THE SILENT WAR Page 23

  A long string of routine calls, mostly from Astro offices or board members. But one of the messages was highlighted, blinking in red letters. A Karl Manstein. No identification; just a call with no message attached. Yet it was highlighted. Wanamaker routed the call through Astro's security system, and the Mainstein name dissolved before his eyes, replaced by the name Lars Fuchs.

  Lars Fuchs had called Pancho, Wanamaker realized. He remembered that she had wanted to contact Fuchs and was chewing out her security people because they couldn't find him.

  The man's right under their noses, Wanamaker said to himself. Right here in Selene. But he left no callback number.

  Wanamaker had the computer trace the origin of Fuchs's call. It had come from a wall phone up in the equipment storage area. Is he hiding up there? Wanamaker wondered.

  He picked up the console microphone and instructed the communications computer to put through any call from Fuchs or Karl Manstein directly to him.

  Nothing to do but wait, Wanamaker thought, leaning back in the console's little wheeled chair. Wait to see what's happening with Pancho. Wait to find out how Cromwell's mission to Vesta turns out. Wait for Fuchs to call again.

  He hated waiting.

  Then he realized that someone was standing behind him. Swiveling the chair he saw it was Tashkajian, looking just as somber and apprehensive as he felt.

  Martin Humphries was strolling through his expansive underground garden when Victoria Ferrer hurried along the curving brick path, breathless with news of the rumors about Pancho.

  "Who the hell would kidnap Pancho?" Humphries snickered.

  Walking alongside him through the wide beds of colorful flowers, Ferrer said, "The betting upstairs is that you did."

  "Me? That's ridiculous."

  "Is it?" she asked.

  "I wouldn't mind having her assassinated. But why kidnap her?"

  Ferrer shrugged slightly. "She might have run off with some guy. They say this man running the Nairobi operation is quite a slab of beefcake."

  "Pancho wouldn't do that," Humphries said, shaking his head.

  "Well, the Astro security people are floundering around, wondering where she is."

  Humphries stopped in the middle of the path and took in a deep breath of flower-fragrant air. "Well, let's hope that she's dead. But I doubt it. Pancho's a tough little guttersnipe."

  SELENE: STORAGE CENTER FOURTEEN

  Fuchs paced along the dimly lit walkway between storage shelves and humming, vibrating equipment, trying to avoid the scattering of renegades and outcasts that lived among the shadows, turning aside whenever he saw the flashing red light of an approaching maintenance robot. He rubbed at the back of his neck, which was tight with tension. Absently, his hand moved to massage the bridge of his nose. His head ached and he felt frustrated, angry, aching, and—worst of all—uncertain.

  What to do? What to do? Humphries must have had Pancho kidnapped. Who else would do it? Right at this moment they're probably flying Pancho back here to his mansion. If they haven't killed her already. What can I do? How can I help her?

  He knew the answer. Get to Humphries and kill him. Kill the murdering bastard before he kills Pancho. Kill him for Amanda. For all the rock rats he's killed out in the Belt. Execute him, in the name of justice. He snorted at his own pretensions. Justice. No, what you want is vengeance. Don't talk of justice; you want revenge, nothing less.

  Alone as he paced the walkway, he nodded his aching head fiercely. Vengeance. Yes. I will have vengeance against the man who destroyed my life. Who destroyed everything and everyone I hold dear. And what risks are you willing to take for your vengeance? he asked himself. You have three people with you; Humphries has a small army of security guards down there in his mansion. How can you even think of getting to him? There is no one in Selene who will help you. No one in the entire solar system would lift a finger for you, except Pancho and she's a prisoner or perhaps already dead.

  Fuchs abruptly stopped his pacing. He found himself in front of a large wall screen, set up against the side of a massive, chugging water pump that was painted bright blue. The screen was mounted on rubberized shock absorbers, to separate it from the pump's constant vibration. In the faint light from a distant overhead lamp Fuchs saw his reflection in the blank screen: a short, stocky man with a barrel chest, stubby arms and legs, a bristling black beard and deep-set eyes that glowed like twin lasers. He was dressed in shapeless black slacks and a pullover shirt, also black as death.

  No more thinking, he told himself. No more planning. Get Sanja and the others and strike. Tonight. Humphries dies tonight or I do. He almost smiled. Possibly both of us.

  His headache disappeared along with his uncertainty.

  "It was a really great dinner," Pancho said as Tsavo walked her along the corridor. "You got some sharp people working for you. I enjoyed talking with them."

  Tsavo beamed at her compliments. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

  During dinner he had learned that Nobuhiko Yamagata had landed, scant minutes ahead of the leading edge of the solar storm, and had gone immediately to his interrogation team. Now the voice whispering electronically in his left ear told him to take Pancho to her quarters and let her fall asleep. To help make her sleep, Yamagata's people had injected a strong sedative in the bottle of wine that waited on Pancho's bedside table.

  "It's been a really good visit," Pancho was saying. "I'm glad I came."

  Still smiling for her, Tsavo said, "You'll stay the night, of course."

  Pancho grinned back at him. He was a centimeter or so taller than her own lanky height, and she liked tall men.

  "I'd love to, Dan, but I've got to get back to my own people. They're expecting me."

  "But the storm," he said earnestly. "All surface activities are suspended until the radiation goes down to normal."

  Pancho teased, "Is that what your dinner was for? To keep me here long enough for the storm to hit?"

  He looked shocked. "No! Not at all. But now that it's hit, you'll have to stay the night."

  She said nothing as he led her a few more paces down the carpeted corridor and stopped at an unmarked door. Sliding it open, he ushered her into a spare but comfortable-looking bedroom, with a small desk set in one corner and a wallscreen that showed the view outside the base. Pancho saw several hoppers standing out there, including the green one she had flown in on. And a transfer vehicle, the kind that brought people in from ships in orbit; that hadn't been there when she'd landed. In the bright sunlight outside she could see that it was anodized sky blue.

  Then she noticed that her travel bag had been placed on the bed, unopened. And there was a bottle of wine sitting tilted in a chiller bucket on the low table in front of the cushioned sofa.

  "Champagne," she noted. "And two glasses."

  Tsavo put on a slightly sheepish look. "Even before the storm came up I had hoped you'd stay the night."

  "Looks like I'll have to. I ought to call my people at Malapert, though, and let them know I'm okay."

  He hesitated, as if debating inwardly with himself. Pancho couldn't hear the whispered instructions he was getting.

  "All right," he said, flashing that killer smile again. "Let me call my communications center."

  "Great!"

  He went to the phone on the desk and the wallscreen abruptly switched to an image of a man sitting at a console with a headset clipped over his thick dark hair.

  "I'm afraid, sir, that the solar storm is interfering with communications at this time."

  Tsavo seemed upset. "Can't you establish a laser link?"

  Unperturbed, the communications tech said, "Our laser equipment is not functional at this time, sir."

  "Well get it functioning," Tsavo said hotly. "And let me know the instant it's working."

  "Yes, sir." The wallscreen went dark.

  Pancho pursed her lips, then shrugged. "Guess my people at Malapert will have to get along without me till the storm lets up."

  Tsavo looked
pleased. Smiling, he asked, "Would you like some wine?"

  COMMAND SHIP SAMARKAND

  Harbin was heading back to the HSS base at Vesta. Samarkand had not escaped its one-sided battle against the Astro freighter unscathed. The loosed rocks and pebbles of his ship's armor shield had dented and buckled parts of the hull, and now Samarkand was totally unarmored, easy prey for any warship it should happen to meet.

  He was worried about the ship's radiation shielding. Even though the diagnostics showed the system to be functioning properly, with a solar storm approaching he preferred to be safely underground at Vesta.

  Still, he left his two other vessels to continue their hunt through this region of the Belt while he made his way back to Vesta for refurbishment.

  It will be good to have a few days of R&R, he thought as he sat in the command chair. Besides, my medicinals are running low. I'll have to get the pharmacy to restock them.

  He turned the con over to his executive officer and left the bridge, ducking through the hatch and down the short passageway to his private quarters. Making his way straight to his lavatory, he opened the medicine chest and surveyed the vials and syringes stored there. Running low, he confirmed. But there's enough here to get me through the next few nights. Enough to let me sleep when I need to.

  He reached for one of the vials, but before he could take it in his fingers the intercom buzzed.

  "Sir, we have a target," the exec's voice said. Then she added, "I think."

  Harbin slammed the cabinet door shut. "You think?" he shouted to the intercom microphone set into the metal overhead of the lav. "It's an odd signature, sir."

  Incompetent jackass, Harbin said to himself. Aloud, "I'm on my way."

  He strode to the bridge, simmering anger. I can't trust this crew to do anything for themselves. I can't even leave them alone long enough to take a piss.

  But as he slid into the command chair he saw that the display on the main screen was indeed fuzzy, indistinct.

  "Max magnification," he commanded.

  "It is at maximum," the comm tech replied. She too was staring at the screen, a puzzled frown furrowing her pale Nordic countenance.

  Harbin glanced at the data bar running across the bottom of the display. Just over twelve hundred kilometers away. The object was spinning slowly, turning along its long axis every few seconds.

  "Size estimate," he snapped.

  Two pulsating cursors appeared at each end of the rotating object. Blinking alphanumerics said 1.9 meters.

  "It's too small to be a ship," said the pilot.

  "A robot vehicle?" the weapons technician asked. "Maybe a mine of some sort?"

  Harbin shook his head. He knew what it was. "Turn off the display."

  "But what is it?" the communications tech wondered aloud.

  "Turn it off!"

  The screen went dark. All four of his officers turned to stare at him questioningly.

  "It's a man," Harbin said. "Or a woman. Someone in a space suit. Someone dead. Killed in a battle out there, probably months ago."

  "Should we—"

  "Ignore it," he snapped. "It can't hurt us and there's nothing more we can do to it. Just leave it alone."

  The officers glanced at each other.

  "A casualty of war," Harbin said grimly as he got out of the command chair. "Just forget about it. I'm going back to my quarters. Don't disturb me with any more ghosts."

  He went back to his cabin, stripped off his sweaty uniform and stretched out on his bunk. It will be good to get back to Vesta, he thought. This ship needs refurbishment. So do I.

  This war can't last much longer, he told himself. We've driven most of the Astro ships out of the Belt. They'll come back with more, I suppose, and we'll destroy them. We'll keep on destroying them until they finally give up. And what then? Do I retire back to Earth? Or keep on working? There's always money to be made for a mercenary soldier. There's always someone willing to pay for killing someone else.

  He closed his eyes to sleep, but instead he saw a space-suited figure tumbling slowly through the star-flecked emptiness, silently turning over and over, for all eternity alone in the cold, dark emptiness, forever alone.

  His eyes snapped open. Harbin thought about taking a shot that would let him sleep, but he didn't want to dream. So he lay on the bunk for hours, wide awake, staring at the hard metal of the overhead.

  "Wish I could call my people and tell 'em I'll be spending the night here," Pancho said. "When's that laser link going to start working?"

  Wine bottle in one hand, pneumatic corkscrew in the other, Daniel Tsavo suddenly looked uneasy.

  "They'll know you're safe down here," he said, with a slightly labored smile. "Let's have some wine and stop worrying."

  Pancho made herself smile back at him. "Sure, why not? You open the bottle while I freshen up a little."

  She went to the lavatory and closed its door firmly. Pecking at her wristwatch, she saw that its link with the satellites that were supposed to be tracking her was dead. She tried the phone function. That was down, too.

  Pancho leaned against the sink, thinking furiously. I'm cut off from the outside. He wants me to stay here overnight. Fun and games? Maybe, but there's more to it than just a romp in the sheets. This place is huge. They're spending more money on construction than Nairobi's got on its books. A lot more. Somebody big is bankrolling them.

  And then it hit her. Tsavo said to me, "Welcome to Shining Mountain Base." That's what the Japanese call this mountain range: the Shining Mountains. And that transfer ship outside is painted in Yamagata Corporation's blue.

  Yamagata's behind all this, Pancho finally realized. They're bankrolling Nairobi. And now they've got me here; I waltzed right in and they're not going to let go of me that easy.

  She heard the pop of a champagne cork through the flimsy lavatory door. Ol' Danny boy's working for Yamagata, Pancho said to herself. And I'll bet there's enough happy juice in that wine to get me to babble my brains out to him.

  I've got to get out of here, she told herself. And quick.

  Nobuhiko Yamagata paid scant attention to the bows and self-effacing hisses of his underlings. He went straight from the transfer rocket that had landed him at Shining Mountain Base to the room where Pancho Lane would be interrogated. It was in the base's infirmary, a small room where his interrogation team surrounded an empty gurney.

  Father is right, Nobu said to himself. I can learn much more from Pancho than these hirelings could.

  The team was gowned and masked, like medics. Two young women were helping Nobu into a pale green surgical gown. Within minutes he was masked, gloved, and capped with one of the ridiculous-looking shapeless hats that came down over his ears.

  Then he stood by the gurney, waiting. The members of the interrogation team flanked him in silence.

  Well, Nobuhiko thought, everything is prepared. Everyone is here except Pancho.

  SHINING MOUNTAIN BASE

  "Won't you have some champagne?" Tsavo asked smoothly, offering Pancho one of the crystal flutes that he had filled with the bubbly wine.

  "Love to," said Pancho, smiling her best smile for him.

  As he handed her the glass Pancho let it slip from her fingers. She watched with inner amusement as the glass tumbled slowly in the gentle lunar gravity, wine spilling from its lip in languid slow motion. Pancho could have grabbed the glass before it started spilling, but she watched it splash champagne over her coveralls while Tsavo stood there looking shocked.

  "Aw gosh," she said as the glass bounced on the thick carpeting. "Sorry to be so clumsy."

  Tsavo recovered enough to say, "My fault."

  Looking down at the wine-spattered front of her coveralls, Pancho said, "I better dry this off." She headed for the lavatory, stopping momentarily to unclip one of her earrings and place it on the night table beside the bed.

  There are many ways to incapacitate an opponent who's bigger and stronger than you are, Pancho reminded herself as she firmly closed t
he lavatory door. One of them is to blind the sumbitch.

  She leaned her back against the door and squeezed her eyes shut, but still she saw the flash behind her closed eyelids. Tsavo screamed. By the time Pancho had the lav door open again he was staggering across the bedroom.

  "I can't see!" he shrieked. "I'm blind!"

  He crashed into the coffee table, knocking the bottle and chiller bucket to the floor and tumbled into the sofa with a painful thump, groaning, pawing at his eyes.

  "I'm blind! I'm blind!"

  "Sorry, Danny boy," Pancho said as she scooped her travel bag off the bed. "You'll get your sight back in a few hours, more'n likely."

  She left him moaning in a tumbled sobbing heap on the floor by the sofa and dashed out into the corridor.

  Now we find out how much security they got here, Pancho said to herself, actually grinning as she raced on her long legs up the carpeted corridor.

  Fuchs had thought about calling Astro Corporate headquarters to try to speak with one of Pancho's aides, but decided against it. None of them would have the authority to give him the help he needed, nor the wit to see the necessity of it. With Pancho out of the picture, Fuchs realized he was on his own.

  Just as well, he told himself as he rode the powered stairs down to Selene's bottommost level. It's better not to involve Pancho or anyone else. What I have to do I'll do for myself.

  Nodon, Sanja and Amarjagal were waiting for him at the bottom of the last flight of stairs. The corridor down at this level was empty, as Fuchs had expected it to be. Only the very wealthiest lived down here, in the converse of penthouses on Earth. No crowds here, he said to himself as the four of them strode down the broad, empty, quiet corridor. Fuchs saw that the walls here were decorated with bas reliefs, the floor softly carpeted. Security cameras watched them, he knew, but they looked like a quartet of maintenance workers, nothing to set off an alarm.