Mercury

mind taunted. He pulled all the strings for this vast murderous conspiracy from his retreat in the Himalayas. Try getting the authorities to buy that.

Alexios shook his head slowly. No, I’m not going to try to get the authorities to do anything. I’m going to take care of Yamagata myself. I’m going to end this thing once and for all.

He told the phone to call Saito Yamagata.

Yamagata was clearly uncomfortable about being out on the surface; Alexios could see the unhappy frown on his face through the visor of his helmet. Don’t worry, he said silently, you won’t be out here long. Only for the rest of your life.

The two men were riding a slow, bumping tractor across the bleak surface of Mercury, dipping down into shallow craters and then laboring up the other side, moving farther and farther from the base. It was night; the Sun would not rise for another hour, but the glow of starlight and the pale glitter of the zodiacal light bathed the bleak landscape in a cold, silvery radiance.

Despite all the months he’d been on Mercury, Alexios still could not get accustomed to the little planet’s short horizon. It was like the brink of a cliff looming too close; the edge of the world. In the airless vacuum the horizon was sharp and clear, no blurring or softening with distance, a knife edge: the solid world ended and the black infinity of space lay beyond.

“You’ll be out of camera range in two more minutes,” the base controller’s calm flat voice said in Alexios’s helmet earphones.

“You have a satellite track on us, don’t you?” he asked.

“Affirmative. Two of ’em, as a matter of fact.”

“Our beacon’s coming through all right?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good enough.”

Even though the tractor’s glassteel cabin was pressurized, both Yamagata and Alexios were wearing full spacesuits, their helmet visors closed and sealed. Safety regulations, Alexios had told Yamagata when the older man had grumbled about getting into the uncomfortable suit.

“How far are we going to go?” Yamagata asked as the tractor slewed around a house-sized boulder.

Taking one gloved hand off the steering controls to point out toward the horizon, Alexios said, “We’ve got to get to the other side of that fault line. Then we’ll double back.”

Yamagata grunted, and the frown on his face relaxed, but only slightly.

It had been easy enough to get him down to the planet’s surface.

“I’d like to show you the site we’re considering for the mass driver,” Alexios had told Yamagata. “Naturally, we can’t make the final decision. That’s up to you.”

Yamagata’s image in Alexios’s wall screen had turned thoughtful. “Is it necessary for me to inspect this location personally?”

Choosing his words carefully, Alexios had replied, “I understand, sir, that it’s inconvenient and uncomfortable to come down here to the surface. Even a little dangerous, to be truthful.”

Yamagata had stiffened at that. Drawing himself up to his full height, he’d told Alexios, “I will come to the base tomorrow. My transportation coordinator will inform you of when you may expect me.”

Alexios had smiled. Touch the man on his Japanese brand of machismo and you’ve got him. The old samurai tradition. He doesn’t want to lose face in front of his employees.

“I received a report from my son’s technical experts in Japan,” Yamagata said, staring straight ahead as he sat alongside Alexios in the lumbering tractor. “They believe your numbers on the solar cell degradation problem are exaggerated.”

Alexios knew perfectly well that they were. “Exaggerated?” he asked.

“Overstated,” said Yamagata, his voice muffled slightly by the spacesuit helmet.

It was impossible to shrug inside the heavy suit. Alexios said smoothly, “I admit that I showed you the worst-case numbers. I thought it best that way.”

Yamagata grunted. “We may not have to harden the power satellites after all.”

“That’s good news, then,” Alexios replied. It didn’t matter now, he thought. None of it mattered any more.

Yamagata was silent for several kilometers. Then, “What makes you think this is the best site for the catapult launcher?” he demanded. “If it takes this long to get there, why is this site so preferable?”

Alexios smiled behind his visor. “It’s that blasted fault line. If you approve the site, we’ll bridge over it. But right now we have to go all the way around it. Won’t be long now, though.”

Yamagata nodded and seemed to settle down inside his suit.

It won’t be long now, Alexios repeated silently.

FREIGHTER XENOBIA

Lara Tierney Molina could not sleep. Victor lay beside her, dead to the world on the sedatives and tranquilizers he’d been taking ever since boarding the creaking old freighter, coasting now on a four-month trajectory back to Selene.

The clock’s digits glowing in the darkness read 12:53. She slipped out of bed, groped in the shadows of the darkened stateroom for the first dress she could find in her travel bag, and pulled it on. Victor would sleep for hours more, she knew. She tiptoed to the door, opened it as softly as she could, and stepped out into the passageway. As she slid the door closed and heard the faint click of its lock, she wondered which way led to the galley.

I have to think, she told herself as she walked slowly along the passageway. Its plastic walls were scuffed and dulled from long use, the floor tiles even worse. Xenobia had ferried a set of solar power satellites to Mercury for Yamagata’s project; now its only cargo was a disgraced New Morality bishop, a humiliated astrobiologist, and herself. The IAA was paying Victor’s fare and her own. The New Morality had refused to pay for Danvers’s return; Saito Yamagata had graciously taken care of it.

Victor had demanded a hearing before the IAA’s disciplinary board. McFergusen will chair that meeting, Lara thought. I’ll have to tell them what Mance confessed to me. No, not Mance. He’s a different man, this Dante Alexios. He’s no longer Mance Bracknell.

Deep inside her she wondered why she hadn’t told Victor about Alexios’s confession. Victor was dazed and thick-witted from the tranquilizers that Yamagata’s medical people had dosed him with, but she knew that wasn’t the reason. Could she believe this Alexios person? Is he really Mance? How else would he know about how we met? He must be Mance. But that makes it even worse, even more complicated. Mance deliberately ruined Victor, revenged himself on poor Victor like some savage out of the dark ages. I’ll have to tell Victor, I can’t keep this from him. It might save his career, save his life.

Yet she hesitated, wondering, uncertain of herself or anything. Victor had lied at Mance’s trial? Perjured himself to get rid of Mance? For me? How can I believe that? How can I believe any of this?

She saw a phone screen on the passageway wall and called up a schematic of the ship’s interior layout. She’d been heading in the wrong direction, she saw. Turning, she started more confidently toward the galley. No one else was in the passageway at this time of night. There’s probably a crew on duty in the bridge, Lara thought. Otherwise they’re all sleeping.

All but me. I can save Victor. I’ll go to the meeting and tell them that he was deliberately duped by false evidence planted by Dante Alexios. I can clear Victor’s name. Elliott’s, too.

And what happens to Dante Alexios? she asked herself. She thought she knew. McFergusen and his committee would not take her unsupported word. They’d want corroboration. They would send investigators to Mercury to question Mance-Alexios. And what if he claims innocence? What if he tells them my story is a total fabrication, a desperate attempt to save my husband?

The galley was empty. Nothing more than a small metal table and four swivel chairs bolted to the deck, with a row of food and drink dispensers lining one wall. Lara poured herself a mug of tepid coffee and sat wearily in one of the chairs.

I’ll have to tell them that Alexios is really Mance Bracknell, she realized. They’ll run tests on him to settle his