But Harbin wanted to be so close that an approaching ship would not spot him. He wished this chunk of metal was porous, like the carbonaceous rock where one of Fuchs’s other transceivers had been found. The crew there had simply detached their habitation module from the rest of their ship and buried it under a loose layer of rubble. Then the remainder of the ship, crewed only by a pilot and navigator, flew out of range. If Fuchs showed up there, all he would see would be an innocent pile of dirt. A Trojan horse, Harbin thought grimly, that would disgorge half a dozen armed troops while calling all of Harbin’s armada to close the trap.
The Scandinavian was clearly unhappy orbiting mere meters from the scratched and pitted surface of the asteroid. “We are running the danger of having the hull abraded by the dust that hovers over the rock,” she warned Harbin.
He looked into her wintry blue eyes. So like my own, he thought. Her Viking ancestors must have invaded my village some time in the past.
“It’s dangerous!” she said sharply.
Harbin made himself smile at her. “Match our orbit to the rock’s intrinsic spin. If Fuchs comes poking around here, I don’t him to see us until it’s too late for him to get away.”
She started to protest, but Harbin cut her off with an upraised hand. “Do it,” he said.
Clearly unhappy, she turned and relayed his order to the navigator.
“Let’s break for lunch,” said Doug Stavenger.
The others around the conference table nodded and pushed their chairs back. The tension in the room cracked. One by one, they got to their feet, stretched, took deep breaths. Stavenger heard vertebrae pop.
Lunch had been laid on in another conference room, down the hall. As the delegates filed out into the corridor, Stavenger touched Dieterling’s arm, detaining him.
“Have we accomplished anything?” he asked the diplomat.
Dieterling glanced at the doorway, where his two nephews stood waiting for him. Then he turned back to Stavenger. “A little, I think.”
“At least Humphries and Pancho are talking civilly to each other,” Stavenger said, with a rueful smile.
“Don’t underestimate the benefits of civility,” said Dieterling. “Without it, nothing can be done.”
“So?”
With a heavy shrug, Dieterling answered, “It’s clear that the crux of the problem is this man Fuchs.”
“Humphries certainly wants him out of the way.”
“As long as he is rampaging out there in the Belt there can be no peace.”
Stavenger shook his head. “But Fuchs started his… rampage, as you call it, in reaction to the violence that Humphries’s people began.”
“That makes no difference now,” Dieterling said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper. “We can get Humphries and Ms. Lane to let bygones be bygones and forget the past. No recriminations, no acts of vengeance. They are willing to make a peaceful settlement.”
“And stick to it, do you think?”
“Yes. I’m certain of it. This war is becoming too expensive for them. They want it ended.”
“They can end it this afternoon, if they want to.”
“Only if Fuchs is stopped,” Dieterling said. “He is the wild card, the terrorist who is beyond ordinary political control.”
Stavenger nodded glumly. “He’s got to be stopped, then. Dammit.”
Humphries stepped into the washroom, relieved himself of a morning’s worth of coffee, then washed up and popped another tranquilizing pill. He thought of them as tranquilizers, even though he knew they were much more than that.
As he stepped out into the corridor, Amanda came out of the ladies’ room. His breath caught in his throat, despite the pill. She was dressed in a yellow pant suit that seemed faded from long use, yet in Humphries’s eyes she glowed like the sun. No one else was in sight; the others must have all gone into the room where lunch was laid out.
“Hello, Amanda,” he heard himself say.
Only then did he see the cold anger in her eyes.
“You’re determined to kill Lars, aren’t you?” she said flatly.
Humphries licked his lips before replying, “Kill him? No. Stop him. That’s all I want, Amanda. I want him to stop the killing.”