THE SILENT WAR Page 31

  "You can't take patients out of the hospital without authorization," said the doctor. He was young, with a boyish thatch of dark brown hair flopping over his forehead. Wanamaker thought he probably made out pretty well with the female hospital staffers.

  He kept his thoughts to himself, though, and put on his sternest, darkest scowl.

  "This is an Astro Corporation security matter," he insisted, his voice low but iron-hard.

  They were standing at the hospital's admittance center, little more than a waist-high counter with a computer terminal atop it. The doctor had been summoned by the computer, which normally ran the center without human intervention. Wanamaker had waited until midnight to fetch Fuchs and his people out of the hospital. Minimal staff on duty. He had brought six of the biggest, toughest-looking Astro employees he could find. Two of them actually worked in the security department. The other four consisted of two mechanics, one physical fitness instructor from Astro's private spa, and a woman cook from the executive dining room.

  The doctor looked uncertainly at the identification chip Wanamaker held out rigidly at arm's length. He had already run it through the admittance center's computer terminal and it had verified that Jacob Wanamaker was an executive of Astro Corporation's security department.

  "I should call Selene's security department," the doctor said.

  "Aren't they guarding the four?" Wanamaker demanded, knowing that they had been called off by one of his own people who had hacked into their computer system.

  "Not on this shift," said the doctor. "They'll be back in the morning, at oh-eight-hundred."

  "All right then," Wanamaker said. "I'll deal with them in the morning. Right now, I've been instructed to take the four to Astro headquarters."

  Wanamaker was thinking, If this young pup doesn't cave in I'll have to slug him. He didn't want to do that. He wanted this extraction to be painless.

  The young man's face was too bland to frown effectively, but he screwed up his features and said, "This hospital is run by the governing board of Selene, not Astro or any other corporation."

  Wanamaker nodded knowingly. "Very well. You contact your governing board and get their okay."

  The doctor glanced at the wall clock. "It's almost one a.m.!"

  "Yes, that's right."

  "They'll all be asleep."

  "Then you'll have to wake them." Wanamaker hoped fervently that the kid didn't think of calling Selene's security department. That could create a problem.

  Before the doctor could make up his mind, Wanamaker suggested, "Why don't you call Douglas Stavenger?"

  "Mr. Stavenger?" The doctor's eyed widened. "He knows about this?"

  "And he's given his approval," Wanamaker lied.

  "Well..."

  "Is there any medical reason to keep them hospitalized?" Wanamaker demanded.

  The doctor shook his head. "No, they're supposed to be released in the morning."

  "Very well then. Give me the release forms and I'll sign them."

  "I don't know..."

  Wanamaker didn't wait any further. He walked past the puzzled, uncertain young doctor. His six subordinates marched in step behind him, trying to look fierce, as Wanamaker had instructed them to do.

  ARMSTRONG SPACEPORT

  As the cart trundled to a stop at the end of the tunnel that led back to Selene, Wanamaker noticed that the lower half of Pancho's right leg was wrapped in a cast. She looked grim, almost angry, as she sat behind the cart's wheel with her leg sticking out onto the fender.

  Fuchs was standing beside Wanamaker, also far from happy. His three aides were already on their way to the little rocket shuttlecraft that would take them up to the vessel waiting in orbit above the Moon's rugged, airless surface.

  "Humphries is alive and well," said Pancho, without getting down from the electric cart. "No thanks to you, Lars."

  His mouth a downcast slash, Fuchs answered, "Too bad. The world would be better off with him dead."

  "Maybe so, but all you did was kill a dozen or so of his people. Now he's got a perfectly good excuse to go after your ass, ol' buddy."

  Fuchs started to reply, thought better of it, and said nothing.

  Turning to Wanamaker, Pancho asked, "What've you got for him?"

  "The only available armed vessel is a new attack ship, Halsey.

  Pancho nodded brusquely. "Okay, Lars. That's your new ship. Officially, you've hijacked it while it was sitting in lunar orbit waiting for a crew to be assigned to it."

  "You're giving it to me?" Fuchs asked, flabbergasted.

  "You're stealing it. We'll add it to your long list of crimes."

  His broad, normally downcast face broke into a bitter smile. "Pancho ... I... I don't know what to say."

  She did not smile back at him. "Just get your butt up to the ship and get the hell out of here as fast as you can. Go back to the Belt and hide out with the rock rats. Humphries is going to come after you with everything he's got."

  Fuchs nodded, understanding. "I'm only sorry that I didn't kill him. He deserves to die."

  "So do we all, ol' buddy," said Pancho. "Now, git! Before a platoon of HSS security goons comes boiling down the tunnel."

  Fuchs grasped her hand and, bending slightly, kissed it. Pancho's face turned red.

  "Go on, git. There's gonna be plenty hell to pay; I've got to get busy."

  Almost laughing, Fuchs turned and started trotting down the corridor that led to the waiting shuttlecraft, a thickset, sturdy little badger of a man clad in black, his short arms pumping as he ran.

  Wanamaker shook his head. "When Humphries finds out you've helped him escape..."

  Pancho grinned at him. "Hell, Jake, he got away from you. You're the one who sprang him out of the hospital. He got away from you and stole a brand-new Astro spacecraft. I might have to dock your pay or something."

  Wanamaker broke into a craggy smile. "You are some piece of work, Ms. Lane. Really some piece of work."

  "Come on," Pancho said, patting the plastic of the seat beside her. "I'll give you a ride back to town. We got a lot of work to do."

  "What do you mean, he's disappeared?" Humphries demanded.

  Grigor stood before him like a dark wraith, his eyes downcast. With a shrug, he repeated, "Fuchs is gone."

  They were in the sitting room of Humphries's suite in the Hotel Luna. Tatiana Oparin had discreetly remained in the bedroom when Grigor had arrived, before Humphries's breakfast order had come from room service.

  "He can't be gone!" Humphries shouted, pounding the pillows of the sofa on which he sat. Clad only in a silk hotel robe, his thin, almost hairless legs reminded Grigor of a chicken's.

  Standing before the sofa, to one side of the coffeetable, Grigor reported, "He was under Selene's custody last night, in the hospital. This morning, when we went to interrogate him, he and his crew were gone."

  "Gone? How could he be gone? Where did he go? How could he get out?"

  "An Astro Corporation security detail removed him from the hospital shortly after one A.M.," Grigor replied, his voice as flat and even as a computer's. "There is no trace of him after that."

  Leaping to his feet so hard that his robe flapped open, Humphries screamed, "Find him! Search every centimeter of the city and find him! Now! Use every man you've got."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Don't stand there! Find him!"

  As Grigor turned toward the door, the phone chimed. Scowling, Humphries saw that the wallscreen displayed the name of the caller: Pancho Lane.

  "Phone answer," he snapped.

  Pancho's angular, light tan features took shape on the wallscreen, slightly bigger than life.

  "Martin, I have some unpleasant news for you."

  He glared at her image as he pulled the maroon robe tightly around himself.

  "Lars Fuchs somehow stole our newest ship and lit out of lunar orbit a few hours ago. He's prob'ly heading back to the Belt."

  "He stole one of your ships?" Humphries asked, his voice drippin
g sarcasm.

  "Yup," said Pancho. "Slipped away from a phony security detail that sprang him out of the hospital last night."

  Humphries's innards felt like a lake of molten lava. "He had lots of help, then, didn't he?"

  Keeping her face immobile, Pancho admitted, "Well, he's got some friends among my Astro people, yeah. We're looking into it."

  "I'm sure you are."

  She almost smiled. "I just thought you'd want to know."

  "Thank you, Pancho."

  "Any time, Martin." The screen went dark.

  Humphries stepped to the small table at the end of the sofa, yanked up the lamp sitting atop it, and heaved it at the wallscreen. It bounced off and thudded to the carpeted floor.

  "Guttersnipe bitch! She helped him get away. Now he's running back to the Belt to hide out with his rock rat friends."

  Grigor said, "We could intercept him."

  Humphries glared at his security chief. "He'll be running silent. You'd have to search the whole region between here and the Belt. There aren't enough ships—"

  "He'll have to put in somewhere for supplies," said Grigor. "The Chrysalis habitat at Ceres is the only place for that."

  Still glowering, Humphries said, "They won't take him in. They exiled him, years ago."

  Nodding slightly, Grigor countered, "Perhaps. But he will contact a ship in the region for supplies."

  "Or capture one, the damned pirate."

  "Either way, Chrysalis is the key to his survival. If we control the habitat at Ceres, we will get him into our grasp, sooner or later."

  Humphries stared at his security chief for a long, silent moment. Then he said, "All right. Tell our people at Vesta to send a force to Ceres and take control of Chrysalis."

  An unhappy expression twisted Grigor's normally dour face. "We seem to have lost contact with Vesta," he said, the words coming out swiftly, all in a rush.

  "What?"

  "I'm sure it's only temporary."

  "Lost contact?" Humphries's voice rose a notch.

  "It might be the solar storm," said Grigor, almost to himself, "although the cloud is well past the Belt now."

  "Lost contact with the whole base?" Humphries shouted. "The entire base?"

  "For more than twelve hours," Grigor admitted, almost in a whisper.

  Humphries wanted to scream. And he did, so loudly and with such fevered anger that Tatiana Oparin rushed into the sitting room. When she failed to calm him down she called the HSS medical department for Humphries's personal physician.

  COMMAND SHIP SAMARKAND

  Harbin hated these one-way messages. I have to sit here like an obedient dog while my master speaks to me, he grumbled silently. Yet there was no other way. Grigor was at Selene, Harbin in his private compartment aboard Samakand, so deep in the Belt that it took light the better part of an hour to span the distance between them.

  Grigor's face, in the display screen, looked even dourer than usual. He's worried, Harbin thought. Frightened.

  "... completely wiped out Humphries's home here in Selene and killed four security guards," the security chief was saying, speaking rapidly, nervously. "They also killed Humphries's personal assistant, the woman Ferrer. The attack was led by Lars Fuchs."

  Fuchs attacked Humphries in his own home! Harbin marveled. He felt some admiration for such daring. Strike your enemy as hard as you can. Strike at his heart.

  Grigor was droning on, "Astro has apparently spirited Fuchs away. Most likely he's on his way back to the Belt. He must have friends at Ceres, allies who will give him supplies and more crewmen. Your orders are to find Fuchs and kill him. Nothing else matters now. Bring Fuchs's head to Mr. Humphries. He will accept nothing less."

  Harbin nodded. This isn't the first time that Humphries has demanded Fuchs's life, he recalled. But this will be the last time. The final time. Fuchs has frightened Humphries. Up until now Humphries has fought this war in comfort and safety. But now Fuchs has threatened him, terrified him. Now he'll move heaven and Earth to eliminate the threat that Fuchs represents. Now it's time for Fuchs to die.

  "Something else," Grigor added, his eyes shifting nervously. "The base on Vesta has gone silent. We don't know why. I've diverted one of our attack ships to the asteroid to see what's happened. You stay clear of Vesta. Head directly for Ceres and the habitat Chrysalis. Get Fuchs. Let me worry about Vesta."

  The security chief's morose face disappeared from Harbin's screen, leaving him alone in his compartment.

  Let him worry about Vesta, Harbin thought sourly. And what do I do about supplies? Where do I get fuel and food for my crew? How do I get all the way over to Ceres on what's left in my propellant tanks? I've stripped this ship's armor, too. What if I run into an Astro attack vessel? Grigor can give orders, but carrying them out is up to me.

  Doug Stavenger was also feeling frustrated about the long time lag between Selene and the Belt. Edith, aboard Elsinore, was approaching Ceres. She would be arriving at the Chrysalis habitat in less than twenty-four hours.

  "... so it turns out that if you'd stayed here," he was saying to her, "you'd have had a big story at your doorstep. Humphries isn't letting any news media into his home, not even inside his garden, or what's left of it. But from what the safety inspectors tell me the house is a burned-out shell and that big, beautiful garden of his is almost completely destroyed."

  He hesitated, leaned back in his recliner and tried to group his thoughts coherently. It was difficult speaking to a blank screen. It was like talking to yourself.

  "Edie, this war's gone far enough. I've got to do something to stop it. They're fighting here in Selene now and I can't permit that. If that fire had spread beyond Humphries's garden it could have killed a lot of people here. Everyone, maybe, if we couldn't get it under control. I can't let them pose that kind of a threat to us. I've got to stop them."

  Yes, Stavenger told himself. You've got to stop them. But how? How can you stop two of the most powerful corporations in the solar system from turning Selene into a battleground?

  When his message arrived at Elsinore, Edith Elgin saw the concern, the deep lines of apprehension creasing her husband's handsome face.

  But in her mind a voice was exulting, Fuchs is heading here! He has to be. He has friends among the rock rats. One way or another he's going to sneak back to Ceres, at least long enough to refuel and restock his ship. And I'll be there to interview him!

  She was so excited that she hopped up from the chair she'd been sitting in to view her husband's message and left her cabin, heading up the narrow passageway toward the bridge. I've got to find out exactly when we dock at Chrysalis, she told herself. And see if the captain can spot any other ships heading toward the habitat. Fuchs may be running silent, but his ship will show up on radar, now that we're clear of the radiation cloud.

  Lars Fuchs was indeed heading for Ceres, running silently, all beacons and telemetry turned off. Hands clasped behind his back, mouth turned down in a sullen scowl, he paced back and forth across the bridge of the Halsey, his mind churning.

  The ship was running smoothly enough, for its first flight in deep space. Its systems were automated enough so that the four of them could run it as a skeleton crew. Nodon's shoulder was healing, and Sanja had assured Fuchs that there were more crewmen waiting for them at Chrysalis.

  Fuchs was officially exiled from the rock rats' habitat, and had been for nearly ten years. But they'll let me take up a parking orbit, he thought. Just for a day or so. Just long enough to take on more crew and supplies.

  Then what? he asked himself. I have Nautilus waiting for me in the Belt, and now this new ship. Can I find enough people to crew them both? Humphries will be coming after me with everything he's got. Fuchs nodded to himself. Let him. Let him chase me all through the Belt. I'll bleed him dry. I failed to kill him, but I can hurt him where the pain is greatest: in his ledger sheets. Every ship he sends after me is an expense that drains his profits. Every HSS ship that I destroy will pour more red ink o
n him. I'll bleed him dry.

  Until he kills me, Fuchs realized. This war between us can end in only one way. I'm a dead man. He told me that years ago.

  He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in one of the blank screens on the bridge. A bitter, angry face with a thin slash of sneering lips and deepset eyes that burned like hot coals.

  All right, he said to his image. He'll kill me. But it will cost him plenty. I won't go easily. Or cheaply.

  Big George Ambrose was fidgeting uncomfortably at the conference table. His chair was just a tad too small for his bulk, its arms just high enough to force him to hunch his shoulders slightly. After a couple of hours it got painful.

  And this meeting had been going on for more than a couple of hours. The governing board of Chrysalis was having one of its rare disagreements. Usually the board was little more than a rubber stamp for George's decisions. None of the board members really wanted any responsibility. They were all picked at random by the habitat's personnel computer, and required to serve a year on the governing body. Each of the eight men and women wanted to be back at their jobs or at home or taking in a video or at the pub. Anywhere but stuck in this conference room, wrangling.

  George thought the pub was a good idea. Maybe we should have our fookin' meetings there, he said to himself. Get them all half blind and then take a vote.

  But this was a serious issue, he knew. It had to be faced squarely. And soberly.

  Pancho had warned George that Lars Fuchs was in a spacecraft heading for the Belt. It didn't take a genius to realize that he'd have to get supplies from somewhere, and Ceres was the only somewhere there was.

  "He might not come here at all," said one of the board members, an edgy-looking woman in a high-mode pullover that sported more cutouts than material. "He might just hijack a ship or two and steal the supplies he needs. He is a pirate, after all."

  "That's why we exiled him in the first place," said the bland-looking warehouse operator sitting next to her.