The Silent War

FINAL ADJUSTMENTS

The three-second lag in communications between Earth and the Moon did not irritate Nobuhiko Yamagata. He found it useful; it gave him a few moments to think before responding to his father.

Saito’s face grew solemn when Nobu told him of the tentative agreement they had hammered out.

“But this will keep Yamagata from moving back into space operations,” the older man complained.

“Not entirely,” Nobuhiko replied. “We will gain only a small share in the profits from asteroidal mining, true enough. But the price for asteroidal resources will become so low that we will be able to continue our rebuilding programs and invest in new space ventures, as well.”

“Lower our costs,” Saito muttered. “H’mm. I see.”

In the end, the elder Yamagata agreed that his son’s best course was to accept the agreement. By the time Nobuhiko ended his conversation with his father, Saito was already talking about building solar power satellites in orbit about the planet Mercury.

“The sunlight is much more intense that close to the Sun,” he said. “Perhaps I will leave this dreary monastery and lead the Mercury project myself.”

Soaked with well-earned perspiration, Martin Humphries held Tatiana Oparin’s naked body close to his own and contemplated his future.

“Maybe I won’t rebuild the house,” he said, gazing up at the darkened ceiling of the hotel bedroom. It sparkled with a thousand fluorescent flecks of light, like stars on a summery evening back on Earth.

“Not rebuild it?” Tatiana murmured drowsily.

“I could go back to Connecticut. That’s where my boys are living. The runt’s nothing much, but Alex is turning into a real son. Just like his father.” He laughed at his private joke.

“You’d leave the Moon?”

“Just for a visit. To see the kids. And there’s other family still down there. Can’t take too much of them.”

“But you’ll still live here at Selene, won’t you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hell Crater’s an interesting place. Maybe I’ll buy into one of the casinos there. Be a playboy instead of a captain of industry. Might make a nice change for me.”

“You would make an excellent playboy,” said Tatiana, snuggling closer to him.

Humphries laughed in the darkness. This is a lot easier than running a corporation, he thought. Let the others do the work. I’ll spend the profits.

Stavenger spent much of his evening sending a long, detailed report to his wife about the peace conference.

“I think it could work,” he concluded. “I think we can make it work.”

Edith was on her way back to him, he knew. She had survived the atrocity at Ceres unscathed, physically. Her news coverage, complete with computer-graphic simulations of the actual attack based on her eyewitness description, had been the biggest news event since the greenhouse floods had first struck. There was already talk of a Pulitzer for her.

None of that mattered to Stavenger. Edith’s all right, he thought. She’s on her way back. She wasn’t hurt. It was an emotional trauma for her, but she wasn’t physically harmed. She’ll be all right. I’ll help her recover.

Edith’s news reporting had been the key to making the peace agreement, Stavenger realized. With the Chrysalis massacre in full view of every person in the solar system, Humphries and the others had no choice except to come to some sort of an agreement to end the fighting.

Now comes the hard part, Stavenger told himself. Now we have to make the agreement work.

Pancho was packing her travel bag when the call from Jake Wanamaker came through. She invited him to come to her residence.

By the time he buzzed at the front door, Pancho was packed and ready to go. She carried her travel bag to the door and let it drop to the floor, then opened the door to let Wanamaker in. In the languid lunar gravity, the bag thumped on the carpeting as Wanamaker stepped into the entryway.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

“Yep,” said Pancho, ushering him into the sitting room. “But I got lots of time. Want a drink?”

The room’s decor was set to the Mediterranean isle of Capri: steep, green-clad cliffs studded with little white-walled villages clinging here and there, and the placid sea glittering beneath a warm Sun.

Wanamaker asked for a bourbon and water. Pancho had the auto-bar pour her an ice-cold lemoncello, to go with the scenery.

She gestured him to a comfortably wide armchair, and perched herself on the smaller upholstered chair next to it. They clinked glasses. Pancho noticed that Jake took a healthy swig of his bourbon, rather than a polite little sip.

“What’s on your mind?” Pancho asked.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Looks like I’m out of a job.”

“Guess so,” she said. “Your contract runs to the end of the year, though.”

“I don’t feel right taking money for doing nothing.”

Pancho considered this for a moment, then heard herself say, “So why don’t you come with me? Be my bodyguard.”

His brows shot up. “Bodyguard? Where are you going?”

With a shrug, she admitted, “Dunno. Just want to get away from all this. I’m going to resign from Astro Corporation.”

“Resign?” “Yep. I sorta fell into this job by accident. Took me a lotta years to realize I don’t really want to be a corporate executive.”

“So you’re going to travel?”

“For a bit. My sister’s out at the Saturn habitat. Thought maybe I’d have a look-see out there.”

“You don’t need a bodyguard for that,” Wanamaker said.

Pancho grinned at him. “Okay then, I’ll be your bodyguard. How’s that?”

Realization dawned on Wanamaker’s face. He broke into a wide grin.

Shanidar was in orbit around Vesta. There was a delay getting the crew transferred down to the base because most of the surface facilities had been eaten away by the nanomachine attack. Just as well, Harbin thought. He was in no hurry to leave the ship.

He had remained in his quarters, as ordered by the executive officer. He had not slept for several days. Without his medications, sleep brought dreams, and Harbin did not like what his dreams showed him.

He replayed the news broadcasts of his attack on Chrysalis over and over. Each time it seemed worse to him, more horrifying, more damning.

What does life hold for me now? he asked himself. They’ll send out some troops to arrest me. Then a trial, probably back on Earth. And then what? A firing squad? More likely a lethal injection. Or perhaps life in prison.

I can save them the trouble, he thought.

His mind resolved, Harbin slid open the pleated door to the passageway and headed toward the rear of the ship, away from the bridge. I’ve got to do this quickly, he knew, before they realize I’ve left my quarters.

He went straight to the weapons locker, unattended now that the ship was in orbit and the crew waiting to transfer to their base. The grenade storage bins were locked, but Harbin knew all the combinations. He tapped out the proper sequence and the lock clicked open. A small one, he told himself. You don’t want to damage the ship too much.

A minigrenade, hardly larger than his thumbnail. Enough explosive in it, however, to blast open an airlock hatch. Or something else.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

Harbin whirled to see one of his crewmen coming down the passageway.

“Oh, it’s you, Captain.” The man looked suddenly embarrassed. “Sir, eh—you’re supposed to be confined to your quarters.”

“It’s all right, trooper,” Harbin said reassuringly. “Nothing to worry about. For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man is blackened…”

“Sir?” the crewman asked, puzzled. Then he saw the minigrenade in Harbin’s hand. His eyes went wide.

“Nothing,” Harbin muttered. He flicked the grenade’s fuse with his thumbnail as he spun around to place his body between the crewman and the blast. The explosion nearly tore him in half.