The ambassador stepped away from his desk, moving across the cabin. Martel held her ground, though every instinct she had was urging her to back up. His eyes still riveted to hers, Hawkes snarled, "You figure all that out, then you tell me who it was that had my home attacked— who it is that's responsible forkilling seven members of my staff. . . burning my home down . . . all the rest of it. You find out who sent the people who did all that. All right? You want a job, there's your job."
"Ah, okay . . . certainly, sir. If I might . . ."
Hawkes paid no attention to the words the young woman was saying. Closing in on her, backing her the rest of the way to the door with his presence, he snapped, "And I'll give you a little message to go with it: This whole business—the problems between the Martian Colony's provisional government . . . them and their Earth corpor/national sponsors and the unions forming up there and anyone else—all of it . . . I don't care."
The woman swallowed. It was a difficult gesture. Hawkes had rattled her severely. Pulling herself together, she asked, "You don't care about . . . about . . . which aspects, sir?"
"Any of it, Martel. Any of it. I'm going to Mars to find out who tried to kill me. Solving their petty problems seems to be the only way I can get my hands around the throat of the son of a bitch who killed my dog."
"But, Ambassador"—her voice came out weak and strained—"won't you still need someone to assist you . . . do your day-to-day . . . ah, everything?"
Hawkes pulled back a few inches, giving the woman a bit of room. Feeling the smallest bit of sympathy for her, remembering that he did not know if she was a replacement for Stine in any dark sense, he asked, "How is it you were assigned to serve as aide for me, Martel?"
The woman was caught off guard by his shift in tactics. She stumbled for a split second, then told him, "I happened to be on the Indian subcontinent when word came in that you were headed for the Martian Colony and that you were traveling unescorted. I was told to drop everything and to get to the Skyhook and rendezvous with you at Lunar."
"And why you?"
"Because I was the closest person to the Skyhook. They said that you were moving fast and that I would just have time to make it if I left immediately."
"So you just dropped your current assignment and jetted right down." The woman turned her eyes away for a moment.
"I wasn't on assignment, sir."
"Oh. You just happened to be in India . . ."
"I was on my honeymoon—sir," she snapped, suddenly tired of whatever game was being played.
"But you were willing to follow the call of duty—even then. How noble of you."
Martel's eyes opened wider. An almost overwhelming urge to strike back at the ambassador roared through her. Catching hold of herself, however, she said, "No, sir. It was not so noble. It's true that I'd like to see the Mars difficulties solved simply because the possibility of doing that kind of work is why I joined the corps in the first place."
More composed, fire building behind her own eyes, she spat, "But in this case, when I was told Benton Hawkes had accepted the Martian posting after all, and that I was supposed to accompany him . . . . You can imagine the thrill. What a coup—Mars and Hawkes on the same plate. Quite a feather in my cap, I thought. Doing the work of a lifetime at the side of a lifelong hero. Now there, I told my husband, was a wedding present."
Smoothing imaginary creases from her skirt and jacket, the woman continued, telling Hawkes, "I left with the clothes on my back. I rode in a car with mining replacement workers—standing room only. Eighteen hours on my feet with less than charming company. But that was okay. I had pulled the prize plum—Martian duty with Benton Hawkes. I missed you at the platform. The next ship out to the Moon was a troopship . . . which didn't leave for a half a day. But there was an asteroid tramper that was making a fuel stop on the Moon. Oh, yes, he was happy to get me there. Happy as a clam."
Hawkes put up his hand, cutting the woman off.
Well, he thought, judging the barely controlled passion in her voice, she's either innocent or a hell of an actress. Ready to bet your life on being able to guess which?
"Martel, you tell a sad story very well. Now tell me something else: Do you know why Ineed an aide? Do you know who you're replacing? Or why?"
"The news didn't get to me until I was able to do a message pickup on the Moon. I was told your last aide was killed."
"Do you know why? Or how?"
"No, sir . . . the memo didn't go into any detail."
"Oh, no? Pity," said Hawkes, making no attempt to mask his sarcasm. "Well, let me tell you. The last aide the corps appointed for me turned out to be a traitor. To me, to the Earth, I'm not sure which, exactly. But he allowed a party of murderers entry to my home and helped them try to kill me."
The woman's eyes went wide again. Hawkes noted the reaction, but he also knew it didn't really tell him anything. She could be shocked out of genuine surprise, or because
