Man O' War, стр. 61

"Very funny," said Jarolic in a bitter tone. "Our shipmate's a comedian." Hawkes spread his hands, offering, "I rescued him for you. He's done it for me so often, I figured it was my turn."

Turning as best she could to face the two men, Martel said, "I could hear him outside—arguing and arguing. It was just so . . . so . . ." The woman stopped, alternating between gasping weakly for breath, then giggling again.

Jarolic rolled his eyes, offering defensively, "I came down to visit . . . and they told me to go away. I have to admit I really came down in the hopes of finding you, Mr. Ambassador, but . . . after they cheesed me I just bug-flipped. Guess it became one of those principle-of-the-thing bits. You know."

Raising an eyebrow, Hawkes noted, "You know, Carl, you get a bit colorful when you're miffed." Martel laughed again, covering her mouth out of pity for Jarolic but still unable to control herself.

Turning back to her, Hawkes said, "You'd better settle down, young lady. You keep on laughing like that and you might break something in your condition."

Then, turning back to his companion, the ambassador asked, "But you said you were actually looking for me. You sounded a little serious, too. What's up?"

"Ah, actually . . . it was . . . ah . . ."

"Unless it's something embarrassing, you can speak freely here. This is sort of a meeting of the Keep Benton Hawkes Alive Club. If the three of us can't trust each other . . ." The ambassador let the thought briefly hang in midair, then asked, "So, what's on your mind?"

"Sir, I've been hearing some very disturbing rumors ever since we came back in from our little expedition."

"The ones about riots, murder, management pogroms— those kinds of rumors?''

"Yes. They're spreading throughout the colony— fast." Jarolic moved toward the room's single chair. Grabbing its arm, he turned it slightly and then sagged into it, as if all the energy had suddenly drained out of him. As the environmentalist tried to pull himself together, Hawkes offered, "We were hearing the same thing from our prisoner."

When Martel asked what he was talking about, the ambassador quickly filled her in on all that had happened outside. By the time he was finished, Jarolic seemed a bit more steady. Turning back to him, Hawkes said, "Anyway, I'm not sure we have that much to worry about. The guy claims to be a Resolute slogan spouter. He was talking in cliches the first time he tried to kill me, and that's all he's been doing since we started to question him."

"I'm not so sure he's Resolute," said Jarolic. "And, I'm not so sure he's just spouting slogans."

"Carl," said Hawkes with a touch of calculated frustration, "the man's on file. His name's Ray Peste. He's a Martian—a low-level commander in the security force, no less. He's been here three years. He hasn't said much, but he does claim to be one of the Resolute. He says they have members at every level. He also said," finished the ambassador, forcing his voice to grow more serious, watching Jarolic's reaction carefully, "that he's their assassin, that it was his job to kill me."

The environmentalist stared for a moment, then lowered his eyes, breaking contact with Hawkes's. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then looked up again and said, "Mr. Ambassador, I really wish I didn't have to say this . . . but I do."

"Carl," asked Hawkes, only somewhat surprised in the darkening shift in Jarolic's manner. "What is it?"

"I think there is something going on here no one knows about, and that it's going to blow wide open—soon. I think there's going to be some kind of outbreak . . . and that it's going to be a lot worse than anyone can possibly imagine."

"Carl . . ."

"That man is probably telling the truth about a riot, but he's not Resolute. He just wants the workers to take the skid for whatever happens."

Hawkes could see that something was upsetting the environmentalist, something he was having a great deal of difficulty getting into words. Taking a small step back, he tried to give the younger man the feeling of having more room. As he did, though, he asked, "Carl, how would you know these things?"

Jarolic twitched, and then stood to face Hawkes. Staring unblinkingly at the ambassador, he took another deep breath, and then announced, "I know he's not a member of the Resolute, because I am." Not trying to read the looks on either Hawkes's or Martel's face, Jarolic plowed forward, saying, "And I know he's not the man they assigned to kill you . . . because . . . that was my job."

26

"WHAT?"

"I posed as a wire-service man to get onto your ranch. I'm the one who planted the bomb in your truck."

As much as he had expected the announcement about being a member of the Resolute, Hawkes had not been prepared for Jarolic's second bombshell. Grabbing tight hold of his will, he forced himself not to speak.

First rule, his mind thundered. First—let the other guy do the talking. Keep it all in, no matter what you want to say or ask. Shut up and let him talk.

"I was already in Lunar City when you arrived. You were moving too quickly, though—no opportunities there—so I booked passage on the Bulldog, figured I'd get you on the way home."

Ignoring his mind's cautioning, Hawkes asked, "What stopped you?"

"Listening to you. You might remember I went at you pretty good at the dinner table. But when I saw how you handled yourself, what you had to say . . . who you were— who you really were . . ." Jarolic twisted his head fromside to side, biting at his lower lip. "I, I . . . I don't know. You weren't what we'd been told."

"And what was that?" asked Martel, knowing