Ferrer was nodding as if she were interested.
“Thank you so much for explaining everything, doctor,” Humphries said, getting to his feet.
The physician looked startled, then a flash of anger crossed his face momentarily, but he quickly recovered and got up from his chair.
“Please feel free to call on me at any time, Mr. Humphries. The entire services of the hospital are at your disposal.”
“Certainly.”
Neither man extended his hand to the other.
Once the physician left the office, Ferrer turned to Humphries. “Should I arrange a christening ceremony?”
“Christening?”
“It’s expected for a newborn baby.”
“Which comes first,” Humphries asked bleakly, “her funeral or the brat’s christening?”
Ferrer took a deep breath. Normally it would have roused Humphries but at the moment he ignored it.
“I’ll make the arrangements for both,” she said softly. “What do you want to name the baby?”
“Name?”
“He’s got to have a name.”
“Van. It’s an old family name. My great-grandfather was named Van. He ran off to South America to avoid being drafted by the U.S. Army. A coward. That’s an appropriate name for the little runt, don’t you think?”
“I still don’t see why you’ve gotta meet Lars face to face,” said Big George.
Pancho swung her legs off the recliner’s armrest and got to her feet. “Got something to tell him. Something personal.”
“Somethin’ more than Amanda’s death?”
“Yep.”
“Must be fookin’ important.”
“It is.”
“Well,” George said, getting up from his chair to stand beside her, “I can try gettin’ a message to him. Dunno if he’ll respond, though.”
“He knows me.”
“He knew you,” George corrected. “Ol’ Lars isn’t the same man he was back then.”
Pancho gave him a long unhappy look, then muttered, “Who the hell is?”
ASTEROID VESTA
Harbin studied the image of Grigor on the wallscreen of his private quarters. A Russian, Harbin said to himself, recalling the way the village elders had spoken of the Russians when he’d been a lad. The Russians are our friends, they intoned, as long as they stay far away from our village.
Grigor’s normally dour, downcast features looked almost happy as he gave Harbin the latest orders from Selene. An important executive of the rival Astro Corporation was at Ceres. Probably she would go deeper into the Belt, seeking a meeting with the renegade Fuchs.
“We will receive tracking data from our informant in the IAA facility at Ceres. You will intercept her vessel and eliminate it. Quite possibly you’ll be able to eliminate Fuchs at the same time. You are to take as many ships as you deem necessary, but in any event no fewer than five. Humphries wants this job done without fail.”
Harbin wanted to answer, “Then let Humphries come out here and do it himself.” But he knew that it would take more than half an hour for any reply from him to reach the Moon. Besides, it wouldn’t be wise to be so disrespectful to the man who pays all the bills.
So he wiped Grigor’s image from his wallscreen and replied merely, “Message received. Will comply.”
Five ships. Grigor thinks that more ships will guarantee success. He has no idea of how difficult it is to coordinate a multiship attack out here. And the more ships we use, the sooner the prey will realize it’s being tracked.
Harbin shook his head in mild disgust. I could do it alone, one ship with a crew of one. Give me the coordinates of the Astro vessel’s course and I’ll intercept it and terminate it. And if Fuchs is in the area I’ll handle him, too.
Leaning back in his padded chair, Harbin locked his fingers behind his head and thought it over. Fuchs is smart, though. Wily, like a badger. He can sniff out danger a thousand kilometers away. Five ships might make sense. Maybe a few more, to go out ahead of me and take up stations that will cut off his line of retreat. Then I’d have him, finally.
He sat up straight, nodded once at the blank wallscreen, then got to his feet and headed for the command center. He needed the latest tracking data on the Astro vessel.