“But what is it?” the communications tech wondered aloud.
“Turn it off!”
The screen went dark. All four of his officers turned to stare at him questioningly.
“It’s a man,” Harbin said. “Or a woman. Someone in a space suit. Someone dead. Killed in a battle out there, probably months ago.”
“Should we—”
“Ignore it,” he snapped. “It can’t hurt us and there’s nothing more we can do to it. Just leave it alone.”
The officers glanced at each other.
“A casualty of war,” Harbin said grimly as he got out of the command chair. “Just forget about it. I’m going back to my quarters. Don’t disturb me with any more ghosts.”
He went back to his cabin, stripped off his sweaty uniform and stretched out on his bunk. It will be good to get back to Vesta, he thought. This ship needs refurbishment. So do I.
This war can’t last much longer, he told himself. We’ve driven most of the Astro ships out of the Belt. They’ll come back with more, I suppose, and we’ll destroy them. We’ll keep on destroying them until they finally give up. And what then? Do I retire back to Earth? Or keep on working? There’s always money to be made for a mercenary soldier. There’s always someone willing to pay for killing someone else.
He closed his eyes to sleep, but instead he saw a space-suited figure tumbling slowly through the star-flecked emptiness, silently turning over and over, for all eternity alone in the cold, dark emptiness, forever alone.
His eyes snapped open. Harbin thought about taking a shot that would let him sleep, but he didn’t want to dream. So he lay on the bunk for hours, wide awake, staring at the hard metal of the overhead.
“Wish I could call my people and tell ’em I’ll be spending the night here,” Pancho said. “When’s that laser link going to start working?”
Wine bottle in one hand, pneumatic corkscrew in the other, Daniel Tsavo suddenly looked uneasy.
“They’ll know you’re safe down here,” he said, with a slightly labored smile. “Let’s have some wine and stop worrying.”
Pancho made herself smile back at him. “Sure, why not? You open the bottle while I freshen up a little.”
She went to the lavatory and closed its door firmly. Pecking at her wristwatch, she saw that its link with the satellites that were supposed to be tracking her was dead. She tried the phone function. That was down, too.
Pancho leaned against the sink, thinking furiously. I’m cut off from the outside. He wants me to stay here overnight. Fun and games? Maybe, but there’s more to it than just a romp in the sheets. This place is huge. They’re spending more money on construction than Nairobi’s got on its books. A lot more. Somebody big is bankrolling them.
And then it hit her. Tsavo said to me, “Welcome to Shining Mountain Base.” That’s what the Japanese call this mountain range: the Shining Mountains. And that transfer ship outside is painted in Yamagata Corporation’s blue.
Yamagata’s behind all this, Pancho finally realized. They’re bankrolling Nairobi. And now they’ve got me here; I waltzed right in and they’re not going to let go of me that easy.
She heard the pop of a champagne cork through the flimsy lavatory door. Ol’ Danny boy’s working for Yamagata, Pancho said to herself. And I’ll bet there’s enough happy juice in that wine to get me to babble my brains out to him.
I’ve got to get out of here, she told herself. And quick.
Nobuhiko Yamagata paid scant attention to the bows and self-effacing hisses of his underlings. He went straight from the transfer rocket that had landed him at Shining Mountain Base to the room where Pancho Lane would be interrogated. It was in the base’s infirmary, a small room where his interrogation team surrounded an empty gurney.
Father is right, Nobu said to himself. I can learn much more from Pancho than these hirelings could.
The team was gowned and masked, like medics. Two young women were helping Nobu into a pale green surgical gown. Within minutes he was masked, gloved, and capped with one of the ridiculous-looking shapeless hats that came down over his ears.