Privateers

by Ben Bova

  “Don’t think you’re getting away with this,” said Malik as Dan backed toward the ladder. The Russian’s voice sounded tightly furious, even through Dan’s helmet earphones.

  “It looks to me as if we are,” Dan replied lightly.

  “I know who you are, Dan Randolph. You haven’t fooled me.”

  I ought to shoot him right here and now, Dan thought. Wonder if the pistol works in vacuum?

  “There’s nowhere you can hide, Randolph,” Malik went on. “I’m going to track you down and personally see to it that you are hanged!”

  Dan laughed at him. “You’re welcome to try.”

  He bounded up the ladder, taking four rungs at a time in the gentle lunar gravity, and ducked through the hatch. The spacecraft’s interior was Spartan, little more than two dozen acceleration couches slung in triple tiers, like bunks. Njombe was already in the pilot’s seat. Dan could not tell who the space-suited figure was beside him, possibly Carstairs, from the size.

  “Lift-off in five seconds,” Njombe’s deep voice called out.

  Dan sat on the nearest couch as the slight jolt of lift-off made the spacecraft shudder. He grinned to himself. Then he realized that his whole body was drenched with cold sweat.

  Chapter TWENTY-TWO

  London had changed, and not for the better. As he walked along the Embankment with Sir Edmond Dixon, Dan saw what Soviet supremacy meant to the nation whose empire had once reached around the world.

  Houseboats lined the Thames, stretching past Waterloo Bridge and past the bend in the river as far as Dan could see. Grimy, overcrowded houseboats packed with refugees from all those young nations that once had flown the British flag. And refugees from Europe as well. What would Churchill have thought, Dan wondered, if he’d known that fifty years after his death there’d be more than a million Germans living in Chelsea and Earl’s Court? Or that Japanese tourists are the lifeblood of Savile Row?

  Beggars lined the Embankment, most of them sitting on the pavement, silent and blank-faced, empty hats upturned beside them. Too hungry to stay on their feet, Dan thought. They were ragged and scarecrow thin. And filthy. That’s what shocked him most: London’s streets, her buildings, even the grand old Embankment itself, were thick with collected grime, unswept litter. Graffiti in a dozen different languages were scrawled everywhere, even on the statue of Victoria herself.

  They’ve lost it, Dan saw. Heart, nerve, self-respect, whatever it takes to make a people strong and great-they’ve lost it. He shuddered inside, knowing that America was sliding down the same grimy chute. Jane can coddle them along for now; they can still tell themselves that everything’ll work out okay, but the States are going to be like this soon. New York is already this bad. New Orleans is not far behind. It’ll get like this all over the States.

  Sir Edmond apparently was unbothered by the decay. He strolled through the warm autumn morning alongside Dan as they headed for the Houses of Parliament, ignoring the beggars, paying no attention to the teeming houseboats clinging to the Embankment’s stone wall. The river was gray and oily, but the morning air sparkled clean and fresh. The umbrella that Sir Edmond held tightly rolled in his right hand would not be needed. At least the Soviets sell them all the natural gas they need, Dan thought. No coal fumes ruining the air. Then he realized, Of course, that means that Britain isn’t in the market for American coal. Score another point for Soviet economic imperialism.

  Peddlers’ stalls dotted the walkway of the Embankment, offering meager selections of fruits, cakes and an occasional colorful scarf or tie.

  “Stolen goods, mostly,” warned Sir Edmond. “Wouldn’t touch them, if I were you.”

  He was a slim, slight man in his early fifties with curly reddish hair that was just beginning to go gray and the pinched, nervous face of a rodent. His teeth were very bad, but the suit he wore was new, expensive and perfectly tailored. Gray pinstripe, with pearl-gray vest.

  Neither Sir Edmond nor Dan noticed the two other men trying to look like casual tourists as they walked along the Embankment a dozen or so yards behind them, threading their way through the strolling pedestrians and squatting beggars and peddlers’ stalls, their eyes never leaving the backs of Dan and the Englishman. They were both dressed in nondescript tweeds. One of the men carried an umbrella, almost identical to Sir Edmond’s, except that its tip was needle sharp.

  Big Ben tolled the quarter hour, and Dan smiled to himself. Well, there’s still that. St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey and that old Gothic tower with its clock. The stones remain, even though the people get shabby.

  Sir Edmond checked his wristwatch. “Actually, I’ve got to be at the committee meeting in three-quarters of an hour.”

  “I understand,” said Dan. “I appreciate your taking the time to meet me face to face.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  “You’ve read all the briefs, I presume.”

  Sir Edmond gave Dan a haughty look. “Of course. Fascinating business. Did you actually do what the Russians claim you did?”

  Grinning, Dan said, “I sent a mission out to an asteroid. They were bringing samples back when the Russians intercepted them and jailed them. …”

  “They claim they put your crew in temporary custody pending a ruling from the World Court.”

  “I know what they claim,” Dan said.

  “They further claim that the asteroid material found aboard your spacecraft is legally the responsibility of the International Astronautical Council.”

  “Yes, and they claim that a corporation cannot claim ownership of extraterrestrial materials. I know that. Astro Manufacturing doesn’t claim ownership of the asteroid or the samples. But we do claim the right to use that material in manufacturing processes. There’s nothing in international law that prevents use of extraterrestrial material.”

  “Providing the IAC approves.”

  Dan stopped short, forcing the English lawyer to stop also.

  A dozen paces behind them, the two other men took a sudden interest in the cheap Nepalese jewelry being offered at the nearest peddler’s stall.

  “No,” Dan insisted, jabbing with his forefinger against Sir Edmond’s lapel. “You don’t need IAC approval. The IAC can prohibit your using certain extraterrestrial materials, but only after they have reviewed all the facts of the matter and only after a formal vote by the full council. I’ve read that law very carefully, Sir Edmond. So have the best lawyers I could find.”

  “It’s rather a sticky point,” said the Englishman, “I grant you.”

  “The Russians have no right to hold on to that cargo,” Dan said firmly.

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the matter, you know.”

  Dan felt a growing exasperation. Sir Edmond had been recommended as the sharpest legal mind in the field of international law. But Dan was experiencing doubts.

  “The Russkies are also claiming that you have endangered the entire world by altering the course of the asteroid so that it might hit the Earth.”

  “Absolute bull-” Dan stopped himself short. “Nonsense. The asteroid will go into orbit around the Earth. It won’t get any closer than the Moon does.”

  “Hmm.” Sir Edmond looked unconvinced.

  “Any competent astronomer can make the necessary observations and testify.”

  “Perhaps. If the Russkies don’t alter the confounded rock’s trajectory.”

  Dan felt his brows hike upward. “Do you think they’d do that?”

  “To beat you in the World Court? Are you serious?”

  Suddenly Dan liked this rat-faced Englishman. He laughed. “It’s a good thing I’ve got a few honest astronomers keeping track of the asteroid.”

  “Yes, quite. They’re not all Americans, I trust.”

  “Two from the University of Caracas, one from the international observatory in Peru, a married couple at the Pic du Midi in the Pyrenees, and the entire Junior Amateur Astronomer’s League of Japan. Is that good enough?”

  Sir Edmond smiled back
at him. “Sufficient. Sufficient.”

  They resumed their walk toward the Parliament buildings. The two men following them immediately lost interest in Nepalese bracelets.

  “Tell me frankly,” Sir Edmond said, his voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Did you actually do it?”

  “Do what?” Dan asked innocently.

  Sir Edmond glanced around at the sparse pedestrian traffic. “No one has a recording device here. There’s no need to be reticent. Did you really lead that rescue mission?”

  Dan smiled tightly at him. “Sir Edmond, you’re a lawyer. Astro Manufacturing Corporation has retained your services to represent us at the World Court against the Soviet Union’s claim that the asteroid and its samples belong to ‘the peoples of the world.’ Which means, effectively, to Soviet Russia.”

  “Yes, but-”

  “The Soviet Union has protested to the government of Venezuela that I personally invaded the Soviet base on the Moon, threatened the lives of Soviet citizens, and abducted eight Astro employees from Soviet custody.”

  “Did you or didn’t you?”

  Dan hesitated, then said, “Somebody did. And whoever it was deserves my unending gratitude. Those eight employees were returned to Nueva Venezuela unharmed. If the Russians want them back, they’re going to have to extradite them from Venezuela. I have another set of lawyers fighting that.”

  “But did you personally …”

  “What difference does it make?” Dan asked.

  “Well, I’d like to know just what kind of a client I’m dealing with.”

  “Your client is a corporation,” Dan replied. “A large, multinational, soulless corporation. I just happen to be the man who sits at the top of the machine.”

  Sir Edmond chuckled. “Very well, Mr. Randolph. Have it your own way. Perhaps one day, after this untidiness is all cleared up, you’ll trust me enough to tell me what really happened up there. …”

  They were approaching Westminster Pier. The pedestrian traffic here was thicker, brisker. Men with briefcases and women carrying big shoulder bags strode purposefully. The squatting beggars were scarcer, and a tall, stem-faced bobby paced slowly along in the opposite direction, hands clasped behind his back. The two men following Dan and Sir Edmond quickened their pace and closed the gap behind them.

  Dan was asking, “How long will it take the World Court to hear our case?”

  “Oh, several months, at least. The Russkies are laying on heavy pressure to get it on the court calendar quickly, but the-”

  The two men pushed between them, muttering a “Pardon me, please,” as they almost knocked Sir Edmond off his feet. Dan staggered a few steps backward.

  “Of all the cheeky bastards,” Sir Edmond grumbled.

  “Just like New York,” Dan said. Briefly he thought about hailing the two men and dressing them down, but they were weaving fast through the crowd, almost running.

  “They must be late for an appointment,” Dan said, as much to himself as to Sir Edmond.

  The Englishman squinted up at Big Ben, its tower standing tall and straight against the bright blue sky. “Which reminds me that I have an appointment of my own to keep.”

  Dan walked with him past the statue of Richard the Lion-Hearted, up to the front entrance at the Commons side of Parliament.

  “I’ll ring you up in a few days,” said Sir Edmond. “You’ll be in Caracas?”

  Nodding, Dan said, “If not, the phone will know where to find me.”

  “Very good. I …” The Englishman’s eyes suddenly squeezed shut. His mouth dropped open and a strangled groan gurgled in his throat. His knees buckled. Dan grabbed him as Sir Edmond’s head lolled back on his shoulders. The umbrella dropped from his nerveless hands. He was dead before Dan could lower him to the pavement.

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  Dan Randolph stood at the head of the lane, turned sideways like a fencer, his arm extended straight from the shoulder. The gun barked as he snapped off four quick shots. The sleek black automatic in his hand hardly bucked at all.

  Pete Weston clamped his hands to his ears as the gunfire echoed off the firing range’s walls. They were alone in the indoor range; the other nine lanes were empty and dark.

  “Aren’t you supposed to wear headphones when you shoot, to muffle the noise?” Weston asked.

  With a shake of his head, Dan hefted the automatic in his hand, testing its balance. “I want to get accustomed to the noise. I don’t want anything to throw me off if I have to use this thing for real.”

  “You’re really serious?”

  Weston was wearing his usual Wall Street attorney’s uniform: a gray three-piece suit. Dan had on an old pair of tan chinos and a short-sleeved shirt.

  “That Russian sonofabitch tried to murder me,” Dan told the lawyer. “He sent a couple of KGB goons after me and they got Dixon by mistake.”

  “You can’t be sure. …”

  Dan silenced him with a look. “Pete, I still have friends in London. The official autopsy report said heart attack. But Dixon’s cardiovascular system showed no signs of it. The KGB has used a nerve poison for assassinations since Stalin’s time. And there was a scratch on Dixon’s leg, where the thugs jabbed him with the umbrella one of them was carrying. Cut right through his pants leg.”

  Weston said nothing, but the expression on his high-domed face showed that he was not convinced.

  “They were after me,” Dan said. “Malik’s pissed because he can’t just arrest me and throw me in a Russian jail. …”

  “As long as the government of Venezuela protects you,” the lawyer pointed out.

  “Right.” Dan pulled the cartridge clip from the butt of the pistol and began refilling it from the box on the countertop in front of him.

  “You’d better be very nice to Hernandez,” Weston advised. “He’s got you by the cojones now.”

  Dan grinned at the light-skinned, freckle-paled lawyer’s use of a Spanish term. “You’re becoming a real native, Pete. Next thing you know, you’ll be taking siestas and playing the guitar.”

  Weston showed no amusement. “Just the same, if Hernandez wants to hand you over to the Russians …”

  “I’m being very nice to him, don’t worry. I’m treating him with enormous care and affection. My contributions to his favorite charitable causes have risen steeply in the past few weeks.”

  He slammed the clip back into the gun, whirled and fired five shots at the target down at the end of the lane. Weston clapped his ears again and grimaced. The target, a holographic image of a darkly threatening man holding a gun in his hand, showed bright red dots where the bullets passed through it. Dan’s five shots were scattered around the chest and shoulders.

  “Five for five,” he muttered.

  “Uh, look, boss …” Weston stammered. “I know I don’t have to remind you about this, but, uh … well …”

  “Spit it out. Pete! I’m not going to shoot you.”

  “Well …” The lawyer looked miserable. “You probably already know it. but if you want to stay on Hernandez’s good side, for God’s sake don’t mess around with his daughter anymore. Understand?”

  An ironic smile flickered across Dan’s face. “Yeah, 1 know.”

  “There’s no surer way to get him sore at you than to-”

  “I know!” Dan repeated. “Don’t worry about it. She’s going to marry Malik; she’ll be living in Moscow before the year’s out.”

  “Really?” Weston blinked with surprise.

  “I’ve been invited to the engagement party. By Hernandez himself. Tomorrow night.”

  The lawyer’s eyes blinked again, rapidly. “And you’re going?”

  His grin returning, Dan said, “You told me to be nice to Hernandez, didn’t you? Not to do anything that might upset him?”

  “So you’re going to her engagement party.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Where is it? At Hernandez’s mansion?”

  Dan shook his head. “No. The Russian embassy.”


  “The what!”

  “The party’s at the Russian embassy. Tomorrow night at nine. White tie. RSVP.”

  “You can’t go to the Russian embassy!” Weston waved both hands agitatedly. “That’s Soviet territory! It’d be like going into the Soviet Union itself. They’ll put you under arrest as soon as you step inside the door!”

  “No they won’t. Malik won’t spoil his own party.”

  Running a hand through his thinning hair, the lawyer said, “You’re afraid they’re out to kill you, and you’re going to step right into their parlor? That’s crazy!”

  “So I’m crazy,” Dan replied lightly. “You wouldn’t want me to offend Hernandez, would you?”

  “But-”

  “All the Third World space operators will be there: Kolwezi from Zaire, Vavuniya from India, al Hashimi from Pan-Arab … all of them. I’d be conspicuous by my absence if I didn’t go.”

  “Yamagata?” Weston asked. “The Chinese?”

  Dan shook his head. “I doubt it. The Russians aren’t being polite to the Chinese this year, and Saito has to worry more about offending his biggest customer than offending the Soviets.”

  “I still think you’re running a helluva risk.”

  “Malik won’t do anything to screw up his engagement party. Don’t worry about it. They might try to grab me as I leave, if they can do it quietly, without disturbing the other guests. That’s why I’m having my Fred Astaire suit altered to carry my little companion here… .” He raised the trim dead-black automatic, pointing it ceilingward. “They won’t take me without a fuss, and I’m making certain that they know there’ll be a fuss if they try anything.”

  “How can you make certain of that?”

  “Come on, Pete, open your eyes! The Soviets have informers everyplace. Astro is honeycombed with them, no matter how much we try to weed them out.”