He felt stiff and sore, as if every muscle in his body were strained. Tension, he told himself. But that sardonic voice in his mind retorted, Age. You’re getting to be an old man.
He nodded to his image in the lav mirror. If I live through this I’m going to start rejuve therapy.
Then he realized what he’d said: if I live through this.
He put on a fresh set of coveralls and grabbed a mug of coffee on his way to the bridge. Amanda was in the command chair, with Fuchs sitting at her right.
“Pancho’s sleeping,” Amanda said before Dan could ask. “We’ll be making rendezvous with 114 in…” she glanced at one of the screens,”… seventy-three minutes. I’ll wake her in half an hour.”
“Can we see the rock yet?” Dan asked, peering into the black emptiness beyond the windows.
“Telescopic view,” said Amanda, touching a viewscreen.
A lumpy, roundish shape appeared on the screen. To Dan it looked like a partially-deflated beach ball, dark gray, almost black.
“We’re getting excellent data on it,” Fuchs said. “Mass and density are confirmed.”
“It’s porous, as you thought?”
“Yes, it has to be.”
“It’s certainly no beauty,” Amanda said.
“I don’t know about that,” replied Dan. “It looks pretty good to me. In fact, I think I’ll call it Haven.”
“Haven,” she echoed.
Dan nodded. “Our haven from the storm.” Silently he added, if those numbers for its density mean what Fuchs says they do.
SELENE
The worst part of being alone in the temporary shelter was the waiting. There was nothing to do in the tempo except pace its length—an even dozen strides for Kris Cardenas—or watch the commercial video broadcasts that the shelter’s antenna pulled in from the relay satellites.
Maddening. And there was the high-tech sarcophagus in the middle of the floor with the frozen woman inside its gleaming stainless steel cylinder. Not much company.
When the hatch in the floor suddenly squeaked open, Cardenas jumped with surprise so hard she nearly banged her head on the shelter’s curving roof. For an instant she didn’t care who was coming through the hatch; even an assassin would be a welcome relief from the boredom of the past night and day.
But she puffed out a big sigh of relief when she saw George Ambrose’s brick-red mane rising through the open hatch. George climbed through and grinned at her.
“Dan says I should take you to Stavenger.” Cardenas nodded. “Yes. Fine.”
Doug Stavenger was not happy to see her. He sat behind his desk and eyed her with raw disappointment showing in his expression. Cardenas sat in the cushioned chair before the desk like an accused criminal being interrogated. George stood by the office door, beefy arms folded across his chest.
“You seeded Randolph’s ship with gobblers?” he said, his voice hollow with shocked disbelief.
“Specifically tailored to take apart copper compounds,” Cardenas admitted, feeling shaky inside. “Nothing more.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“It was meant to cripple the ship’s radiation shield,” she said defensively. “Once they found out about it they’d abort their mission and return here.”
“But they didn’t find out about it until they were deep in the Belt,” Stavenger said.
George added, “And now they’re sailing into a fookin’ radiation storm without a shield.”
“This could become a murder,” Stavenger said. “Four murders.”
Cardenas bit her lip and nodded.
“And Humphries was behind this scheme,” Stavenger said. It was a statement, not a question.
“He wanted Randolph’s mission to fail.”
“Why?”
“Ask him.”
“He’s a major investor in the project. Why would he want it to fail?”
“Ask him,” she repeated.
“I intend to,” said Stavenger. “He’s already on his way here.”
As if on cue, Stavenger’s phone chimed. “Mr. Humphries here to see you,” said the phone’s synthesized voice.
“Send him in,” Stavenger said, touching the stud on the rim of his desk that opened the door.
George stood aside, clearly glowering through his beard as Humphries walked in. Humphries looked at Cardenas, half turned in her chair, then at Stavenger. With a slight shrug he took the other chair in front of the desk.
“What’s this all about?” he asked casually as he sat down. “What’s going on?”