"I don't know, sir—"
"There is the sabotage group," Stoire said. "True, I believe I have identified their agent, but suppose I have not? If he were to stop C-4 from going on schedule, we would be left with nothing. It would do no great harm to have Miss Hansen-MacKenzie hidden away, ready to produce when needed. I expect Aeneas MacKenzie would not even be above getting all of us off scot free in exchange for his daughter. It never hurts to have insurance."
"Well, yes sir," Donnelly said. "If you put it that way. But where can we keep them?"
"I believe I have an idea," Stoire said. He moved closer to Donnelly and they spoke helmet to helmet for a moment.
"Right. Come on, let's go," Donnelly said. "That way." He pointed with his flash. "And don't try anything, all right? I got nothing against either one of you. But I'll sure as hell shoot if I have to. There's just too much riding on this."
"How did you—how did you find us?" Glenda demanded.
Stoire's voice was maddeningly calm in their headsets. "When I first looked at your photograph, you reminded me of someone," he said. "I could not think who, although I have an excellent memory for faces. It concerned me sufficiently that I made a careful study of your dossier. An intriguing document. Carefully done. Really good work. But a few minor discrepancies. Your medical profile shows excellent physical condition, perfect teeth. Is that usual for foundlings? I do not think so. And the education you claim in your dossier does not match the abilities you showed aboard Wayfarer. A few other such things, all minor in themselves, but enough to make me think again. Where had I seen a blonde woman who frightened me? And then I remembered. I met your mother many years ago, at least thirty years. She was blonde then and was not so shy of having her photograph taken. A remarkably lovely woman, your mother. And you very much resembled the way she looked in the days before she married your father."
"Down there," Hal said. "Take that trail. And go slow."
"But how did you find us?" Glenda demanded.
"Ah. Once I knew who you were, it was obvious that I would have to question your, ah, lover. Mr. Dykes was most uncooperative, but he is not security minded. There was a copy of a map, marked, in his quarters. It took no great ability to go on from there."
They reached a wide ravine and started down into it.
"I don't suppose you would like to tell me how much you have found out," Stoire said.
"Go to hell," Kevin told him.
"Be polite." Stoire's voice had a hard edge. "So far I have been as gentle as possible under the circumstances. You can be made to talk, Senecal, and you are expendable. I point out that we have more air in our tanks than you have in yours. We need only wait. For that matter, I expect you would tell us anything to spare the young lady the ordeal of our questioning—"
"Kevin, don't say anything!" Glenda shouted.
"But you see, it doesn't really matter what you know," Stoire said. "I have Dykes, and we have drugs. It will not be necessary to question you two, which is as well for you."
They reached the bottom of the ravine. There was a scooter there. "Get on," Hal said. He took wire from his tool kit and bound Kevin and Glenda to the scooter seats. "All right, sir, I can handle them," the pilot said.
"Undoubtedly," Stoire said. "But—I think I will accompany you. Miss Hansen-MacKenzie is not above offering bribes—"
"I know better," the pilot insisted.
"Of course you do. Still, I think we will both be happier if we know we can trust each other—and the ride should be entertaining." Stoire climbed onto the scooter seat. "Let's go."
Chapter Sixteen
The pilot came around and turned off their transmitters. He left the receivers on. "Okay, kids," he said. "Hang on." He climbed into the saddle and ignited the rocket motor. The scooter rose swiftly from Ceres. The pilot studied the plot in his navigation screen, then made careful course corrections. They moved rapidly away from Ceres, out into the black depths of space.
Kevin leaned toward Glenda. Their helmets touched. "It looks like he's taking us up to C-4," Kevin said. "That doesn't make sense."
"Kevin, we've got to get loose—"
"Sure. How?" He strained against the wire that held him. Nothing gave. "I can't do anything. And Stoire's watching—"
"I don't know what to do either."
"I love you."
"Kevin, I'm—do you really think they meant it? Where could he be taking us? I think they're going to dump us in space."
"They want you as a hostage," Kevin said. He tried to sound more confident than he felt.
And yet, he thought, it made sense. If there was a place Stoire could keep her, it could be important to have Glenda Hansen-MacKenzie on tap. MacKenzie's reputation was known all over the world. If he made a promise—or a threat—he'd keep it. What might he do to get his daughter back? But it didn't make sense to keep Kevin Senecal alive. . . .
* * *
There was a stony rock a hundred meters in diameter just ahead. It was smaller than C-4. There were signs of mining on it, but no lights or people. It looked deserted.
Donnelly carefully maneuvered the scooter toward the rock, and finally set it down. "Well, here you are," he said. "Your new home."
"Where are we?" Kevin asked.
"C-2," Stoire said. "Abandoned three thousand hours ago. There was enough equipment left here to keep you alive. Food, oxygen, fuel cells. We will take your suits and radios—"
"Do you really want to do that, sir?" Donnelly asked. "May as well kill them and be done with it. Their radios won't reach Ceres, and they will probably have to make outside repairs. If you want them alive, you'd better leave them their suits."
"All right," Stoire said.
"Of course, there aren't any scooters here," Donnelly said. He came around with a pair of wire cutters. He clipped the wires holding Kevin's left hand to the scooter, then pulled Kevin's hands together and took a turn of wire around them. Then he did the same to Glenda before he cut them free from the scooter.
"There," he said. "I'll leave your tool kits, too. You'll get loose with a little work. The airlock's right over there. Now, off you go. Go on, jump. Move. Get going."
They jumped off the scooter.
"Careful how you wiggle around," Donnelly said. "You can jump right off this rock. Won't do you any good except to kill you, of course, but you can do it. 'Bye." He started the scooter engine.
"Au revoir," Henri Stoire said. "Actually, I expect that's a misstatement. I do not think we will meet again." The scooter moved rapidly away.
Kevin found the wire cutters in his tool kit and helped Glenda free her hands. Then she cut him loose and they went to the airlock.
"Gauges show pressure," Glenda said. "I guess we really can live here."
"Sure." Kevin cycled the lock and they went inside. "We can stay alive, but—there's just no way we're going to get off this rock. We could be here for years."
They explored their prison. There wasn't much to see. A few hundred meters of tunnels sprayed with plastic to hold air, some chambers carved out as quarters, and gear left when the mining operation was suspended.
"There's a lot of valuable stuff here," Kevin said. "Surely someone will come back for it."
"When Henri Stoire orders it done," Glenda said bitterly. "It all belongs to Interplanet."
"Yeah." Kevin continued to check the equipment available. "There's mining stuff."
"So we mine the rocks, refine steel, and build a scooter," Glenda said. "Somehow I don't think that's going to work."
"No. I guess not." Kevin continued to wander. A small kitchen. Bathroom. "Hot showers," Kevin said bitterly. "All the comforts. And they weren't lying about food. Enough to keep us going for months. Not much variety, I'm afraid. TVPs. Dehydrated stew. Well, we won't starve."
They wouldn't run out of power either. There were tanks of hydrogen and oxygen, and a dozen fuel cells to produce electricity from them.
There was even a thick window set in the outer room of the min
e. It looked down on Ceres. The tiny rock was locked in rotation with Ceres so that it always faced the asteroid below.
"So near and so far," Kevin said. "It might as well be a million instead of three hundred kilometers." He watched as they moved over Ceres. It would be simple enough to jump off their moonlet prison, but it would do no good: they would still be in orbit around Ceres.
Kevin took out his pocket computer. "C-2. We are 284 kilometers above the surface and we're moving at not quite three-tenths of a kilometer a second relative to Ceres. That's just about a thousand kilometers an hour."
"Which might as well be a million," Glenda said. "Could we send a message? There are energy sources here, we can make a spark-gap transmitter. Send an SOS."
"And who'd hear it first?" Kevin asked. "The probability is pretty good that Stoire would get it. He controls all the communications. And the computer. And I doubt that he'd like it. Donnelly would be the logical one to send up to 'rescue' us, and then—"
"Damn. I have made a rather thorough mess of things, haven't I?"
"I'm worried about Jacob."
She nodded. "So am I. I haven't even dared think about him. Do—can they make Bill Dykes tell them that Jacob was helping us?"
"Given enough time, or the right drugs, anybody can be made to tell anything."
"And then they'll kill Bill and Jacob both." Glenda's voice was bitter and full of self-accusation. "It's my fault. I wanted to be certain. I wanted to find out where they had hidden the Arthurium. Catch all the conspirators. Give the whole package to Aeneas, all wrapped up."
"You tried to get a message off. What more could you have done?" Kevin demanded.
"I don't know. I could have tried to get help. I think Dr. Vaagts would have believed me. Or Joe Harwitt. Westinghouse has a lot to lose—"
"Not if they're buying the Arthurium. And you can't know, Glenda. With this much at stake, anybody could be involved. Anybody at all."
"I know. That's what my father warned me about before I left. He didn't want me to come—"
"I don't blame him much."
"But I had to be so damned smart! And I've gotten my friends killed, and there's nothing I can do. I couldn't even get a message off!"
Kevin shrugged. "We did the best we could—"
"Did we? I didn't try everything. I could have sent something through the main computer."
Kevin frowned. "I suppose Jacob could have done that. It would have been dangerous. What we tried was better. A few more hours and we'd have done it. Or if Dykes hadn't left that marked map . . . ."
"Jacob had another plan," Glenda said. "He was working on the instructions Stoire gave the computer. Jacob thinks he can take control of the main computer away from Stoire. With just a little more work. Then we'd have been in control of the whole station."
"Yeah, but it has to work the first time," Kevin said. "All they need to do is keep Norsedal away from the control console."
"They couldn't keep me away," Glenda said. "If I knew the key commands, I could make the computer obey me. I should have waited, but no, I had to do things my way. Damn, I'm an idiot."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. How could you order their computer around?"
"Implant. I have a transceiver implant, and an acceptor was put into the Ceres main computer when it was built on Earth. It was supposed to be my secret weapon, but I never got a chance to use it."
"Implant." Kevin fell silent for a moment. "I'm told those cost half a million francs."
She didn't say anything.
"I keep forgetting. You have half a million francs. A lot more. What—how does it feel to grow up rich?" he asked.
"Confined. Filled with obligations if your father is Aeneas MacKenzie."
"Yeah, I guess it would be like that."
"I ran away from it," Glenda said. "Oh, not really. But I grew up on the Moon, and I was the little princess, and it was stifling. When I was fifteen, I convinced myself I couldn't stand it any longer. I went to Earth for an education." She shuddered. "It was terrible at first. Getting used to high gravity, to rain, and dust and storms and cars and freeways—terrible and magnificent too. Sailing. I learned to sail a boat. You can fly on the Moon, but you can't sail.
"So I went to school on Earth and I had this phony identity, and I kidded myself I was independent, but of course I wasn't. I was still taking mother's money. And I was always afraid any boys I met would find out who I was and then they'd pretend to like me because I was the little princess—I was a mess, Kevin.
"I realized that finally, that I was worse off than ever because I was taking the benefits of being a Hansen-MacKenzie and I was shucking the responsibilities. So when I went back for a visit and heard about the Ceres operation and heard mother worrying about the small yields of Arthurium, I decided it was time to try to earn my keep."
"So it was all made up, about you and the foster homes, and the Futurians?"
"Most of it. Not the Futurians. They're real, and I am a junior member of their Fellowship. I thought Aeneas would be upset about it, but he wasn't. He supports them, and they've helped us. They're one reason you're here, Kevin."
"How's that?"
"Dr. Farrington is one of the Fellowship. One of the leaders. After—when we were on the ship, I was curious about you, so I sent for more information. One of the messages I got back was from him. He thinks highly of you."
"But—why did you want to know more about me?"
"Do I have to tell you?" She moved closer to him. "Kevin, I'm afraid I've made a thorough mess of everything. I don't feel much like Miss Supercompetent Independence just now."
"And I'm one poor excuse for a hero," Kevin said. "But I do love you—"
"And you said so before you knew who I was. That's important," she said. And then they didn't talk at all for a long time.
The scooter came back thirty hours later. It didn't land. Instead it closed to a few dozen meters from their moonlet and a suited figure leaped off. As the scooter drove away again, the newcomer landed with a suit reaction pistol and came to the airlock.
"Jacob!" They let him in eagerly. "What happened?" Kevin demanded.
"They caught me," Norsedal sighed. "And it's worse than that. They killed your friend Dykes—"
"Oh no." Tears formed in Glenda's eyes.
"And Wiley Ralston," Norsedal said.
"Wiley? How was he mixed up in this?" Kevin asked.
"He was an agent for the African bloc," Norsedal said. "Stoire had him arrested and held a trial. Accused him of murdering you two, and George Lange. He was probably guilty of killing Lange, and he confessed to trying to kill the two of you when you were leaving Earth—"
"He was the saboteur on Wayfarer?" Kevin asked. "Wiley?"
"It looks that way," Jacob said. "He was executed for it."
"Damn," Kevin muttered. "There goes that chance. I was trying to see how Stoire intended to get away with it. I mean, the Hansen-MacKenzie heir can't just vanish! Aeneas MacKenzie would be out here with a shipload of Hansen security agents and blood in his eye—"
"And now he's got a scapegoat," Glenda said. "Dad will be suspicious, but—is there any evidence left?"
"There is now," Jacob said. "The computer still has a record of what happened. But Stoire will have done something about that before Mr. MacKenzie arrives. He is coming, by the way. There was a report that Valkyrie left Luna Station seven hundred hours ago. I wouldn't be surprised if he were bringing company police. But you've been reported dead and your murderer has been caught and executed."
"Looks pretty hopeless," Kevin said. "Unless you brought along a pocket scooter."
"Alas, no," Norsedal said. "They even took my computer."
"I don't understand why you're alive," Kevin said.
Jacob grinned slightly. "They're having some problems with the main computer just now. If they ever get them fixed, I'll be expendable, but they thought it might be best to have me around just in case they don't find the bugs."
"Will
that stop them?" Glenda asked.
"Alas, no. Mr. Stoire is very clever. He'll figure out what I did, just as I finally figured out what he did."
"You know, then?" Kevin asked.
"Yes. Could I have some water?"
"Sure. There's plenty. Plenty of everything. We could be here for years," Kevin said.
"Not me." Norsedal's voice didn't change. "You see, they didn't leave me any insulin."
"How—how long?" Glenda asked after a while.
Exile-and Glory Page 41
