Reid Gormley was a career soldier. He had served with the International Peacekeeping Force in Asia and Africa and had commanded the brilliant strike that had wiped out the paramilitary forces of the Latin American drug cartel. He was widely known in military circles as an able commander: a tough, demanding bantam cock who instilled a sense of pride and invincibility in his troops. He was also vain, cautious, and unwilling to move until he was certain he had an overwhelming superiority of force on his side.
He had come out of retirement to accept a commission with Astro Corporation. Fighting in space was new to him, but then it was new to every commander that the big corporations were hiring. The only experienced space fighters were a handful of mercenaries and renegades like Lars Fuchs. Like most of the other experienced officers who were suddenly finding new careers for themselves, Gormley was certain that a well-motivated, well-trained and well-equipped force could beat mercenaries, who were fighting only for money. As for lone renegades, well, they would be rounded up and dealt with in due time.
It took him nearly six months to bring his force up to the peak of efficiency that he demanded. Like himself, most of the men and women in this Astro Corporation task force were either retired military or younger types who had taken a leave of absence from their regular duties to take a crack at the better pay and more exciting duty offered by the Asteroid War.
Gormley stressed to his troops that while the HSS people were mercenaries, fighting for nothing more than money, they themselves were serving in the best traditions of the military, going into battle to keep the Asteroid Belt free from the dictatorship of one corporation, fighting to save the miners and prospectors scattered through the Belt from virtual slavery. It never occurred to him that Humphries’s mercenaries could say the same thing about him and his troops, with the same degree of truth.
Now he led a force of fourteen ships, armed with high-power lasers and armored with rocky debris crushed from asteroidal stone. His mission was to clear HSS ships from the inner Belt, and then take up a position near Vesta to begin the blockade and eventual strangulation of the major Humphries base.
He had no idea that he was sailing into a trap.
Nobuhiko Yamagata noted that even though it was high summer in Japan, here at the Roof of the World the monastery was still cold, its stone walls icy to the touch of his fingertips. He looked out through the room’s only window and consoled himself that at least the Himalayas were still snowcapped. The greenhouse warming had not yet melted them bare.
His father entered the small chamber so silently that when he said, “Hello, son,” Nobu nearly hopped off his feet.
Turning, Nobu saw that although his father was smiling, the old man did not look truly pleased. Saito wore his usual kimono. His round face seemed even more youthful than the last time Nobu had visited. Is Father taking youth treatments? Nobuhiko asked himself. He dared not ask aloud.
Kneeling on the mat nearer the window, Saito said, “I just learned that one of our loyal agents was assassinated, together with his wife and children.”
Nobu blinked with surprised confusion as he knelt beside his father.
“Assassinated?”
“The man who was assigned to make certain that Pancho Lane was not killed in the cable car incident,” Saito explained curtly.
“That was months ago.”
“His wife and children?” Saito demanded.
Kneading his thighs nervously, Nobu said, “Our security people felt it was necessary. To make certain there would be no possibility of Astro Corporation learning that we caused the accident.”
“He was a loyal employee.”
“I did not approve the move, Father. I didn’t even know about it until after the fact.”
Saito gave a low, growling grunt.
“The incident achieved its purpose,” Nobu said, trying to get his father’s approval. “It started the chain of events that has led to out-and-out war between Astro and Humphries Space Systems.”
Saito nodded, although his displeased expression did not change.
“Both Astro and HSS are actually hiring our own people to help them in the fighting,” Nobu added. “We’re making money from their war.”
A slight hint of a smile cracked Saito’s stern visage.
Encouraged, Nobu went on, “I believe it’s time to consider how and when we step in.”
“Not yet.”
“If we throw our support to one side or the other, that side will win the war, undoubtedly.”
“Yes, I realize that,” said the older man. “But it is too early. Let them exhaust themselves further. Already both Astro and HSS are running up huge losses because of this war. Let them bleed more red ink before we make our move.”
Nobu dipped his chin in agreement. Then he asked, “Which of them do you think we should support? When the time comes, of course.”
“Neither.” “Neither? But I thought—”
Saito raised an imperious hand. “When the proper moment comes, when both Astro and Humphries are tottering on the brink of collapse, we will sweep in and take command of the Belt. Our mercenary units now serving them will show their true colors. The flying crane of Yamagata will stretch its wings across the entire Asteroid Belt, and over Selene as well.”
Nobu gasped at his father’s grand vision.
He should have been enjoying a restful vacation at Hotel Luna, but Lars Fuchs was not.
In his guise as Karl Manstein, Fuchs was spending the expense-account money Pancho had advanced him as if there was a never-ending supply of it. In truth, it was dwindling like a sand castle awash in the inrushing tide. Hotel Luna may have been threadbare, narrowly avoiding bankruptcy on the trickle of tourists coming to Selene, but its prices were still five-star. Fresh fish from the hotel’s own aquaculture ponds; rental wings for soaring like an eagle in the Grand Plaza on one’s own muscular strength; guided walks across the cracked and pitted floor of the Alphonsus ringwall, where the wreckage of the primitive Ranger 9 spacecraft sat beneath a protective dome of clear glassteel; all these things cost money, and then some.
Even though Fuchs/Manstein took in none of the tourist attractions and ate as abstemiously as possible, a suite at Hotel Luna was outrageously expensive. He spent every waking moment studying the layout of Selene, its tunnels and living spaces, its offices and workshops, the machinery systems that supplied the underground city with air to breathe and potable water. In particular, he tried to find out all he could about the lowermost level of Selene, the big natural grotto that Martin Humphries had transformed into a lush garden and luxurious mansion for himself.
About the mansion he could learn nothing. Humphries’s security maintained a close guard over its layout and life support systems. Fuchs had to be satisfied with memorizing every detail of the plumbing and electrical power systems that led to the grotto. There was no information available on the piping and conduits once they entered Humphries’s private preserve. Perhaps that will be enough, Fuchs thought. Perhaps that will do.
He kept at his task doggedly, filling every moment of each day with his studies, telling himself a hundred times an hour that he would find a way to kill Martin Humphries.
In the night, when he was so exhausted from his work that he could no longer keep his eyes open, the rage returned anew. He and Amanda had roomed at the Hotel Luna once. They had made love in a bedroom like the one he now was in. During the rare moments when he was actually able to sleep he dreamed of Amanda, relived their passion. And awoke to find himself shamed and sticky from his brief dreams.
I’m only a kilometer or so from Humphries, Fuchs told himself over and again. Close enough to kill him. Soon. Soon.