The Ganymede Club (37 page)

Of course, there might be no solution. Puzzle Network problems always
seemed
impossible when you first looked at them, but they were designed to have answers. This time the problem might actually
be
insoluble. And in any case, he had only—Bat glanced across at the display of ship schedules—seventeen hours and fifteen minutes. If he did not come up with something in that time, Lola and the
Dimbula
would be at Lysithea.

Bat sighed, feeling a tremor of excitement and challenge through the whole of his ample frame. It was going to be a long seventeen-and-a-quarter hours. Maybe it would also be too short.

24

Before the
Weland
was an hour out from Ganymede, Cayuga had decided on the best way to do it.

Lola Belman's death within the Lysithean habitat was something to avoid. It would invite prying visitors, wanting to know how and why she had died. Far better was a death before she ever reached the little moon, or at the moment of her arrival. The
Dimbula
was an old vessel. It was quite expendable. An equipment failure at a crucial moment—what could be more natural?

He had left Ganymede within an hour of Lola's departure, and in a faster ship. The
Weland
had been closing steadily on the
Dimbula
, until the older vessel was within the range of his forward scope. From ten minutes after liftoff the trajectory of the
Dimbula
had been under the control of the tracking station on Lysithea. That station, in turn, could be operated from the control center of the
Weland.
Cayuga confirmed his authority with a command for a brief burst from the drive of the
Dimbula.
After twenty seconds he saw the flare at the rear of the other ship. Lola Belman, if she noticed the boost at all, would take it for a routine midcourse correction.

So far, so good. The next step would be more difficult because there were built-in safeguards to prevent it. He wanted the forward drive to cut out and the rear drive to go on—hard—during the crucial seconds when the
Dimbula
was on its final approach to a Lysithean docking. Say, one gee of acceleration for the final kilometer. That would do nicely. Instead of the ship slowing for a soft touchdown, it would speed up, hitting the frozen Lysithean surface at one hundred and forty meters a second. That would be more than enough to pulp any living thing inside the ship. Even if Lola Belman realized what was wrong, she would have no time to do anything. The total period from onset of thrust to final impact would be less than fifteen seconds. He, arriving later—regrettably, too late to be of assistance; lots of crocodile tears—would visit the wreck and make sure that the ship's flight recorder showed a drive-controller malfunction during the accident.

He settled in to override the safety locks, comfortable in the knowledge that he had plenty of time. Within three hours it was done. He had coded an extra firing sequence into the Lysithean master computer's approach control. When the
Dimbula
was one kilometer from final docking, the rogue boost command would be given. The ship would rush forward, missing the landing circle and smashing into the surface. Cayuga would watch it happen, because by that time the
Weland
would be no more than a couple of kilometers away from its own docking. After his own arrival he would delete the extra computer command from the system.

He took another look at the ship ahead. He was still closing slowly on the
Dimbula.
He resisted the urge to call Lola Belman and talk to her directly. Only fools ran unnecessary risks. There was always a danger that he might say something that hinted at what would happen when they reached Lysithea.

Instead, he monitored the message file. There had been four attempts to communicate with the
Dimbula.
Each had been halted, according to his instructions, by the computer at the Lysithean control center. He created a special message for Lola in case she called from the
Dimbula
, and before loading it into the Lysithean system he went over it carefully to make sure that it said nothing revealing.

He turned to the general broadcast channel from Ganymede. It was no great surprise to learn that Lola Belman was wanted for questioning in connection with a body discovered in her offices. The broadcast named Jinx Barker, but it did not go so far as to say that Lola was suspected of his murder. Cayuga had brought her away from Ganymede just in time. A few more hours, and Security would have had her where he could not reach her.

He did not need to call back to Ganymede and tell Lenny Costas and the others to lie low. The news broadcast about Jinx's death would do that for him.

He was a cautious man. It was against his nature to celebrate prematurely. However, it was difficult to resist the feeling that everything was going about as well as it could go. The Ganymede Club was once again secure.

* * *

Lola did not like going to space. It was not fear so much as memories. Every liftoff made her think of that chaotic final day, when Earth shuddered and the Moon caught fire. That had been five years ago, but still she tensed at the moment of ascent.

During the first few seconds she had stared at her own white-knuckled hand on the seat's armrest. Thank goodness there was no one to see her. A trained haldane ought to have better control.
Physician, heal thyself.
Easier said than done. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, tired to the bone by the strain of the past few days.

The flight was fully controlled by the ship's control center, leaving Lola free to look around. The Sun was a little disk of fierce white fire on her right. It was hard to believe that such a tiny ball could provide warmth and gravitational control for the whole system. Ganymede, visible on the rear screen, was already shrinking to a frosty half sphere. Its craters, plains, and mountains did not look much different from Earth's Moon as it had been
before
the war. Lola glanced at the
Dimbula
's planned trajectory, presented for her benefit in one of the display volumes. Callisto was sweeping around from the other side of Jupiter. It would pass within a quarter of a million kilometers, and she would have a good view of its ancient, battered surface. After that there would be little to see. The outer Jovian moons, from Leda to Sinope, were all smaller than a decent-sized Belt asteroid. She might catch a glimpse of the biggest one, Himalia, but more likely there would be nothing but stars to look at until her final approach to the Lysithean docking facility.

After a while staring through the port and at the external display screens, she turned her attention to the interior of the
Dimbula.
Originally planned as an exploration vessel in the days when drives were less efficient and travel times were longer, its design was different from that of today's passenger ships. The total living space was tiny, but it was intended to provide as much privacy as possible. Soundproof partitions could be slotted into a dozen different positions, offering individual cramped cubicles in which a person could sit, work, and perhaps imagine that she was alone. The fittings were of dark metal and weathered plastic, worn and somehow weary looking. The food-production facilities were primitive and the selections limited.

Well, Joss Cayuga hadn't promised the royal yacht. And it wasn't as though she were going to be living here for the next few months. Everything seemed to be in good working order. The
Dimbula
's certificate confirmed that the ship was spaceworthy, and that was all that mattered.

A musical chime sounded through the whole ship, and lights flickered briefly for attention. "WE ARE AT THE CONTROL TRANSFER POINT," said a soft female voice. "YOUR ASCENT WITHIN THE GANYMEDE SPHERE OF CONTROL IS COMPLETE, AND THE NEXT PHASE OF YOUR TRAJECTORY WILL BE MANAGED BY THIS SHIP'S COMPUTER. THAT WILL CONTINUE FOR NEARLY SIXTEEN HOURS, UNTIL YOUR FINAL APPROACH IS TRANSFERRED TO THE TRANSPORTATION-CONTROL SYSTEM ON"—there was a fraction of a second's pause—"LYSITHEA."

In other words, Lola would have nothing to do for almost a whole day. She had brought nothing to occupy her time. On the mad run from the Bat Cave to the surface of Ganymede and the safety of space, boredom had seemed the least of her worries.

She moved over to the ship's communications center and studied the controls. The unit was small, cramped, and primitive. There were output speakers and microphones for voice reception and transmission, but she could see no option for vocal input to control the computer. Some points on the old-fashioned tactile keyboard were so worn by other fingers that the letters and numbers on their surface could no longer be seen. Even so, the layout was familiar. Lola should be able to use it without difficulty.

She sat down on the uncomfortable, spindly chair, and sat with her fingers poised above the entry unit. What she most wanted to do was to call the Bat Cave, to make sure that Spook and the others were all right. She dared not do it. She would assume that by this time her own flight from Ganymede had been discovered, by Security and her would-be assassins. If that were the case, they might know that she was on board the
Dimbula.
All messages from the ship to Ganymede would be monitored. A call to the Bat Cave was a good way to direct others to the very place she did not want them going.

Instead of initiating an outgoing message, she asked to receive the general Ganymede news channels. They were broadcast through the whole Jovian system, and she could pick them up without revealing anything of her own identity or position.

What came in confirmed her fears.

". . . Jinx Barker. .. unexplained death . . . Lola Belman . . ."
(the sound of her own name in the broadcast gave her goosebumps) ". . .
mysterious circumstances . . . wanted for questioning by Ganymede Security . . . any report of her whereabouts . . ."

No mention of the others. Nothing about her present location. It was probably the best that she could hope for. And then came another confirmation.

". . . Alicia Rios . . . homicide . . . crime took place within her own living quarters . . . anyone with information please report . . ."

Not surprisingly, the sophisticated tools available to Security had proved what Bryce had only been able to surmise. Although Alicia Rios had been burned and her body reduced to its component atoms, enough evidence remained to prove that she had been murdered.

The broadcast created another worry. What if Joss Cayuga was listening to the same news stories, out on Lysithea? It would be ironic to fly all the way to the edge of the Jovian system, and then be arrested the minute she stepped out of the arrival lock.

She could not safely send a message back to Ganymede. But she could place a call
outward
, with a tight enough beam that only someone in the direct line of sight between the
Dimbula
and Lysithea could pick it up. The only question was what she should say. It had to be something that would give her the feedback that all was well, without alerting Cayuga.

She set up for voice transmission and waited impatiently for the link to be established. When the reply came from Lysithea, it seemed at first like a disappointment. It was Cayuga's voice, but Lola was not hearing a live person.

"Hello, you have reached Joss Cayuga. I am not Joss himself, but I am his third-level fax. He is not presently available. I can provide almost any factual information that you may need, or, if you want analysis, a higher-level fax can also be brought on-line. If you require a personal opinion, or wish to speak with Joss Cayuga himself, you may leave a message with me. I will make sure that he receives it as soon as he is available."

Normally Lola was not happy dealing with a fax. She thought of even the highest-level fax as a person with the juice squeezed out, including all the emotions and impulses and subterranean desires that a haldane must be in touch with before she could treat and help a troubled person. What Lola wished for in her own work was an
antifax
—a mind with all its surface logic and explanations separated out and laid away to one side. The conscious mind accounted for no more than five percent of the activity of the brain, but seeing through its misdirection and subtle false explanations took ninety percent of a haldane's time.

Today, though, she might be better off dealing with a fax. It would take Lola's statements at face value, without suspicions or questions.

"I do not need a higher-level fax," she said, "nor do I need to speak with Joss Cayuga personally. Just pass this message along to him when he becomes available. This is Lola Belman. I want to confirm to him that I am on the way to Lysithea aboard the
Dimbula.
The ship's trajectory and arrival time are already stored in your transportation computer. Tell Joss Cayuga that I appreciate his assistance in helping me to make this trip, and I am looking forward to meeting him and inspecting his uncle's records. That is all."

There was the predictable delay while the radio signals traveled to Lysithea and back.

"Thank you, Lola Belman, your message is received and recorded," said Cayuga's calm voice at last. Then to Lola's surprise it went on. "This is a recorded message from Joss Cayuga, addressed to Lola Belman specifically. I have recently learned that a small portion of Jeffrey Cayuga's effects are stored on the coorbiting moon, Elara. Rather than putting you to the trouble of a second stop, I am making a brief trip to Elara to pick up those records. I will return at once with them to Lysithea and meet you there. It may be difficult for you to reach me while we are both in transit, but our two ships are scheduled for arrival at the Lysithean dock within seconds of each other. I look forward to seeing your ship, and to meeting with you."

It was a reassuring message. From Lola's point of view, the only surprising thing about it was its maturity. For a nineteen-year-old, Joss Cayuga showed amazing poise and judgment. Spook wouldn't be like that in another four years—maybe not even in twenty. Lola smiled to herself, trying to imagine Spook at thirty-five. Would her brother still be full of random energy and wild enthusiasms? Probably. It was the way she remembered their father, rushing in to announce another project that would take them all to the ends of the Earth.