by Ben Bova
Aside from the usual brief report to Atlanta, there was an even shorter message to some address in Copenhagen. And he had sent it not through the usual radio channel, but by a tight-beam laser link.
Suddenly Morgenthau was wide awake, calling the same number in Copenhagen, tracing Wilmot's message.
"She knows?" Vyborg asked, startled.
Eberly, walking along the curving path between Vyborg and Kananga, replied, "She suspects."
To a casual observer the three men seemed to be ambling slowly along the flower-bordered pathway out beyond the edges of Athens. Late morning sunlight streamed through the habitat's solar windows. Bees hummed among the hyacinths and hollyhocks. Butterflies fluttered. Vyborg, short and spare, hunching over slightly as he walked, was scowling like a man who had just swallowed something vile. Even tall, regal Kananga, on Eberly's other side, looked displeased, perhaps even worried.
"And she came to you for help," Kananga said.
Eberly nodded slowly. "I have volunteered to bring her to your office."
"Not my office," said Kananga. "Too many eyes watching there. We'll have to meet somewhere more secluded."
"Where?" Eberly asked.
Vyborg suggested, "How about the scene of the crime?"
Kananga smiled gleamingly. "Perfect."
Eberly glanced from one man to the other. They're drawing me into their crime, he realized. They're going to make me a party to another murder. What alternative do I have? How can I keep clear of this?
Aloud, he said, "I'll tell her to meet me at the scene of the old man's death, but I won't be there when she arrives."
"I will," said Kananga.
"She's got to disappear entirely," Eberly said. "We can't have another dead body to explain."
Vyborg said, "In a habitat as large as this, there must be thousands of places where she could run off to."
"I don't want her body found," Eberly repeated.
"It won't be," said Kananga. "That's what airlocks are for." Looking past Eberly to Vyborg, he said, "You'll be able to erase the airlock security camera record, won't you?"
Vyborg nodded. "And replace it with perfectly normal footage that will show absolutely nothing."
"Good," Kananga said.
Eberly drew in a deep breath. "Very well. When shall we do it?"
"The sooner the better."
"This afternoon, then."
"Fourteen hundred hours," Kananga suggested.
"Make it earlier," said Vyborg, "while most of the people are at lunch."
"Yes," Kananga agreed. "Say, twelve-thirty hours."
"Good." Vyborg smiled, relieved.
"I don't like any of this," Eberly said.
"But it's got to be done."
"I know. That's why I'm helping you."
"Helping us?" Vyborg challenged. "What will you be doing to help us? The colonel here is doing what needs to be done. You'll be in your office, establishing an alibi."
Eberly looked down at the smaller man coldly. "I'll be in my office amending Holly Lane's dossier to show that she is emotionally unstable, and has attempted suicide in the past."
Kananga laughed aloud. "Good thinking. Then her disappearance won't look so suspicious."
"Just be certain that her body isn't found," Eberly snapped.
"It won't be," said Kananga, "unless someone wants to get into a spacesuit and search a few million kilometers of vacuum."
SATURN ARRIVAL Minus 19 Days
Holly and Eberly walked past the orchard's neat rows of trees, heading for the spot along the irrigation canal where Don Diego had drowned. Holly didn't need a map or a marker; she remembered the exact location perfectly.
"But what did Kananga find?" she asked.
Eberly shrugged his rounded shoulders. "I don't know. He said he didn't want to talk about it on the phone."
"Must be something important," she said, quickening her pace. "Must be." Eberly touched his comm, in the breast pocket of his tunic. Vyborg was supposed to call him, give him an excuse to leave Holly and head back to his office. Why hasn't he called? Is he trying to make certain I'm involved personally in this? Trying to make me a witness to Holly's murder? An accomplice?
Holly was oblivious to his nervous behavior. "Wonder what it could be?"
"What what could be?" Eberly asked, with growing impatience. "Whatever it is that Kananga found."
Your death, he replied silently. He's going to kill you, and make me a party to it.
"Wait," said Eberly, reaching out to grasp Holly's arm. "What is it, Malcolm?"
He stood there, feeling cold sweat beading his upper lip, his forehead, trickling down his ribs. I can't do it, he realized. I can't let them draw me in this deep.
"Holly, I..." What to say? How can I get out of this without telling her everything?
His comm buzzed. Almost giddy with relief, Eberly fished it out of his tunic pocket and fumbled it open.
Instead of Vyborg's dark, sour face, Morgenthau appeared on the miniature screen. She was smiling broadly. "I've found it," she said, without preamble. "His entertainment vids. They're—"
"I'm out here in the orchard with Holly," he interrupted, his voice as strong and imperative as he could make it without shouting. "What is it that you've found?"
Morgenthau looked flustered for a moment, then she seemed to understand what he was trying to tell her. "It's an important break through," she temporized. "Too complicated to discuss over the phone. I must show you all the details, so that you can then discuss them with Professor Wilmot."
"Is it urgent?" he prompted.
"Oh, yes, quite urgent." Morgenthau took her cue. "I suggest you come to my office immediately. This can't wait."
"Very well," he said sharply. "I'll meet you at your office."
He clicked the handheld shut and looked up at Holly. "I'm afraid I'll have to go back. You go on to your meeting with Kananga. I'll join you as soon as I can."
Holly was clearly disappointed, but she nodded her understanding. Without another word, Eberly turned around and started walking quickly back toward the village, practically loping through the trees. Puzzled, Holly turned back and headed for the irrigation culvert. Then she realized she would have to see Kananga by herself. The prospect didn't please her, but she was determined to find out what the security chief had learned about Don Diego's death.
No, not death, Holly reminded herself. Murder.
For one of the rare times in his life, Manuel Gaeta felt awkward. As he walked down the corridor toward Nadia Wunderly's cubbyhole office, he actually felt nervous, like a teenager going out on his first date. Like a guilty little kid going to confession.
The door marked planetary sciences staff was wide open. The area inside looked like a maze constructed of shoulder-high partitions, filled with quietly intense scientists and their assistants. Gaeta had been there often enough to know the way, but this particular morning he got confused, lost, and had to ask directions. Everybody seemed to know who he was and they smilingly pointed him in the right direction. The women seemed to smile especially warmly, he noticed.
None of that now, he told himself sternly.
Feeling a little like a mouse in a psychologist's maze, Gaeta finally made it to Wunderly's cubbyhole, which was about as far from the front door as it could be.
"Good morning, Manny," she said, barely looking up as he hesitated by the entryway.
"Hi," he said as brightly as he could manage. "You got the results for me?"
She nodded without smiling. Unasked, Gaeta took the squeaky little plastic chair at the side of her desk. Suma friadad, he thought. A man could freeze to death in here.
Wunderly projected a set of tables on the blank partition that formed the back wall of her cubicle. "These are the frequencies of particles bigger than ten centimeters in the brightest belt, the B ring," she said, her voice flat, as unemotional as a machine. "And here are the deviations that they—"
"I don't blame you for being sore at me," he interrupted.
She blinked her big gray eyes slowly, solemnly.
"I know you and Kris talked."
"Holly, too."
He conceded with a shrug and a weak attempt at a boyish smile. "Yeah, and Holly too."
"And God knows who else."
"Now wait," he said, raising a hand defensively. "It's bad enough, don't go making it worse than it is."
"I don't want to talk about it," Wunderly said.
"I owe you an apology."
She glared at him for a moment. Then, "I don't want to talk about it. Ever again."
"But I—"
"Never again, Manny!" Her eyes flashed. She meant it, he realized.
Wunderly took a breath, then said, "Our relationship from now on is strictly business. You want to go skydiving through the rings and I want to draw public attention to the rings. We'll work together on this strictly as professionals. No personal involvement. Understood?"
"Understood," he said weakly.
"With any luck, I'll get a big fat grant to study the rings and you'll break your ass."
Despite himself, Gaeta grinned at her. "With any luck," he agreed.
Holly walked along the culvert to the spot where Don Diego's murder had taken place. As she made her way down the dirt embankment she looked for Kananga. He was nowhere in sight.
He's not here? she wondered. What's going on?
Then she saw his tall, lanky form, maybe a hundred meters up the embankment, standing there, waiting for her. As usual, he was dressed completely in black: tunic, slacks, boots, all dead black.
"Hello," she called.
Kananga started toward her.
"This is the spot, right here," Holly shouted. "By the peach trees up there."
Kananga called back, "Are you certain?"
"I remember every detail."
He stopped once he was within arm's reach. "You have an excellent memory."
"Photographic," Holly said. She tried to hide her nervousness, with Kananga towering over her. She noticed that his boots left prints in the dirt just like the ones at the murder scene.
"And I suppose that spot, there," he stretched out a long arm, pointing, "is where you found the old man's body."
Holly pointed slightly more leftward. "Over there. That's where it was."
"I see." And he grabbed Holly, one big hand clamped over her face, covering her nose and mouth, the other arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her completely off her feet.
FIGHT OR FLEE
Can't breathe! Kananga's big hand was clamped over Holly's face, smothering her. She flailed her feet, trying to kick him, but her softbooted feet merely bounced off his long, muscular legs.
Holly's arms were pinned to her sides as Kananga carried her down along the culvert. She was desperately gasping for air but his hand was gripping her painfully, tighter and tighter.
Holly's right hand brushed against Kananga's slacks. Without conscious thought she felt for his crotch, grabbed and squeezed as hard as she could. He yowled and dropped her. Holly landed on the balls of her feet and whirled to face him. Kananga was doubled over, his face contorted with pain. She kicked him in the side of his head with every gram of strength she could muster.
Kananga went sprawling. Holy jeeps! Holly said to herself. I must have had martial arts training back on Earth. Kananga was staggering to his knees, groaning. Holly kicked him again and then took off, racing as fast as she could along the sloping concrete wall of the culvert, splashing along the edge of the stream, getting as far away from Kananga as fast as she could.
By the time Eberly got back to the administration building, most of his nervousness had abated. Kananga's killed her. It's on his head, not mine. Nobody knows that I led Holly to him. Not even Morgenthau knows. If Kananga gets caught, I can distance myself from him.
He entered the Human Resources section of the building and walked past the four clerical types working at their desks. The door to Morgenthau's office was closed; he slid it open without knocking.
She looked up sharply from her desk, recognized who had invaded her privacy, and put on a smile for Eberly.
He glanced around before sliding the door shut again and taking the chair in front of the desk. This used to be my office, he thought, noting how Morgenthau had tricked up the walls with holoviews of Monet's paintings of cathedrals.
"You found something of Wilmot's?" he asked, without preamble. It was important to make Morgenthau understand who was the chief here and who the underling. Otherwise she'd flaunt her connections to the Holy Disciples and try to control him.
"Something that can destroy him," Morgenthau said, smiling devilishly.
Eberly hiked his brows dubiously. "Really?"
"Really." Morgenthau projected a list of titles against a bare spot on the wall. Each title had a still picture image alongside it.
Eberly gaped at the pictures.
"Pure filth," Morgenthau said. "He watches these disgusting vids every night before he goes to bed."
"You're sure?"
She nodded, grim-faced. "Every night. I have it all on camera."
Eberly broke into laughter. "We have him!" he crowed. "We have Wilmot in our grasp." And he clenched both his hands into tight, painful fists.
"I may have a concussion." Kananga lay stretched out on the sofa in Vyborg's apartment, long legs dangling over the sofa's edge, his head thundering with pain. The side of his face was swollen.
Vyborg carried a cold towel to the colonel, biting his lips to keep from screaming curses at the blundering idiot. Allowing a little slip of a girl to beat him up! To get away! Now she knows for certain that Romero was murdered. He kept silent, though. In the foul mood he's in, Kananga might decide to throttle me if I tell him what I actually think of him.
"Where did she go? Where is she now?" Vyborg said, his voice low, sibilant. "That's the important question."
"You've got to tell Eberly."
"I've got to? Why not you? You're the one who allowed her to get away."
"You tell him," Kananga said, his face hard, determined.
Vyborg didn't try to suppress the angry disdain he felt. Puffing a disgusted breath from his nostrils he called, "Phone! Connect me with Dr. Eberly, wherever he is. Emergency priority."
Within ten seconds Eberly's face appeared hovering in the air above the coffee table. He was smiling happily. Vyborg immediately saw that he was in Morgenthau's office.
"I'm glad you called," Eberly said. "I have important news for you both."
"I'm afraid I have news, also," said Vyborg. "Bad news."
Eberly's smile faded. Behind him, Morgenthau looked suddenly concerned.
No sense prolonging the agony, Vyborg decided. Come right out with it. "Holly Lane escaped."
"Escaped? What do you mean?"
"Apparently she is a martial arts champion. She got away from our good colonel here," Vyborg gestured toward Kananga, still supine on the sofa, "and we have no idea where she is."
Eberly stared at the three-dimensional image that filled half of Morgenthau's office: Vyborg standing tense and obviously angry while Kananga lay on the sofa pressing a cold towel to his head.
He glanced at Morgenthau, whose expression was gradually changing from puzzlement to understanding. She's piecing it together, Eberly realized. Now she knows that I'm involved in the attempt on Holly's life.
Shaking inside with a mixture of fury and fear, Eberly managed to say, "I want you both at my apartment in five minutes."
Holly ran blindly along the culvert until her lungs burned with exertion. She stopped, bent over, puffing hard. A glance backward showed nothing. He's not following me, she decided with some relief. Prob'ly unconscious, the way I kicked him. Jeeps, maybe he's dead. She straightened up and headed up the embankment, into the dappled shadows of the orchard. Serve him right, she thought. He tried to kill me. He must've killed Don Diego.
Kay, she told herself. Kananga killed Don Diego. Why? She had no idea. Who do I tell
about it? Malcolm?
Then she realized that Malcolm had led her to this meeting with Kananga. Had suggested it in the first place. Malcolm knew what was going down. He's part of it, whatever "it" is, she realized.
She wanted to cry. Malcolm's involved in Don Diego's murder. He wanted Kananga to murder me!
Who could she trust? Who could she turn to? I can't go back to my apartment, they might be waiting for me there. Kris! I'll call Kris. Or maybe Manny. She thought about it as she hurried through the apple trees at the far end of the orchard. Ahead lay rows of berry bushes and, beyond that, the endcap.
Not Manny, she decided. I won't go running to him like some helpless little girl asking the big, strong hero to protect her. He prob'ly wouldn't believe me, anyway. Kris would. Kris'll believe me. But should I get her involved in this?
She kept on walking toward the endcap, trying to sort out her options and finding there weren't all that many options open to her. If Eberly is part of this, whatever it is, that means Morgenthau and that slimy Vyborg snake are part of it too.
Under the stand of elms at the endcap, Holly sat tiredly on the grass and tried to think. Looking down the length of the green landscape, the habitat seemed exactly the same as it had been the day she and Kris Cardenas had stopped here. But nothing was the same, Holly thought, her insides suddenly hollow. Her whole world had crashed and burned. I wish Pancho was here, she admitted to herself. Panch would know what to do.
Holly pulled out her comm unit and stared at it in her hand. No sense calling Pancho; it'd take the better part of an hour for a message to get to her. And what could I say to her? Help, somebody's just tried to murder me? What good would that do?
Kris. I'll call Kris. She said to the comm unit, "Kris Cardenas."
Nothing happened. Holly saw that the screen was flat and dark. The unit wasn't working.
They've deactivated my phone! Why? she asked herself. And answered, Because they want me to use a wall phone, so then they'll know where I am. They're after me! They want to locate me and grab me.
