry the man who had ruined his life—better to be dead, better to be out of this endless torture.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bureau and saw a man he hardly recognized, clothes wrinkled and sweat-stained, hair unkempt, jowly face unshaved. He stopped pacing and stared at the image in the mirror: a man steeped in self-pity, wallowing in defeat.
No, he said to himself. I won’t let it end this way. They’ve taken everything from me, but they won’t take my self-respect. No one can do that except I myself.
He tore off his sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower. When the spray turned on automatically, he thought about his water allotment, but then he decided, To hell with it; a condemned man has the right to a decent wash. But as the steamy mist enveloped him he thought of the times when he and Amanda had squeezed into the narrow stall together. It took all his strength to keep from crying.
Freshly dressed and shaved, he asked the phone to call George Ambrose. Less than a quarter-hour later, Big George rapped once on his door and slid it back.
“Hullo, Lars,” the big Aussie said, looking slightly shamefaced. “You wanted to see me?”
Fuchs saw that an armed guard stood out in the tunnel; even with his breathing mask on he recognized the guard as Oscar Jimenez.
“Step in, by all means,” Fuchs said, trying to sound brave. “I welcome a break in the monotony.”
George slid the door shut again and stood uneasily by it. “I di’n’t think how the hours must drag for you, havin’ to stay in here.”
“The only communication I’ve had from outside was a notice from Humphries’s lawyers that Amanda is suing for a divorce.”
“Aw, cripes, Lars,” George said, crestfallen, “I’m sorry about that.”
“I didn’t contest it,” Fuchs went on, almost enjoying the obvious guilt on George’s bearded face. “What
