"I'm not taking orders-"
"Don't interrupt me, Shaeffer. Send a few armed ships to follow me to Neptune. I'm sure that's where they're going; they've already passed turnover for most of the asteroids. It'll take your ships a while to catch us. They may get there in time to help us out, and they may not. If you think I'm a liar, then send your ships along only to make sure I don't do any poaching. Regardless of what you suspect me of, you'll need ships to stop me, right? But arm them, Shaeffer. Arm them good.
"Your only other choice is to start a war, right? Right. If you want my story confirmed call the Arms office in Los Angeles, then call the UN Comparative Cultures Exhibit in Brasilia Ciudad and ask if they've still got the Sea Statue. That's all you can do. So call me back and tell me how many ships you're sending." Luke gestured to Anderson, who turned him off.
"Jerk," said Anderson, with feeling.
"Not at all. He did the right thing. He'll keep on doing it. First he'll send ships after us, including one with anti-radar which will have to get there later than the others because of the extra weight. He'll call Earth and get my story confirmed as well as he can. The worst he can think of me then is that I'm thorough. Finally he'll call us and tell us he's sending one less ship than he is, leaving out the antiradar. That ship gives the Belt every chance to catch me red-handed, doing whatever illegal treaty-breaking thing they think I'm doing, especially since I don't know the Belt's discovered antiradar-"
"Uh huh."
"But if they don't catch me at anything then they cooperate with me."
"Uh huh. It's perfect. But will they be able to handle it when we turn out to be telling the truth?"
"Sure. They'll be armed for us, and a weapon is a weapon. Besides which, some of them will believe me. Belters, they're always waiting for the first alien contact. They'll be armed for bear, regardless." Garner rubbed his scalp. "I wonder what the Sea Statue is armed for?"
A dry tooth socket is not extremely painful. The pain is mild. What drives the unfortunate victim to thoughts of suicide is, the pain never lets up. There is no escape.
Marda felt the gentle, reminding pull in her abdomen every time she moved.
Many Belt women were childless. Some had been spayed by solar storms. Some were frigid, and their frigidity let them endure the loneliness of a singleship. Some had undesirable recessive genes; and, contrary to popular terran belief; the Belt had fertility laws. Some could not conceive in free or nearly free fall. They were a special class, the exiles from Confinement.
What was Lit doing in that phone booth? It had been over an hour.
He was furious, she could see that. She'd never seen him so mad. Even after the screen went dark, he just sat there glaring at the screen.
Something made Marda get up and push open the soundproof door. Lit looked around. "That Arm. That flatlander. Marda, can you imagine an Arm getting huffy with me?"
"He really pushed all your buttons, didn't he? What happened, Lit?"
"Oh…" Lit banged the heels of his hands together. "You remember those two ships that took off from Topeka Base without-"
"I never heard about it."
"Right. I forgot." She'd hardly been in a mood to listen then. "Well, two days ago…"
By the time he finished he was almost calm. Marda felt safe in saying, "But, Lit, you cross-examined him for a full hour. What else could he do but cut you off or admit he was lying?"
"Good point. What I'm really mad about is that tale he told me."
"You're sure he was lying? It sounds almost too fantastic."
"Aw, honey. It is too fantastic."
"Then forget it."
"That's not the point. What's he want with Neptune? Why's he need three ships? And why, in the name of Reason, does he commandeer the Golden Circle from Titan Enterprises?"
"To back up his story?"
"No. I think it's the other way around. His story was tailored to fit the facts."
Slowly he turned back to face the blank screen. He sat for a while, with Marda watching him, and then he said, "I'm going to have to do just as he told me. That burns me. Remind me to tell you someday why I hate Arms."
"Okay. Later today, then."
"Good girl." But he'd already forgotten her. Still he stared at the blank screen, not willing to give Ceres its orders until he'd thought them out completely. Finally he muttered, "I can get the jump on him. I'll send the ships from the lead Trojans; he'll be passing right over them. We'll be after him faster than he thinks." His hand darted out. "And- mph. I can send a radar proof. Operator? Get me a maser to Achilles, fast."
Of course, the whole ploy could be a red herring, he thought, waiting for the operator to call back. A distraction for something going on right here in the Belt. Well, they won't get away with that either. Every ship that leaves Earth or the Moon is going to be questioned. We'll board some of them, and follow the ones that won't allow it. Earth will get its share too. I'll make our espionage system think the end of the world is coming.
Four and a half days later neither Kzanol nor Kzanol/Greenberg had turned ship. It seemed they really were going to Neptune. If so they would be turning in eighteen hours.
It was already time for Anderson to turn ship. He did.
"We'll get there six hours ahead of them," he told Garner.
"Good."
"Of course, they could be headed for outer space. It could be a coincidence that they're going in that direction. Then we'll lose them."
"In those ships? Besides, I never doubted they were going to Neptune. I just didn't want to take chances."
"Uh huh. I'm just hypothesizing. How about some lunch?"
"Good." It was high noon. The life-support system didn't include enough room to walk around in, but it did have a mechanized kitchen; and one thing the space conquerors had learned early was that caviar is cheaper than corn flakes. Caviar has far more food value per payload ounce. So Garner and Anderson ate prefrozen crepes Veronique and wondered how long it would be before they could exercise off the extra pounds.
While they were feeding the plates back into the food slot, Garner found something else to worry about. "Can we turn our telescope around?"
"Sure. Why?"
"To follow the other ships. They're still ahead of us, and we're moving ass-backwards."
"We can't see them now because the glare of our exhaust blocks our view. But we'll be passing them in six hours, and we can watch them from then on."
"We'll never catch them," said the man in the lead ship. He was a tall, spindly Negro with prematurely white hair and an habitual poker face. "They'll be three days ahead of us all the way. Poachers!"
Somebody, Smoky from his accent, said, "It'd be four if we hadn't started from Achilles."
"Something on the scope," said one of the other ships. All five were singleships, hurriedly converted to war potential from their mining duties in the lead cluster of Jupiter's Trojan asteroids.
"Like what?"
"Specks of hydrogen light. Moving almost as fast as the Arm, judging by the red shift. Way ahead of him."
"Is it too late to call Ceres?"