She walked idly through her apartment, thinking, planning, staring at the walls and ceilings as if she could make the electronic bugs appear just by sheer willpower. Martin’s snooping on me. She felt certain of it. He certainly got his jollies watching me do it with Dorik.
With a reluctant sigh she decided she would have to call in some expert help to sweep the apartment. The trouble is, she told herself, all the experts I know are HSS employees. Can I get them to do the job right?
Then she thought of an alternative. Doug Stavenger must know some experts among Selene’s permanent population. I’ll ask Stavenger to help me.
Both of the IAA flight controllers were waiting at the cave that served as a reception area at Ceres’s spaceport when Fuchs returned. He had left Lubbock Lights in orbit around the asteroid, turned the ship back to its captain, and ridden a shuttlecraft down to the surface. The two controllers left their posts in the cramped IAA control center and went to the reception area to meet him.
As Fuchs stepped out of the pressurized tunnel that connected the shuttlecraft to the bare rock cave, the senior controller, a thirtyish woman of red hair and considerable reputation among the men who frequented the Pub, cleared her throat nervously and said:
“Mr. Fuchs, the IAA wants you to turn yourself in to the authorities to face a charge of piracy.”
Fuchs ignored her and started for the tunnel that led to the underground living quarters. She glanced at her partner, a portly young man with a round face, high forehead, and long ponytail hanging halfway down his back. They both started after Fuchs.
He said, “Mr. Fuchs, please don’t make this difficult for us.”
Kicking up clouds of dark gray dust as he shuffled into the tunnel, Fuchs said, “I will make it very easy for you. Go away and leave me alone.”
“But, Mr. Fuchs—”
“I have no intention of turning myself in to you or anyone else. Leave me alone before you get hurt.”
They both stopped so short that swirling clouds of dust enveloped them to their knees. Fuchs continued shambling down the tunnel, heading for his quarters and his wife.
He was no longer the raging, bellowing puppet yanked this way and that by strings that Martin Humphries controlled. His fury was still there, but now it was glacially cold, calm, calculating. He had spent the hours in transit to Ceres calculating, planning, preparing. Now he knew exactly what he had to do.
There was no guard at his door. Hands trembling, Fuchs slid it open. And there was Amanda sitting at the work desk, her eyes wide with surprise.
“Lars! No one told me you had arrived!” She jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around his neck.
“You’re all right?” he asked, after kissing her. “No one has tried to harm you?”
“I’m fine, Lars,” she said. “And you?”
“I’ve been charged with piracy by the IAA. They probably want me to turn around and return to Selene for a trial.”
She nodded gravely. “Yes, they sent me a message about it. Lars, you didn’t need to take over the ship. I’m quite all right.”
Despite everything, he grinned at her. Feeling her in his arms, most of his fears dissolved. “Yes,” he breathed, “you’re more than all right.”
Amanda smiled back at him. “The door’s still open,” she pointed out.
He stepped away from her, but instead of closing the door, went to the desk. The wallscreen showed a form letter from their insurance carrier. Fuchs scanned it as far as the line telling them that their policy had been terminated, then blanked the screen.
“I’ve got to go to the warehouse,” he said. “Nodon will be waiting there for me.”
“Nodon?” Amanda asked. “George’s crewman?”
“Yes,” said Fuchs as he called up Helvetia’s personnel file. “He was with us at the farce of a hearing in Selene.”
“I know.”
Looking up at her, he asked, “Which of these people witnessed Inga’s murder?”
“Oscar Jiminez,” Amanda said, pulling up the room’s other chair to sit beside him.
“I must speak to him,” Fuchs said. He got up from his chair and went to the door, leaving Amanda sitting there alone.