Man O' War, стр. 69

"Wheelchair?" The old man started violently.

Before he could say anything else, though, Hawkes added, "Yes, but she'll be all right. It's been a little rough up here. Doctors didn't think she'd be up and around for weeks. But, well . . . you know Dina."

' 'I certainly do. I hated to cut her orders that took her away from here . . . but I had a feeling you might need someone to watch the back of that hot head of yours." Hawkes almost blushed.

"Yes, well . . . I wanted to say thanks for that. She's pulled her weight and half of mine a few times so far.''

"I'm still a step ahead of you, young Mr. Ambassador—always will be. But you didn't go to all this trouble to let me tell you that. What do you need?"

"Tell me, you think you could put together a consortium on short notice and buy a little stock for me?"

Hensen stared at the screen. He had been caught off guard for once and it showed clearly on his face.

"Oh, and just what do you have up your sleeve this time? Sure . . . okay, I'll bite. What stock?"

"Red Planet, Inc."

"R.P.I.?" Hensen's face dropped. As he tried to get his composure back, he asked, "Are you crazy? The stuff is worthless. Worse than worthless."

"Then it ought to be cheap enough that you could get a whole bunch of it—right?"

"I guess, I mean . . . why, Ben? Why in the . . . why?"

"Val . . . I've got an awfully risky proposition for you." Hawkes gave the words a moment to sink in, then started again. "But if it pans out . . . well, let me just ask, how'd you like to be the richest, most powerful man in the solar system?"

"Huh?" The ambassador's former commander pushed his lips into a thoughtful mold. Then, after a quiet moment, he looked up into his screen and said, "I always thought being the handsomest, smartest man in the solar system would be enough for me. But I don't know, a man gets older . . . his goals change."

A large smile crossing his face, Hensen asked, "Okay, wise guy, just what in hell are you up to this time?"

Hawkes smiled back, and then he told him.

34

A NUMBER OF HOURS LATER, NORMAN SCULLY LED HIS troops out across the coldly desolate Martian landscape. All of them were wearing the oversized work suits of space miners, ship hull workers, or deep tunnel diggers. The renegades had taken nearly all the lighter, more form-fitting style of pressure suits when they had bolted, leaving the bulky, slower-moving units behind. The old security man had taken the fact in stride, telling all his people to dress in as many extra layers of heat-reflecting clothing as they could stuff inside the suits.

"You ain't gonna have the power to waste on heat," he had lied, keeping his reasons to himself.

The sun had set long before. Just at twilight, Carl Jarolic had exited from the emergency air lock at the ruined dome in advance of Scully and his forces. Scully figured that Jarolic had the best chance of picking up the tracks he had spotted days earlier and locating the old emergency shelter.

Scully had a fair idea of where it should have been located. The problem was that it had not been sunk in a lava bubble like the rest of the colony. The main reason the spare bunker had been built was as a hedge against Murphy's Law. It was a "run-to" thrown up just in case the process of transforming the lava tunnels into living quarters turned out to have some unforeseen danger connected to it.

The shelter had been built in the style of the older Lunar City, dug out the old-fashioned way with the excavated soil dumped on top to serve as additional shielding from the various radiations from space. When the lava tunnels had proved perfectly safe, the cramped emergency shelter had eventually fallen into disrepair. Like the old bomb shelters considered so vital a hundred years earlier on the Earth, over time it had largely been forgotten.

There was Scully's problem: how to find one mound of dirt on the Martian surface that looked different from the rest of the terrain. Especially after decades of Martian winds playing over it. And after they found the mound, they would have to find the entrance, which Scully knew could be anywhere.

Jarolic's faint traces of footprints seemed Scully's best chance. As he and his people assembled on the surface, the security chief opened a com channel to Jarolic, mentally crossing his fingers. "Carl," he whispered into his helmet mike, "you out there?"

"I'm here," sounded the terse, static-muffled response in Scully's helmet's receiver. "Look north, northwest."

The security man turned his head in the direction given. He spotted a figure off toward the horizon after a few moments, both its arms waving animatedly. Calling back, he confirmed, "Got ya."

"Then follow me home."

Working mostly with hand signals, Scully got his people moving off toward the distant outline of Jarolic's pressure suit. Radio chatter was too easily detected and the old security man knew they needed every advantage they could get. He started his troops out, marching them out in single file, aiming them toward the retreating figure in the distance. As he joined the rank midway, he thought, This is gonna be a tough one, no matter what happens. Don't want to be expectin' the worst, but still, best to be strung out if they catch on to us.

Scully reached behind him, drumming his fingers against the heavy pack he had insisted on carrying. His excuse had been that Mars' s lesser gravity made it easier to manage. The truth was that he did not want to entrust the responsibility of its contents to anyone else. His hand returning to his side, he thought, This mess may not go the way we want it to, but no matter