Hawkes smiled again. The woman was good. His mind flashed back to the Bulldog, focused on the pirate stabbing for him with his electro-staff, saw Martel's bullet blow open the front of his chest.
"What would you think?"
"At this point, Mr. Ambassador, I'd think anyone who wasn't prepared to start negotiations would be someone who thought you weren't going to get here to lead the negotiations."
Hawkes's smile split his face. He was too tired to hide his feelings as he normally might. Besides, not only is she right, he thought, but the woman saved your life. You can give her some of her due.
The ambassador's mind raced. In a moment, a hundred thoughts crowded through his brain. In that flashing split second, his guard down because of his weariness, because of all they had been through together, because she was beautiful and trusting and they were strangers alone in a world unknown, he almost forgot about everything. For a second she had no husband, and he had no reason to keep her out of his life—the way he had everyone for so long.
But the moment ended, and he remembered who he was, and who she was, and why they had gone through all they had in the first place. His all-too-reflexive restraint choking back his sparking feelings, he told her in a low voice, "Well, all I can say is"—the door to the chamber opened to admit the first of the returning negotiators—"if you thought something like that . . . you'd be right."
And then, despite his safeguards, their eyes met. Before he could stop himself, volumes of feeling passed from one to the other as Hawkes's defenses slipped and let the woman see at least a part of who he was. Martel did the same, willing to give as much as she got.
Then, finally understanding each other, the pair turned to face the incoming delegations.
16
HAWKES SET ASIDE THE HAND SCREEN HE HAD BEEN studying for hours and then stretched his arms out to both sides, as far as he could. It had been two days since he had reached the surface of Mars. If he thought he was tired then, he had forgotten what kind of energy it took to stave off angry civil wars. He was bone tired—more weary and drained than he had ever been before in his life.
His opening gambit had succeeded well enough. None of the parties to the negotiations had been totally prepared. The management of Red Planet, Incorporated, and those designated to speak for the workers had brought the most material to the table. The Earth League monitor, the representatives from Lunar City, and those picked to audit the proceedings for the Asteroid Workers Federation came with far less, but that was understandable. They were there mainly as observers in the first place.
All five groups had been a bit miffed when Hawkes merely gathered in the materials they had brought, thanked them politely, and then dismissed them. But he had gotten what he wanted, and that was all that mattered.
As he had explained to Martel later, "They're all annoyed with me right now. Hopefully that's good. Mad at me, they might not take it out on each other—yet. It might keep the lid on things for another few days."
"But," she countered, "isn't it possible that someone might think you're just going to stall everyone and go ahead and step up some violent plan they have?"
Hawkes had nodded in agreement, admitting, "Chance we take."
After that, he had sent his aide to get some rest, and then had done so himself. Twelve hours later, after two showers, two meals, and as much sleep as he could manage with all the reading he had to accomplish, the ambassador sat down with the head representatives of each faction and had a far less dismissive meeting than the first.
He blamed his manner from the day before on a desire to get down to business, combined with a level of fatigue he found he could not combat. "I have to apologize. Never having been through anything like the last few days, I simply didn't realize how great a toll everything had taken on me. Before you know it, I'm going to have to admit I'm not twenty anymore."
He was gracious and humble, stepping back from his gruff attitude the day before. Putting everyone at the table more or less at ease, he then proceeded to solicit their opinions on how fast things should progress, what everyone felt were the most important points to cover, and in what order they should be covered. He allowed no arguments, gently reminding everyone that in the end all decisions would be his.
Finally, after several hours, Hawkes declared that he had everything he needed to proceed. Assuring the assembly that he would be ready to meet with them again in two days, he bid them all farewell. To those who protested, he mentioned the mountains of reports, statement records, briefs, complaints, and declarations they had all given him.
"Do you want a spectator or a mediator? Or, more important, which of you wants to take the chance that your position papers might be the ones I don't get to?"
The protests ceased abruptly.
Settling in, Hawkes and Martel had read throughout the rest of the day. Of course, she ran everything through the computer net provided to them first. Hawkes had given her a list of key names and points to correlate. Using the computer to sift through the millions of screens' worth of material, Martel had pulled together the different parties' slants on each key person involved in the negotiations and how the viewpoints, demands, and objections mixed and matched with one another.
It still
