protection all these years. Well, that’s over now. Over and done with.
“… and later on, in a year or two, we can attempt gene replacement therapy,” the doctor was saying. “Or even nanotherapy, since it’s legal up here.”
Ferrer was nodding as if she were interested.
“Thank you so much for explaining everything, doctor,” Humphries said, getting to his feet.
The physician looked startled, then a flash of anger crossed his face momentarily, but he quickly recovered and got up from his chair.
“Please feel free to call on me at any time, Mr. Humphries. The entire services of the hospital are at your disposal.”
“Certainly.”
Neither man extended his hand to the other.
Once the physician left the office, Ferrer turned to Humphries. “Should I arrange a christening ceremony?”
“Christening?”
“It’s expected for a newborn baby.”
“Which comes first,” Humphries asked bleakly, “her funeral or the brat’s christening?”
Ferrer took a deep breath. Normally it would have roused Humphries but at the moment he ignored it.
“I’ll make the arrangements for both,” she said softly. “What do you want to name the baby?”
“Name?”
“He’s got to have a name.”
“Van. It’s an old family name. My great-grandfather was named Van. He ran off to South America to avoid being drafted by the U.S. Army. A coward. That’s an appropriate name for the little runt, don’t you think?”
“I still don’t see why you’ve gotta meet Lars face to face,” said Big George.
Pancho swung her legs off the recliner’s armrest and got to her feet. “Got something to tell him. Something personal.”
“Somethin’ more than Amanda’s death?”
“Yep.”
“Must be fookin’ important.”
“It is.”
“Well,” George said, getting up from his chair to stand beside her, “I can try gettin’ a message to him. Dunno if he’ll respond, though.”
“He knows me.”
“He
Pancho gave him a long unhappy look, then muttered, “Who the hell is?”
ASTEROID VESTA
Harbin studied the image of Grigor on the wallscreen of his private quarters. A Russian, Harbin said to himself, recalling the way the village elders had spoken of the Russians when he’d been a lad. The Russians are our friends, they intoned, as long as they stay far away from our village.
Grigor’s normally dour, downcast features looked almost happy as he gave Harbin the latest orders from Selene. An important executive of the rival Astro Corporation was at Ceres. Probably she would go deeper into the Belt, seeking a meeting with the renegade Fuchs.
“We will receive tracking data from our informant in the IAA facility at Ceres. You will intercept her vessel and eliminate it. Quite possibly you’ll be able to eliminate Fuchs at the same time. You are to take as many ships as you deem necessary, but in any event no fewer than five. Humphries wants this job done without fail.”
Harbin wanted to answer, “Then let Humphries come out here and do it himself.” But he knew that it would take more than half an hour for any reply from him to reach the Moon. Besides, it wouldn’t be wise to be so disrespectful to the man who pays all the bills.
So he wiped Grigor’s image from his wallscreen and replied merely, “Message received. Will comply.”
Five ships. Grigor thinks that more ships will guarantee success. He has no idea of how difficult it is to coordinate a multiship attack out here. And the more ships we use, the sooner the prey will realize it’s being tracked.
Harbin shook his head in mild disgust. I could do it alone, one ship with a crew of one. Give me the coordinates of the Astro vessel’s course and I’ll intercept it and terminate it. And if Fuchs is in the area I’ll handle him, too.
Leaning back in his padded chair, Harbin locked his fingers behind his head and thought it over. Fuchs is smart, though. Wily, like a badger. He can sniff out danger a thousand kilometers away. Five ships might make sense. Maybe a few more, to go out ahead of me and take up stations that will cut off his line of retreat. Then I’d have him, finally.
He sat up straight, nodded once at the blank wallscreen, then got to his feet and headed for the command center. He needed the latest tracking data on the Astro vessel.
Big George was staring at a wallscreen, too. Pancho sat beside him in his informal office, her eyes glued to the grainy image of Lars Fuchs.
“I received Pancho’s message,” Fuchs said, his broad, jowly face downcast, sour-looking. “Unfortunately, I can’t risk a meeting. Too many of Humphries’s spies might learn of it. Whatever you have to tell me, Pancho, send it in a message.”
The image winked off.
Pancho blinked, then turned to George. “That’s it? That’s his whole message?”
“He doesn’t waste words,” George replied. “ ’Fraid somebody might intercept the beam and get a fix on his location.”
“I’ve got to talk to him,” Pancho said, feeling frustrated. “Face to face.”
George said, “Lots o’ luck.”
Getting to her feet, Pancho said, “I can’t tell him Mandy’s dead over a comm link.”
Shaking his unshorn head, George replied, “He’s not gonna meet with you, Pancho. I di’n’t think he would.”
“I’m not going to lead him into a trap, for cripes sake!”
“Not knowingly.”
She frowned at him.
“Lars hasn’t survived out there for so long by bein’ naive,” George said. “Humphries has had mercenaries tryin’ to bag him. Freelancers, too; the word’s gone ’round the Belt that Humphries’ll pay a bounty for Lars’s head.”
Pancho grimaced. “Mandy told me he promised to leave Lars alone.” “Sure he did,” George replied, scorn dripping from each syllable.
“I’ve got to see him.”
“It’s not gonna happen, Pancho. Face it. Lars is cautious, and I can’t say I blame him.”
Pancho took a deep breath, telling herself, When you’re faced with a stone wall, find a way around it. Or over it. Or tunnel under it, if you have to. What did Dan Randolph always say: When the going gets tough, the tough get going—to where the going’s easier.
“George,” she asked, sitting down next to him again, “how do you get messages to Lars?”
He hesitated a moment. Then, “He’s got a half-dozen or so miniaturized transceivers scattered around on minor asteroids out there. When I squirt a message to one of ’em, I tell him which one I’ll be aimin’ at on the next message.”
“And the transceivers stay on the same ’roids all the time?”
“Naw. Lars moves ’em around. He tells me where they’ll be next when he answers me back.”
Pancho was silent for a few moments, thinking. At last she said, “So you could send him a message and tell
