Man O' War, стр. 12

"Your little escapade down in Australia sealed you into this one. You're the diplomat's diplomat now. Whatever hell is brewing up there, it's bigger than any of us. Everyone up there thinks he's in the right, and won't settle for anyone less than . . ."—the senator paused for dramatic effect, lifting his left hand slowly, finally pointing at Hawkes's forehead—"you."

"Well, I don't care. I'm not leaving. Let them solve their own damn problems. I've got some of my own. CME is trying to annex the whole Absaroka Range. My ranch is in there, Mick. The bastards that killed my father are now trying to take his home from me as well."

"Damn you, Hawkes," roared Carri. He stood up from his chair, pointing again. "Damn you. Just who in hell do you think you are? We're not talking some fucking little border dispute now. This isn't the fate of a few paltry millions now. This is the entire fate of mankind."

"Overreaching hyperbole? This soon after lunch?"

"Don't patronize me," growled the senator. "You know as well as anyone how important Mars is now. I would hope better. Mars and the asteroids supply half our food and two-thirds of our raw materials. Riots, a civil war, what do you think that would do to this country— to the whole planet, for Christ's sake?"

Carri pushed his chair back, stepping free into the large space between his desk and the wall. Pacing about, keeping his eyes glued to Hawkes, he snarled, "We're talking about the possibility of mass starvation. If the situation were to deteriorate and fall into even just a bargaining situation—one that only lasted as long as your stay in Australia—we could have tens of millions dead worldwide."

Hawkes turned away from Carri's relentless glare. He knew there was no disputing the senator. The Earth had gotten itself into a precarious balance by allowing itself to become so overly dependent on the outer colonies. He knew there was no exaggeration in Carri's facts. Before he could try, however, the senator was at him again.

"I'd give anything to crush you like the pompous, self-important shit you've turned out to be. And, God help me, you weasel your way out of this, and I will. But . . . I'm as close to begging you here as I have been to anything. For once, get beyond yourself and consider what we're talking about here."

Carri moved around his desk slowly. Stopping directly in front of Hawkes, he settled his weight onto the edge of his desk. Looking down at Hawkes, he said, "If Mars cuts off services—whether in some kind of united strike effort, or because they've been crippled by internal conflict—that'll be the end of us. You know warships will be sent in. You know it. But it'll be too late."

Reaching behind him, the senator grabbed up the papers he had set out previously. Pulling them around, he handed them to Hawkes, telling him, "Here are the projections the computers have given us. Figures on what we get if we let this situation degenerate. The worst-case scenario foresees a new dark age here on Earth, with all life outside our atmosphere coming to an end."

As he dropped the papers in Hawkes's lap, Carri continued, saying, "Now, you say to yourself, well, that's the worst case. But, what's the best? I'll tell you. The best we can hope for . . . if things only get to, say, a week or two of work stoppage due to riots or sabotage or whatever . . . system wide—two point eight billion dead."

Two point eight billion? The ambassador's brain reeled from the impossibility of the figure.

"We've overextended ourselves for too long in too many directions. Every country in the world is guilty of it. No question."

Two point eight billion?

"But that's besides the point now."

Carri struggled to keep a grin of triumph off his face. He knew exactly how much Benton Hawkes hated the idea of going off-world, of leaving behind his precious outdoors for vacuum hulls and air locks. He also knew exactly how much the ambassador wanted to stop CME from taking his home.

"The simple reality is that mankind bet its future on moving out into the solar system. Our chips are on red, Benton . . . and right now, you're the only person in the world that can keep the ball from falling into the black."

Two point eight billion?

Senator Carri watched as Hawkes's eyes closed. He could see the pain etched around them, could follow the agony inching through the ambassador's body. Not able to help himself that time, the politician smiled. He finally had Benton Hawkes where he wanted him.

And, no matter what happened next, he had to admit, it felt damn good.

5

"DIZZY," HAWKES SHOUTED, GROWING SOMEWHAT IMPATIENT with the barking dog, "for God's sake, will you shut up?"

The big retriever had been barking and running around the barn ever since they had come outside. Loping over to the ambassador's side, he playfully snapped at his master's left boot, then ran back to the other side of the truck, barking again. Deciding to give up on the dog for the moment, Hawkes grabbed up two pairs of work gloves from the utility table built into the wall.

"All right," he said, slipping on one pair, handing the other to Daniel Stine, "time for you to learn to work for a living."

"Really, sir," answered the ambassador's aide, holding the gloves away from his body as if they were some sort of dangerous insects, "this is not quite what I had in mind when I said I'd like to help you get your affairs in order."

"Well," said Hawkes, studying the engine before him, not looking at the younger man, "next time you'll know better."

As Disraeli continued to bark, the ambassador pulled a dog biscuit from his vest pocket and threw it as far as he could into the tall grass beside the barn. As