The Rock Rats

Humphries nodded and cut the connection. Wide awake now, he bunched the pillows behind him and sat back comfortably, then commanded the computer to show the display from the picocameras built into Diane Verwoerd’s apartment. She had searched her quarters several times, seeking the bugs, Humphries knew. But no one had found the microscopic cameras built into the apartment’s wiring.

Four dark pictures quartered Humphries’s bedroom wall-screen, one view of each room in Diane’s apartment: sitting room, bedroom, kitchen, lavatory. He switched to infrared mode and saw that she was lying asleep in her bed. For two days she had searched Selene for Harbin and not found him. Humphries had secreted the mercenary far from her prying eyes. And fed the man with drugs that heightened his normal sense of betrayal, elevated his anger into homicidal fury. Years earlier chemists had developed hallucinogenic PCPs such as angel dust out of the primitive natural amphetamines. What Humphries’s people were feeding Harbin was far more sophisticated, fine- tuned to turn him into a raging maniac.

Now Humphries sat back in his bed and waited for the conclusion of this little drama that Diane Verwoerd had brought upon herself. Try to force me to knuckle under to you, will you? Blackmail me? Threaten me? Well, now you’ll get what you deserve, you little slut.

Harbin found her door at last. He hesitated a moment, head swimming, fist poised to rap on the door. And give her a chance to call for help? Give her a chance to hide her latest lover?

He forced the lock on the sliding door easily and stepped inside her shadowy living room. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then he padded silently to her bedroom door. Something smelled rank, foul, and he realized it was his own body odor. She’s done this to me, he told himself. She’s made me into a pig.

Like Circe, he thought, peering into the shadows to make out her sleeping form on the bed. The enchantress who turns men into swine.

She was alone, he saw. He moved to the night table and switched on the lamp.

Diane awoke slowly, blinked up at him, then smiled.

“Dorik, where have you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

Then she saw the murderous look on his unshaved face. She sat up and let the covers slip to her waist.

“What’s the matter? What’s wrong? You look terrible.”

He stared down at her. How many times had he caressed those breasts? How many other men had shared her body?

“Dorik, what’s happened?”

His voice, when he found it, was little more than a croak. “Are you pregnant?”

The shock on her face was all the answer he needed. “I was going to tell you—”

“With Humphries’ baby?”

“Yes, but-”

She got no farther. He seized her by the throat and pulled her off the bed, squeezing hard with both hands. She flailed her arms pitifully as he throttled her. Her eyes glazed, her tongue bulged out of her gagging mouth. Still crushing her larynx with one hand, Harbin grabbed her protruding tongue with the other, dug his nails into it and pulled it out of her lying mouth. Her shriek of pain drowned in the blood gushing from her mouth. Harbin relaxed his grip on her throat just enough to let her strangle on her own blood, gurgling, moaning, her hands sliding down his arms until her arms hung limp and dead.

Watching from his bed, Humphries felt his guts churn and heave. He lurched to his feet and staggered to the lavatory, Diane’s last bubbling moans lost in his own retching agony. By the time he had wiped his face and stumbled back into his bedroom, the wallscreen showed Harbin on his knees, sobbing inconsolably, Diane lying on the floor beside him, her face spattered with blood, her eyes staring sightlessly.

He ripped her tongue out! Humphries said to himself, gagging again. My god, he’s a monster!

Crawling back into bed, he switched off the camera view and called Grigor, who was waiting patiently in his office.

“Diane Verwoerd’s had a heart attack,” Humphries said to his security chief, struggling to keep his voice even. “A fatal one. Get a reliable crew to her apartment to clean the place up and take care of the body.”

Grigor nodded once. “And Harbin?”

“Get him tranquilized and tucked away in a safe place. Better bring a team. He won’t trank easily.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to silence him?”

Humphries laughed bitterly. “With this hanging over him? He’s silenced, believe it. And he’s still available to do whatever I need him to do.”

“Still…”

“I’ll find plenty of work for him, don’t worry,” Humphries said. “Just keep him away from me. I don’t want him in the same room with me, ever again.” He thought a moment, then added, “I don’t want him on the same planet with me.”

CHAPTER 59

Lars Fuchs looked up in surprise when he heard the knock at his door. He shut down the drama he’d been watching—Sophocles’ Antigone—and called out, “Come in.” It was George again, looking grim. Fuchs rose from his chair. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Time to go,” George said.

Even though he knew this moment was inevitable, Fuchs felt startled. His insides went hollow. “Now?”

“Now,” said George.

There were two armed men outside his door, both strangers to Fuchs. He walked stolidly beside George up the dusty tunnel, trying to suppress the irritation that rasped in his lungs and throat. He couldn’t do it, and broke into a racking cough. “Shoulda brought masks,” George mumbled. “What difference does it make?” Fuchs asked, as he tried to bring his coughing under control.

George hacked a bit, too, as they walked along the tunnel. Fuchs realized they were headed upward, toward the airlock that opened onto the surface. Maybe that’s how they’ll execute me, he thought: toss me outside without a suit.

But they stopped short of the airlock. George ushered Fuchs into a sizable chamber while the two armed guards stayed out in the dust.

Fuchs saw that his former crew were all there. They all turned toward him.

“Nodon… Sanja… you’re all right, all of you?”

The six of them nodded and even smiled. Nodon said, “We are quite all right, Captain sir.”

“They’re leavin’,” George said. “Your ship’s been refitted and fueled up. They’re headin’ out into the Belt.”

“Good,” Fuchs said. “I’m glad.”

“And you’re goin’ with them,” George added, his shaggy face deeply creased with a worried frown.

“Me? What do you mean?”

George took a heavy breath, then explained, “We’re not goin’ to execute you, Lars. You’re bein’ exiled. For life. Get out and don’t come back. Ever.”

“Exiled? I don’t understand.”

“We talked it over, me an’ the council. We decided to exile you. That’s it.”

“Exile,” Fuchs repeated, stunned, unable to believe it.

“That’s right. Some people won’t like it, but that’s what we fookin’ decided.”

“You’re saving my life, George.”

“If you call flittin’ out in the Belt like a bloody Flyin’ Dutchman savin’ your life, then, yeah, that’s what we’re doin’. Just don’t ever try to come back here, that’s all.”

For weeks Fuchs had been preparing himself mentally to be executed. He realized now that his preparations had been nothing short of a pitiful sham. An enormous wave of gratitude engulfed him. His knees felt watery; his