The Rock Rats gt-11

by Ben Bova

  And then he remembered, She went through the implantation procedure yesterday. And she still got up and ordered a special flight for those two rock rats?

  His mood only slightly dimmed, he called Verwoerd on the phone.

  “I’m going to take a stroll through the garden,” he said when her image appeared on the wallscreen. “Are you up to joining me?”

  “I’m trying to catch up on what I missed yesterday,” she said guardedly.

  “That can wait. A walk in the fresh air will be good for you.”

  She hesitated a fraction of a second, then capitulated. With a nod, she said, “I’ll meet you at your front door.”

  He expected that she would show some strain from the procedure she’d been through, but to Humphries’s eye Diane Verwoerd looked no different than before the implantation.

  “The procedure went well?” he asked as they stepped along the brick path that wound through lushly thick bushes of coral pink oleanders and scarlet azaleas.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “The report should be on file.”

  “I’ve seen the report,” he replied testily. “I want to know how you feel.”

  “Oh,” said Verwoerd. “Concerned for the mother of your son?”

  “That’s right.”

  She stayed silent for a few steps, then said at last, “I’m fine. Mother and fetus in good condition.”

  “Good.”

  “By the way, let me offer my congratulations.”

  He couldn’t help breaking into a smile. “About Amanda? Thank you.”

  They passed a little bench of lunar stone. Verwoerd asked, “Now that you’ll be able to make a baby the old-fashioned way, do you still want me to go to term?”

  “Of course I do,” he snapped. “That’s my son you’re talking about.”

  “Your clone.”

  “I wouldn’t have you abort him. I can have more than one child.”

  “But this one,” she patted her stomach lightly, “carries your genes and nobody else’s.”

  “Damned right.”

  “He won’t be exactly like you, you know,” Verwoerd said, a teasing smile playing across her lips. “Genetically, he’ll be identical, but he’ll be affected by the enzymes of my body and—”

  “I know all that,” Humphries interrupted.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  He glared at her. “You’re downright sassy today, aren’t you?”

  “And why shouldn’t I be, Martin? I’m carrying your child. You’re going to reward me very handsomely for that, aren’t you?”

  “If the boy is healthy when he’s born.”

  “No, I don’t want to wait until then. I want my payoff now. I want a seat on the board of directors. I’ve earned it. And I’ll be a lot better at it than most of those fossils.”

  Power, Humphries thought. She’s after power. Aloud, he asked, “Is that all?”

  “I want money, too. I want a lot of money, Martin. I know you can afford it.”

  He stopped walking and planted his fists on his hips. “Since when do you call me by my given name?”

  She smiled saucily. “I’m taking a very large risk for this fetus of yours. I think that works out to a first-name relationship, don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Very well then, we’ll keep everything strictly on a business level, Mister Humphries. I want ten million a year, for life.”

  “Ten mil—” He barked out a bitter laugh. “You’re dreaming. I could get a hundred women to do what you’re doing and it wouldn’t cost me a fraction of that.”

  Verwoerd began walking along the brick path again, slowly. Humphries had no choice but to follow her.

  “Yes, I’m sure you could buy a surrogate mother for your clone on the cheap. But I’m worth ten million. Even more, in fact.”

  “Are you?” he asked sullenly, realizing now where she was heading.

  “I know a lot about you, about what you’ve done in the Belt. I’ve been a faithful employee, Mister Humphries, And I’ve kept my mouth shut. But continued silence will cost you ten million per year. You can set up a trust fund; I’ll handle the details for you.”

  Strangely, Humphries felt no anger. He almost admired her audacity. “So it’s come to this,” he said.

  “Yes, it has.”

  With a slow, disappointed shake of his head, Humphries said, “I was afraid you’d get delusions of grandeur. This isn’t the first time an employee of mine had tried to extort money from me.”

  “Don’t you think I’m worth ten mil per year?” she asked, rank impudence on her smiling lips.

  Before he could think of an appropriate reply, Verwoerd added, “And don’t think you can conveniently get rid of me. I’m not going to have an accident, Martin. I have a very good insurance policy against accidents of all kinds.”

  Then it dawned on him. “So that’s why you’re rushing Harbin back here.”

  She nodded. “Dorik’s my insurance policy. If you attempt any violence against me, he’ll kill you. He’s good at it. Ask Grigor; Grigor’s terrified of him.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yes. And for good reason. You should be terrified of him, too, if you think you can get rid of me. It’s cheaper to pay the ten million, Martin. That covers both of us, Dorik and me together.”

  “A real bargain,” Humphries growled.

  CHAPTER 57

  It was maddening. All day long Lars Fuchs paced his one-room apartment like a caged tiger, to the door, turn around, to the far wall where the wallscreen stood blank and mute. Again and again: the door, then past the bed where he and Amanda had slept together, made love together…

  He wanted to scream. He wanted to pound the walls, smash down the flimsy door and run through the dusty tunnels until someone shot him down and put an end to it all.

  He recalled the phrase the Americans used: cruel and unusual punishment. To be put under house arrest, to be locked in the room that had for so many years been his home, to know that his wife was millions of kilometers away and preparing to marry the man who had ruined his life—better to be dead, better to be out of this endless torture.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bureau and saw a man he hardly recognized, clothes wrinkled and sweat-stained, hair unkempt, jowly face unshaved. He stopped pacing and stared at the image in the mirror: a man steeped in self-pity, wallowing in defeat.

  No, he said to himself. I won’t let it end this way. They’ve taken everything from me, but they won’t take my self-respect. No one can do that except I myself.

  He tore off his sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower. When the spray turned on automatically, he thought about his water allotment, but then he decided, To hell with it; a condemned man has the right to a decent wash. But as the steamy mist enveloped him he thought of the times when he and Amanda had squeezed into the narrow stall together. It took all his strength to keep from crying.

  Freshly dressed and shaved, he asked the phone to call George Ambrose. Less than a quarter-hour later, Big George rapped once on his door and slid it back.

  “Hullo, Lars,” the big Aussie said, looking slightly shamefaced. “You wanted to see me?”

  Fuchs saw that an armed guard stood out in the tunnel; even with his breathing mask on he recognized the guard as Oscar Jimenez.

  “Step in, by all means,” Fuchs said, trying to sound brave. “I welcome a break in the monotony.”

  George slid the door shut again and stood uneasily by it. “I di’n’t think how the hours must drag for you, havin’ to stay in here.”

  “The only communication I’ve had from outside was a notice from Humphries’s lawyers that Amanda is suing for a divorce.”

  “Aw, cripes, Lars,” George said, crestfallen, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “I didn’t contest it,” Fuchs went on, almost enjoying the obvious guilt on George’s bearded face. “What difference does it make? I’m going to be executed soon, am I not?”

&nb
sp; George’s expression turned even gloomier. “Well, we’re settin’ up a trial for you. You’re gonna need to have somebody to act as your defense counsel.”

  “I don’t want a trial.” Fuchs was surprised to hear himself say it.

  “Neither do I, mate, but we’ve gotta have it.”

  “You don’t understand, George. I waive my right to a trial… as long as my crew is exonerated and allowed to go free. I take full responsibility for everything.”

  “Let your crew go?” George scratched at his beard thoughtfully.

  “I gave the orders. They didn’t know that my orders would kill the people on Vesta.”

  “You take full responsibility?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you admit you killed the construction team on Vesta? Deliberately?”

  “I’d do it again,” Fuchs said fervently, “if the same situation arose.”

  George blew out a huge breath. “Guess we won’t need a trial, then.”

  “You’ll let my crew go free?”

  “I’ll hafta run it past the rest of the council, but, yeah, I don’t see any point in holdin’ them if you’re willing to take all the blame.”

  “I take all the blame,” Fuchs said.

  “Okay, then,” said George. “I guess the only question left is whether you want a blindfold or not.”

  Martin Humphries didn’t wait for Dorik Harbin to arrive at Selene. He ordered an HSS spacecraft to fly him to a rendezvous with the vessel Harbin was on. He grimaced when he thought about the expense, but he wanted to see this mercenary soldier, this hired killer, without Verwoerd involved.

  Even though he had studied Harbin’s personnel file to the last detail, Humphries was still surprised when he finally met the man. He’s like some prowling jungle cat, Humphries thought as soon as he entered Harbin’s compartment. Even in the stark cramped shipboard cubicle, Harbin reminded him of a panther, restless energy pent beneath a sleekly muscled hide.

  He was definitely handsome, in a rugged, almost cruel way. Harbin had shaved off his beard and put on a long-sleeved shirt and khaki slacks for his meeting with Humphries. The clothes were creased so sharply they might as well have been a military uniform. Humphries felt decidedly civilian in his casual turtleneck pullover and whipcord trousers.

  They shook hands and murmured polite greetings to one another. Harbin invited Humphries to sit on the cubicle’s sole chair, a plastic recliner, then sat on the edge of the bunk, rigid as if at attention. Even sitting down he looks as if he’s ready to leap at his prey, Humphries thought.

  “I brought you a gift,” Humphries said genially, pointing to the compartment’s blank wallscreen. “Authorization for any, uh … medications you might need.”

  “You mean drugs,” Harbin said.

  “Yes. Recreational, stimulants—anything you want, my pharmacists at Selene will produce them for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” said Humphries.

  Then there was silence. Harbin simply sat there, appraising Humphries with his spooky ice-blue eyes. I’ve got to be very careful with this man, Humphries realized. He’s like a vial of nitroglycerine: handle him the wrong way and he’ll explode.

  At last Humphries cleared his throat and said, “I wanted to meet you personally, to congratulate you on a job well done.”

  Harbin said nothing.

  “You’ve earned a sizable bonus.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That business about sending copies of your logs to several friends on Earth,” Humphries went on, “was very clever. It shows a lot of intelligence on your part.”

  Harbin’s expression changed minutely. A hint of curiosity flickered in his eyes.

  “Very clever,” Humphries continued. “But really unnecessary. You have nothing to fear from me. I’m grateful to you, and I don’t turn on the people who do their jobs well. Ask Grigor. Ask anyone.”

  Harbin seemed to think it over for a moment. Then, “I was being cautious.”

  “I understand. In a way, I even agree with you. If I’d been in your position, I probably would have done the same thing, more or less.”

  “You mentioned a bonus.”

  “One million international dollars, paid to any bank you name.”

  Harbin didn’t move a millimeter, but he seemed somehow to stiffen, like an animal that suddenly senses danger.

  “I had expected more,” he said.

  “Really? I think a million is very generous.”

  “Diane said there would be more.”

  There! Humphries cheered silently. He’s brought up her name.

  “Diane? Diane Verwoerd?”

  “Your personal assistant, yes.”

  “She has no authority to make you an offer that I haven’t approved,” Humphries said sternly.

  “But she told me…” Harbin’s voice trailed off in confusion.

  Humphries made himself smile understandingly. “Diane sometimes exceeds her authority.” With a sly wink, he went on, “That’s the trouble with a woman. If they share your bed they start behaving as if they own you.”

  “Share your bed?”

  “Didn’t you know? She didn’t tell you? For god’s sake, the woman’s carrying my baby.”

  Harbin rose slowly to his feet. “Carrying… your baby?”

  Trying to keep from showing fear, Humphries sat where he was and said innocently, “We just found out about it a few days ago. She’s pregnant, all right. We’ve been sending the happy news to all our friends. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

  CHAPTER 58

  The drugs only made it worse. Harbin selected carefully among the narcotics available from Humphries’s supplier, but he could not eradicate the thought of Diane betraying him. For two days after his arrival in Selene he lay in the apartment Humphries had provided him, trying to smother the pictures that played in his head. The drugs distorted his visions, twisted them and made them physically painful, but they did not bring the peace and oblivion that he sought. Just the opposite. They sharpened the knives that twisted in his flesh; they drove the daggers deeper inside him.

  She’s been sleeping with him! She’s allowed herself to get pregnant by him! All the time she was with me, she was mocking me, manipulating me to do what she wanted, what they wanted me to do. She’s played me for a fool and she thought she could get away with it.

  At last he could stand it no longer. Close to midnight, he lurched out of his apartment into the corridors that honeycombed Selene, bleary-eyed, unshaven, still in the clothes he had slept in for the past two nights. He shambled along the nearly empty corridors, heading for Diane’s quarters.

  Sleeping alone in his giant bed, Humphries was awakened by the buzz of his private phone. Grumbling, he sat up and told the computer to put his caller on-screen.

  The wallscreen showed Grigor’s somber lean face.

  “He’s left the apartment,” Grigor said without preamble.

  Humphries nodded and cut the connection. Wide awake now, he bunched the pillows behind him and sat back comfortably, then commanded the computer to show the display from the picocameras built into Diane Verwoerd’s apartment. She had searched her quarters several times, seeking the bugs, Humphries knew. But no one had found the microscopic cameras built into the apartment’s wiring.

  Four dark pictures quartered Humphries’s bedroom wall-screen, one view of each room in Diane’s apartment: sitting room, bedroom, kitchen, lavatory. He switched to infrared mode and saw that she was lying asleep in her bed. For two days she had searched Selene for Harbin and not found him. Humphries had secreted the mercenary far from her prying eyes. And fed the man with drugs that heightened his normal sense of betrayal, elevated his anger into homicidal fury. Years earlier chemists had developed hallucinogenic PCPs such as angel dust out of the primitive natural amphetamines. What Humphries’s people were feeding Harbin was far more sophisticated, fine-tuned to turn him into a raging maniac.

  Now Humph
ries sat back in his bed and waited for the conclusion of this little drama that Diane Verwoerd had brought upon herself. Try to force me to knuckle under to you, will you? Blackmail me? Threaten me? Well, now you’ll get what you deserve, you little slut.

  Harbin found her door at last. He hesitated a moment, head swimming, fist poised to rap on the door. And give her a chance to call for help? Give her a chance to hide her latest lover?

  He forced the lock on the sliding door easily and stepped inside her shadowy living room. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then he padded silently to her bedroom door. Something smelled rank, foul, and he realized it was his own body odor. She’s done this to me, he told himself. She’s made me into a pig.

  Like Circe, he thought, peering into the shadows to make out her sleeping form on the bed. The enchantress who turns men into swine.

  She was alone, he saw. He moved to the night table and switched on the lamp.

  Diane awoke slowly, blinked up at him, then smiled.

  “Dorik, where have you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

  Then she saw the murderous look on his unshaved face. She sat up and let the covers slip to her waist.

  “What’s the matter? What’s wrong? You look terrible.”

  He stared down at her. How many times had he caressed those breasts? How many other men had shared her body?

  “Dorik, what’s happened?”

  His voice, when he found it, was little more than a croak. “Are you pregnant?”

  The shock on her face was all the answer he needed. “I was going to tell you—”

  “With Humphries’ baby?”

  “Yes, but-”

  She got no farther. He seized her by the throat and pulled her off the bed, squeezing hard with both hands. She flailed her arms pitifully as he throttled her. Her eyes glazed, her tongue bulged out of her gagging mouth. Still crushing her larynx with one hand, Harbin grabbed her protruding tongue with the other, dug his nails into it and pulled it out of her lying mouth. Her shriek of pain drowned in the blood gushing from her mouth. Harbin relaxed his grip on her throat just enough to let her strangle on her own blood, gurgling, moaning, her hands sliding down his arms until her arms hung limp and dead.