The colonel grunted and hooked his dispensacup to the coffee spigot for a refill. "If anything, our missions could be hurt by the publicity of a trial. But dammit, when you smell a rat, you have to go after it."
No doubt, thought Louismore. But maybe there's more than one rat around, eh?
"We plan to ask for a groundside hearing," the colonel said casually, placing his cup carefully back in its holder.
"Reason?"
"We think it can be heard more impartially in a less closed setting, less room for gossip and hysteria. By the time it could come to trial here, everyone on the station will have heard of it. It will be hard to get an objective hearing under those circumstances."
"What ever happened to a trial by a jury of one's peers?" remarked Louismore. "We'll oppose that motion."
"Figured you would. Well, see you at the preliminary tomorrow."
Louismore nodded as he turned to leave. He swung his massive frame into the passageway and pushed himself slowly toward the detention center. His bantering with the colonel notwithstanding, this was likely to be a tough case, and the sooner he talked to his clients, the better.
* * *
Traffic, even Space Forces traffic, was still being rerouted around the Deep Space Readiness Area, but that inconvenience would be ended shortly. Final checkout was concluded, the two-man crew had radioed their readiness, and only a few special technicians from the Ordnance Group remained in the area, gathering their equipment.
Traffic Control at GEO-Four reported all lanes cleared for departure of
Aquarius
. In the vast, stark silence of near-Earth space, the soft-edged crescent of the Earth on one side, the distant metal sculpture of the GEO-Four space city on another, and the nearby hangar and construction sheds on yet another, the maneuvering jets of
Aquarius
fired briefly, nudging the ship toward a slightly higher orbit. When a precalculated distance separated the ship from its hangar, the large booster engines ignited, propelling the United States Space Forces vessel
Aquarius
out of geosynchronous orbit.
The booster pods burned for three and one half minutes, then separated from the ship. Less than an hour later, with the hangar and GEO-Four and all other structures well behind it in the blackness,
Aquarius
lit its fusion engines and began its long climb out of Earth orbit, bound for the dark emptiness of interplanetary space.
One thing Hathorne had learned in years of dealing with the political process was that what mattered most on a given issue was not so much the logic of one's position as one's connections, and whether one had the ability and shrewdness to apply leverage at the correct point and the correct time. Twenty-three years ago, to a bright young college graduate, the shocking realization that logic and moral conviction alone were insufficient had nearly been cause for abandonment of a promising career. Hathorne had adapted, however, learning to walk the tightrope of power, treading a fine line between reason and will, and benevolence and enlightened self-interest. It was a walk he had learned well.
Just now, however, he was teetering on the tightrope, and the crosswind that was threatening his balance was General Angus Armstead, commander of Space Forces fleet operations at GEO-Four. With the shift in mission priority from
Father Sky
to
Aquarius
, Armstead had gained considerable leverage with the Oversight Committee—and, Hathorne worried, with the President.
"He's in the power position," Hathorne said to Charles Horst, the director of NASA's GEO-Four space laboratories and a Committee member. "I just wish I hadn't
promised
that
Father Sky
would pull through." He shook his head, smacking a fist into his open palm.
Horst's hologram shifted, blurring slightly. "You didn't promise," he said. "We made the decision on the best available information. It was a gamble worth taking. It just didn't work out."
"Scientifically, it was worth taking," Hathorne said. "Politically, I'm not so sure anymore. It made us look weak."
"You mean
us
, Earth?"
"I mean
us
, supporters of
Father Sky
. We've given Armstead entirely too much room for gloating." And the prick is doing plenty of it, he added silently. Where does he get off, telling me not to be concerned what weapons
Aquarius
is carrying? Does he think those things are fucking children's toys?
His
toys?
"He does act as though he has the Committee in his pocket," said Horst. "Do you think he has a special line with the President?"
"I intend to find out. Also, whether he might be doing some things even the President isn't aware of."
"Well, I haven't seen him overstep his bounds in any clearcut way—even if he is strutting like a bantam rooster. But I'll tell you one thing—if there turns out to be anything fishy in those Tachylab arrests—"
"Is there any substance to the charges?" Hathorne asked. "If there have been leaks, I want to know about it."
"Well, John Irwin's always been a bit of a radical, but that's not against the law. All I know for sure is that the warrant was issued under the Twenty-six Security Act."
Hathorne rubbed his jaw, scowling. It didn't take that much to obtain a warrant in the space settlement, under the latest security laws. The fact that people had been arrested could be nothing more than a diversion. On the other hand, if those scientists knew something that was upsetting to General Armstead, he wanted to know what it was. "We need more information, Charlie."
"I'm trying to find out what I can," the director answered. "But it's not really my turf."
"I can send someone up."
"As an official Committee inquiry?"
Hathorne thought a moment. "No, I think I'd rather keep it separate from the Committee. I have friends in some of the agencies who might be willing to help me out." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully. An independent inquiry into the alleged conspiracy would make a good cover for the investigation he really wanted. Hathorne had several questions concerning the
Aquarius
mission, questions to which he was sure Armstead would not give straight answers. What he needed was a man of his own on the scene, but someone not obviously connected to him.
"Leonard?" said Horst.
"What?"
"I said, have you seen the tracking report?"
"Yah." That was the other thing worrying him. The latest tracking showed the Talenki asteroid accelerating unexpectedly—though as usual, there was no information on why, or how—but it was already much closer to Pluto's orbit than predicted, and if the rate of change of its velocity followed the present curve, it could be here in a matter of
months
, rather than the better part of a year that they'd been told before.
Even in the fuzzy holographic projection, Hathorne could see the worry in Horst's eyes. "Leonard, suppose Armstead is right, and we're being naive.
Should
we assume the worst until we know the best?"
"I don't know, Charlie. Jesus. Don't we all wish we did?" A light blinked on Hathorne's console. "Can I put you on hold for a sec'?" Hathorne snapped several switches. Horst remained visible, but the transmitter at Hathorne's end now sent him only a frozen frame of Hathorne's image. "Hello, Lew."
A second hologram appeared, across the table from the first. It was Lewis Smythe, the representative from the British Defense Ministry, the third Committee member to call today. He appeared perturbed. "Leonard, I'll get right to the point. What's this I hear about several of your people at Tachylab being arrested? Claiming that they have information that your ship is armed with contraband weapons? Good God, man!"
Hathorne cleared his throat, thinking, nice to know you have better sources than I do. "I'm glad you called," he said. "We'll be covering this at the meeting, of course, but right now, we're just looking into it."
"Well, what about it? Is that ship armed or isn't it? Since it's one of Armstead's, I assume it is—but with what? I thought this mission was supposed to be under the Committee's control—or has your government decided to strike out on its own?"
Hathorne pressed his lips together, and finally said, "It's under the Committee, Lew—unless I hear differently from the President. But I can tell you there have been no orders from here to put unusual weapons aboard the ship."
"That's not exactly answering the question," the Englishman pointed out.
"Well, as I say, I'm checking into it now," Hathorne said carefully. "I'll let you know what I find. Was there something else, or should I call you back? I have Charlie Horst on hold, and he's paying the long distance charges."
"Just keep me informed. I wouldn't want to break poor Charlie's bank account."
"Very good, then." The Englishman's image blinked out, and Hathorne took a moment to sigh before reactivating the connection to Horst. "Charlie." Horst turned back to the phone. "Look—on that investigator—I'll let you know when he's coming. See what you can do to help him, but keep it low-key, okay?"
"Sure. Whatever I can do."
"Just your best. As always."
* * *
The interorbit transfer shuttle fired its maneuvering jets four times in fast succession, banging Donny Alvarest first one way in his seat and then another. This wasn't the carefree ride that the brochures depicted. He'd been fighting freefall sickness most of the way out from LEO Station, and had only in the last few hours gotten his stomach under control. The latest zero-g medication worked wonders on ninety-five percent of the population, he was told; it was his luck to be in the five percent who reacted to the drug with dizziness and nausea. One of the old standbys had cured him eventually, but only after hours of misery.
All he could see now was blackness and a sprinkling of stars. Earlier he had glimpsed the moon, bright and clear; and from the other side of the cabin, the glowing limb of Earth. Now he was looking for his destination, GEO-Four. He heard an
ahh
ing sound from the other side of the cabin, but hardly had a chance to crane his neck before another thump went through the ship and it began turning. A huge structure glided into view—a Tinker Toy-like collage of connected cylinders and spheres. His eyes began to make sense of the chaos, as he recognized two counter-rotating cylinders—undoubtedly living areas furnished with artificial gravity. A pair of larger spin structures was under construction, at right angles to the first. Alvarest's view disappeared, as the shuttle continued rotating.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax; but his mind would not stop running. When word had come down of a snooper assignment at GEO-Four, his first instinct had been to duck. But he had also thought of the story he knew Joe Payne was working on (partly or maybe mostly because of his tip—and did these arrests have anything to do with Payne's sources? he wondered), and it had seemed like a good idea to check the situation out himself. He felt at least somewhat responsible for the direction of Payne's story; he had, after all, searched Payne out at that rock concert, specifically to give him the tip—though neither Payne nor anyone else needed to know that. On the other hand, if he were just looking for a change of pace, Caracas or Mexico City might have been nicer. Anyway, he'd volunteered.
Of course, Joe would have a conniption if he had even an inkling of some of the things his old buddy did for Uncle Sawbuck. Nothing big league—he'd never been a spy, and he'd never carried a gun (well, once, on a ticklish arms trafficking thing, but he'd never used it); but not every operation that his department was in was lily white. The dirty tricks in the Pan-American Alliance elections, for instance, was not something he was extremely proud of.
There was, in fact, a good deal in his work that he wasn't totally proud of. But this assignment looked different; it was an intriguing situation, and he might be able to scope out the territory he'd involved Joe in, plus doing his job. His orders were simple: investigate the charges against the Tachylab conspirators, including any counter-charges
they
might make, and file his reports with a control back at the Cube. He'd be working under cover, as a PR flack from the Defense Information Bureau. The assignment was described as being at the request of a senior presidential aide, and findings were
not
to be shared with military officials at GEO-Four. Interesting. A bit of interdivision squabbling, it seemed; but he would find out soon enough.
Meanwhile, docking at the station seemed to be taking forever; but at last the final jolts died away, and the announcement was given to disembark. Alvarest was no more awkward in zero-gee than most of the other passengers; but when they emerged into the customs area, an assault zone of lights and noises and pungently stale smells, the difference between the veterans and the newcomers was clear. Alvarest clung to a stanchion as people bobbed past him, and he talked to inspectors who seemed to enjoy hanging upside down relative to him; and though he bore it without complaint, by the time he was through the gauntlet, his head was spinning.
Once clear of customs, he looked around hopefully. He hadn't the vaguest idea where to go now that he was here. A young enlisted man in the uniform of the U.S. Space Forces appeared, asked him if he was Donald Alvarest, and said, "Spaceman Akins, sir. Please follow me." Without waiting for a reply, Akins launched himself down a long passageway.
"Hold it a minute!" Alvarest yelled, struggling to keep up, a duffel bag swinging wildly from his shoulder. "Jesus!"
The spaceman paused, waiting. "General said to bring you on the double, Mr. Alvarest."
"General who?"
"Armstead, sir."
The commanding officer of the fleet. He hadn't exactly arrived unnoticed, then. "All right," Alvarest puffed, grabbing for a bulkhead. "But let's get me there alive, okay?"
Akins looked at him critically for a moment, and then smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Sorry, sir. Sometimes it's just—well—too much of a temptation."
"Eh?"