Without bothering to introduce Verwoerd, Humphries said, “It looks like you got half of Selene to come out tonight.”
Stavenger laughed lightly. “The other half is performing in the opera.”
Humphries noticed the way the two women eyed each other from crown to toe, sizing up one another like a pair of gladiators entering the arena.
“Who’s your friend?” Pancho asked. Her gown was floor-length, too, and as deeply black as the men’s tuxes. Her short-cropped hair was sprinkled with something glittery. The diamond necklace and bracelet that she wore probably came from asteroidal stones, Humphries guessed.
“Diane Verwoerd,” Humphries said, by way of introduction, “Pancho Lane. You already know Doug, here, don’t you?”
“By reputation,” Verwoerd said, smiling her brightest. “And it’s good to meet you, at last, Ms. Lane.”
“Pancho.”
Stavenger said, “Pancho’s trying to talk me into investing in a research station to be set up in Jupiter orbit.”
So that’s it, Humphries said to himself.
“Selene’s made a pocketful of profits out of building spacecraft,” Pancho said. “You can make even more from bringing fusion fuels back from Jupiter.”
“She makes a good case,” Stavenger said. “What do you think of the idea, Martin?”
“I’m on record against it,” Humphries snapped. As if he doesn’t know that, he growled inwardly.
“So I’d heard,” Stavenger admitted.
Three-note chimes sounded. “Time for dinner,” Stavenger said, offering Pancho his arm. “Come on, Martin, let’s talk about this while we eat.”
Humphries followed him toward the tables that had been set up on the manicured grass outside the amphitheater. Verwoerd walked beside him, convinced that the four of them would be talking about this Jupiter business all through the opera, even the Anvil Chorus.
Which was all right with her. She loathed Il Travotore.
CHAPTER 29
With Nodon working in the cargo bay, Fuchs finally got George out of the galley and into the bridge.
“You must tell everything that happened to the IAA,” Fuchs said, setting himself in the command chair.
George took the copilot’s seat; overflowed it, actually. He may have been hungry, Fuchs thought, but he hasn’t lost much weight.
“Be glad to, mate,” George said amiably. “Just get ’em on the horn.”
Fuchs instructed the comm computer to call Francesco Tomasselli at IAA headquarters in St. Petersburg. “Oh-oh,” said George.
Fuchs saw that he was pointing at the radar display. A single blip showed in the upper right corner of the screen. “He’s here,” George said.
“It could be a rock,” Fuchs heard himself say, even though he didn’t believe it. “It’s a ship.”
Fuchs tapped on his command keyboard. “A ship,” he agreed, after a few moments. “And it’s on an intercept course.”
“I’d better get into a suit and back to the cargo bay with Nodon. You suit up, too.”
As he followed George down to the airlock compartment where the spacesuits were stored, Fuchs heard the comm unit’s synthesized voice said, “Signer Tomasselli is not available at this time. Do you want to leave a message?”
Fifteen minutes later he was back in the bridge, feeling like a medieval knight in armor, wearing the cumbersome spacesuit.
The blip was centered in the radar display now. Fuchs peered through the window, but could see nothing in the dark emptiness out there.
“He still approaching?” George’s voice rasped in his helmet earphones.
“Yes.”
“We got your laser connected to the main power supply. Ours is down, something’s buggered it up.”
“But the one is working?”
“Yeah. Swing the ship around so we can get a clear view of ‘im.”
“George,” Fuchs said, “suppose it’s not the ship that attacked you?”
A half-moment of silence, then, “You think somebody else just happened to drop by? Not bloody likely.”
“Don’t shoot at him unless he fires on us first,” Fuchs said.
George grumbled, “You sound like some bleedin’ Yank. ‘Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes.'”
“Well, we shouldn’t—”
The comm screen suddenly flashed brightly, then went blank. With gloved fingers Fuchs tapped out a diagnostic command.
“I think he’s hit our main antenna,” he said to George.
“Turn the bloody ship so I can shoot back!”
The air pressure alarm started shrilling, and Fuchs heard the safety hatch at his back slam shut.