by Ben Bova
Before Dan could react, a pencil-thin beam of searing red light lanced through the morning air, from the metal box. Straighter than any arrow, it caught Pete Weston in the left eye and nearly sawed off the entire top of his skull before it winked out. The car roared away as Weston sagged to the cement paving and tumbled down the steps to the feet of Dan’s waiting chauffeur.
Dan stood frozen, his mind a blank, his body unable to move. No blood came from the lawyer’s wound. Pete just lay there, arms and legs sprawled awkwardly in death. The chauffeur dropped to his knees, far too late to protect himself from any weapon that might have been aimed at him.
Dan found the strength to turn and look back at Lucita. Through the tinted glass door, he could see that the horror on her face was matched by his own reflection.
Chapter TWENTY-NINE
“I’m going to kill that sonofabitch and I don’t care who knows it.”
Dan said the words calmly, quietly, to the image of Saito Yamagata kneeling on a woven straw tatami mat, fists on knees, face set in a grim scowl.
“You must remember,” Yamagata said, “that 1 cannot guarantee the security of this transmission.”
Dan was sprawled on a sofa in his own living room, wrapped in a sky-blue terry-cloth robe, his hair still wet from a long hot shower, an opened bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the coffee table in front of him. He had spent almost the whole day with the Caracas police, describing the car and the two men who had murdered Pete Weston, making arrangements to take care of the lawyer’s body and then, the hardest part, calling Pete’s wife and breaking the brutal news to her. It was twilight now. Through the windows on the far side of the room, Dan could see the sky flaming with the burning reds and lush violets of a tropical sunset.
Yamagata’s holographic image, transmitted from his Tokyo residence, knelt across the coffee table from him, just as if the Japanese were actually in the living room with him.
“I don’t give a fuck about security.” Dan growled. “I hope the bastard is listening to me right now. I’m going to kill him, if I have to do it with my bare hands.”
“You are understandably upset,” Yamagata said.
Dan took a long pull on the tumbler of whiskey in his hand. There was neither ice nor water in the glass.
“I know what he’s doing, that Russian,” he muttered. “He’s trying to isolate me: kill or scare off anybody who’s close to me. Maybe he thinks I’ll get frightened, too, and back off.”
“Perhaps he is merely trying to warn you,” said Yamagata.
“He’s the one who needs the warning. Maybe he can kill me, but he sure can’t scare me.” Dan took another swallow of the whiskey and felt it glide down his throat, hot and smooth. “Nobo’s all right?” he asked.
Yamagata nodded. “He is quite safe. But he wants to return to you.”
“No,” Dan said. “That’s a risk I won’t take. Not with your son, Sai.”
The holographic image fell silent for a long moment. “Nobuhiko does not lack courage. He is very insistent on returning to work with you.”
“I can’t allow it, Sai.” Dan shook his head. He felt just the slightest bit woozy. “Not your boy.”
“Then the Russian is achieving at least part of his objective.”
Dan stared at his old friend.
“You are too concerned about Nobo to allow him to return to work for you. If you had known that your lawyer, the man Weston, was marked for death, would you have allowed him to remain at your side?”
Dan started to answer, but he did not want to say the words that formed in his mind.
Yamagata smiled at him. “No, you would not. I know the quality of the heart that beats inside you, Dan. You think nothing of taking risks that defy the gods, but you would not ask others to take risks one-hundredth as dangerous.”
“If it’s me he’s after,” Dan muttered, “why doesn’t he kill me?”
“The Russian is after power, not merely your life. He wants to kill you, but he wants to break you first.”
“How can you-”
Raising a pudgy hand to silence Dan’s objection, Yamagata said, “The Soviets want to drive us out of space; you have told me that many times yourself.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Murdering you would not further that aim. Comrade Malik’s goal, undoubtedly, is to be able to arrest you and bring you to trial before the eyes of the whole world, to show the world that a capitalist who operates space industries is a pirate, a brigand, a thief and robber.”
Dan nodded grimly. “I get it. And by implication, every capitalist operating in space is a pirate.”
“Exactly so,” Yamagata agreed. “Your life is merely part of a larger scheme: to allow the Soviets to take over all the space factories.”
Dan sat silently, swirling the half-inch of whiskey left in his glass.
“Moreover,” Yamagata continued, “the Soviets are facing some political problems as well. Your asteroid mission-and their seizure of your ship-has opened many eyes. There is talk now of asking the IAC to review the agreements regarding space resources.”
Dan said, “Brazil’s asking for changes already. And I’ve heard rumors that the Organization of African Unity is going to support them.”
“You see?” Yamagata said. “It is not too difficult for the Soviet leaders to believe that if they make a martyr of you, they harm themselves. But if they can bring you to trial and show the world that you are a thief …”
“I see.”
“They need you alive-for the time being. They do not want to stir up the Third World nations. They do not want to encourage resentment or resistance.”
“If only we had some help,” Dan muttered. “If China would just-”
“China will do nothing. My contacts there advised me to seek help from the United States.”
“Fat chance! They’ve got America whipped. Jane’s not going to do a thing to help us.”
“But the Soviets must keep the goodwill of the Third World,” Yamagata insisted. “The Third World holds most of the resources, the raw materials. And now, with space manufacturing, the Third World is becoming a powerful industrial force as well.”
“And to control the Third World they’ve got to control us. Or take over our operations and dump us.”
“Exactly!” Yamagata beamed like a teacher whose prize pupil had finally gotten the correct answer. “That is why they cannot murder you.”
“Not yet.”
“Not at all. The murders of those near you have been terror attacks, meant to cow you. Or deeds done out of sheer spite. But they will not murder you.”
Draining the last of the whiskey, Dan said, “But they’ll bring me to trial and let a judge condemn me to death, if they can.”
Yamagata nodded. “That is the way my analysts see the situation. I agree.”
The madness of it appealed to Dan. Then he thought of something even funnier. “Ah! But suppose, in the middle of all this, the Russian in charge of their space operations gets so jealous of me over his fiancée that he has me murdered anyway? What then?”
The Japanese shook his head. “Either you are drunk or you are trying to confuse the issue.”
“Neither,” said Dan. “The young lady who accompanied me when I visited you in Sapporo …”
“Senorita Hernandez. The one that Nobo was so smitten with.”
“Yes. Suppose Malik shoots me in a fit of lover’s jealousy? He’s engaged to her, you know.”
“So?” Yamagata’s face looked suddenly troubled. “Frankly, she is one of the reasons why Nobo is so anxious to return to Caracas.”
“Then that’s another reason to keep him away,” Dan said.
“I’m afraid he is already on route. His plane took off twenty minutes ago.”
“Sai, it’s too dangerous.”
“He will be protected. I have sent a very special cadre of people to watch over you both.”
“How many?” Dan asked.
Yamagata shrugged. “I don�
�t really know. It is of no consequence. Neither of you will know they are there, unless they are needed.”
“Ninjas?” Dan wondered.
The Japanese smiled. “Ever the romantic. This is the twenty-first century, Dan. There are no more ninjas.”
“I’m going to send Nobo home as soon as he arrives here.”
“No!” Yamagata’s eyes flashed. “It would shame him, and I will not permit that, even from you, my old friend.”
“But he’s walking into a dangerous-”
“He understands the danger, and so do I. Permit your friends to display a little courage, Dan. Frankly, I do not believe the Russians will dare to touch him, any more than they would attempt to assassinate you or me.”
Dan shook his head in vehement disagreement. “Sai, I think your analysts and your theories are lovely. But if and when Malik decides to, he’ll try to murder me, or you, or Nobo, without the slightest hesitation.”
Yamagata put on his inscrutable smile. “Death is not to be feared.”
“It’s not to be sneezed at, either.”
“Ah, what a way with words you have!” Yamagata laughed, his whole body heaving and rocking on the woven straw mat.
Dan allowed himself a small grin. “There’s only one way out of this that I can see. I’ve got to kill that Russian sonofabitch before he kills me-or everybody close to me.”
Yamagata’s laughter cut off like a rocket motor suddenly run dry of propellant. “No, my friend. That is the worst thing you can do. It would only lead to a bloodbath, murder upon murder. A zero-sum game, as the analysts say.”
Dan imitated Yamagata’s own shrug. “Death is not to be feared.”
“But results are what count.” the Japanese said. “Whoever pirated the Soviet ore carrier has done more damage to Malik than a hundred assassinations. That hit the Russians where it hurts them most. It makes them fear that they will lose control of the space trade.”
“A pinprick,” Dan said.
‘“The first pinprick,” Yamagata countered.
Dan focused on his friend’s face with new interest.
“Do not be surprised if other pinpricks come, very soon.”
“Really?”
Smiling like a beneficent Buddha, Yamagata said, “Naturally, wise men such as you and I would never engage in such madness. But I would not be surprised if there are more raids on Soviet freighters.”
“You think so,” Dan said.
“Do not underestimate the commotion this has caused among the space industrialists. The Russians have invoked the suppression powers of the World Information agreements to keep the news out of the media. Perhaps you are too close to the situation to feel its full impact.”
Dan put the whiskey glass to his lips, saw that it was empty and put it down.
“Yes,” Yamagata said cheerfully. “I would not be surprised at all to see more Soviet freighters hijacked. And sooner or later the news will become public knowledge.”
“And that’s when the Russians will decide to close us all down, Sai. Or kill us. Or maybe both.”
“Whiskey makes you gloomy, my friend.”
“No,” said Dan. “The Soviets have a simple way to deal with problems that really bother them: they destroy the problem. Like Godzilla stomping Bambi. Sure, they’d rather keep the space factories working and keep the Third World happy. They don’t really want to upset the applecart, not as long as they’re getting their pick of the apples. But if and when we cause them enough trouble, they’ll stomp us flat and to hell with the Third World, to hell with trade balances and the media and everything else except Soviet domination of the whole world and everybody in it.”
Yamagata searched his friend’s face for a silent moment, then said firmly, “Dan, get a good night’s sleep. You will see the world differently in the morning.”
Dan forced a smile. “Sure. Good advice.”
Yamagata’s hand reached forward and his three-dimensional image suddenly winked out, leaving Dan alone. It was almost fully dark now. The living room was deep in shadows. Dan reached for the whiskey bottle and refilled his glass.
“Get a good night’s sleep,” he mumbled. “Sure.” He swung his legs up on the sofa and leaned back into the comfortable pillows. He closed his eyes and tried to make his mind a blank. But he saw Pete Weston, his left eyeball an empty socket dripping seared flesh, a thin bloodless line cutting across his high forehead, his mouth still open in a silent, final gasp of surprise and pain.
The robot butler trundled to within precisely ten centimeters of the coffee table’s edge. “Sir, there is a visitor waiting in the foyer, asking to see you.”
Nobo’s here already? Dan wondered. He sat up, and the impact of the Jack Daniel’s made his temples throb.
“Show him in. And turn on some lights.”
The robot pivoted noiselessly on the thick carpeting and wheeled toward the door. Lamps recessed into the ceiling threw pools of light against the paintings that decorated the walls. Dan got to his feet and tightened the belt of his robe. His slippers were either under the coffee table or under the sofa; he had no intention of searching for them.
But it was not Nobuhiko who followed the butler’s stubby metal form into the living room. It was Lucita.
“What are you doing here?” Dan blurted.
She was wearing a simple short-sleeved black frock, as if in mourning. Her hair was loose and flowing. In the subdued light, Dan could not make out the expression on her face.
“I came to see … if you are all right.” she said. Her voice was low, uncertain, questioning.
“I’m still alive.”
Lucita took a few hesitant steps toward the sofa. The robot stood immobile, its task accomplished and no new jobs assigned to it.
“It was so horrible,” Lucita said. “Look, my hands are still trembling.”
“Never seen a man killed before?” Dan’s voice sounded harsh, bitter, even to himself.
“No, I-”
“Your boyfriend did it, you know.”
“Vasily? He was trying to murder you, wasn’t he?”
“He’s not that sweet,” Dan said. “He’s killed three friends of mine. He’ll kill more.”
She seemed dazed. “Can I … may I sit down?”
Dan could not understand the anger burning inside him. He crossed the space separating them in three swift strides and grasped her by the shoulders.
“What’s your game, Lucita?” he demanded. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m frightened!”
Now he was close enough to see her eyes glistening in the faint light, filled with tears.
“You’re in no danger. He wants to marry you, not kill you.”
“Frightened for you,” she said. The tears spilled out and she broke into sobs. Dan pulled her to him. She leaned her head against his chest, crying, and let him fold his arms around her.
“One moment he was alive, and then … then …”
“Don’t!” he snapped. “Don’t bring it up again. He’s dead and there’s nothing that words can do about it.”
“But I thought they were trying to kill you. Even as your friend was falling to the ground and the car was speeding away, the only thing in my mind was that they were going to kill you, too.”
“No, I’m safe.” For the time being, Dan added silently.
“I know that Vasily did it. He hates you. He wants you dead.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Lucita pulled away from him slightly. “You must not let him kill you. You must not!”
“Why not? What difference does it make?”
“Because I love you,” Lucita said, her eyes widening with sudden realization of the truth of it. “I love you, my Yanqui. I could not stand to see you killed.”
Dan’s mind spun. “Love me? You love me?”
“You are the only man in all the world worth loving. How could I love anyone else?”
“Lucita …”
He pulled her to him again and kissed her, while a voice inside his head marveled, She loves me! This beautiful, spoiled, fragile girl actually loves me!
“Would you really steal me away?” she asked breathlessly. “Would you build me a palace like the Taj Mahal or a city at the bottom of the sea?”
“Whatever you desire, Lucita mia,” Dan whispered. “We can go off to the Himalayas and search for Shangri-la together. Or build a spacecraft that will take us out among the stars.”
Looking up at him, she smiled, and Dan could feel her warm young body relaxing in his arms.
“I have never seen the Taj Mahal,” Lucita said. “Or the Pyramids. Or the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“You will,” he promised. “You’ll see them all. Sugar Loaf, the Parthenon, the Eiffel Tower, Tahiti, Victoria Falls-I’ll show them all to you.”
“The whole world?”
“Everything. Italy alone can take ten years. And New Zealand: the most beautiful spot on Earth is the South Island. And the Great Wall of China …”
“And New York! Can we see the Statue of Liberty?”
Dan felt his blood run cold. “The Statue of Liberty. Sure.” But the enthusiasm had drained out of him. “If they haven’t torn it down by the time we get there.”
She realized that she had touched an open wound. “I’m sorry,” Lucita said.
As gently as he could, Dan released his grip on her and gestured toward the sofa. “It’s all right, Lucita. Not your fault.” He grinned sardonically, remembering an old cliche. “Being in love means never having to say you’re sorry.”
She sat like a kitten, legs tucked up under her. Dan thought briefly about turning on more lights, decided that he preferred the shadows, then sat wearily beside her.
“Would you really take me all around the world?” she asked, curious as a child on Christmas Eve.
“Forever and ever,” Dan said, trying to recapture the elation he had felt so briefly. “We’ll make our home in a seaplane, a flying houseboat, so that we can go wherever we want to and never leave home.”
“That would be marvelous!”
“Yes,” he quoted, “isn’t it pretty to think so.”
