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 on 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.