“Okay. Send them a signal, greeting them, reassuring them that all is in hand down here. Then get their Commander on line. Have him put through here, direct. I’ll get Rutherford in to speak to him. But don’t— don’t for a single instant—say anything about the fate of Tolonen’s daughter, understand me? If they ask, tell them that things have been chaotic down here and that you have no information.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Now get to it. The next few hours are vital to our cause.”
from where it rested, high up on the wall above her bed, the insect witnessed everything. It saw the hard stone bed on which the prisoner lay, the crude iron chains which secured her to the wall. In the light of a single, flickering flame it saw her lift her head and look across, her blue eyes moist, her muscles tensed against what was to come. For a moment there was no sound, simply the movement of a steel door on a well-oiled hinge, a perturbation of the flame. She stared into shadow, her eyes narrowed, trying to make out who or what it was. For a moment her face was set, determined to show no fear, then, with a small, startled movement, her eyes flew open.
“You...”
It flickered across the darkness, then settled, looking down. Ebert stood in the doorway, his left hand gripping the thick edge of the door as if to steady himself. He seemed shocked, pained almost, by what he saw. There was a strange, uncertain movement in his face, and then he moved inside, closing the door quietly behind him. “Jelka ...” he said softly, turning to face her again.
“I should have known,” she said quietly, a strange coldness in her voice. “When I saw that bastard DeVore at the spaceport, I should have guessed that you’d be somewhere close at hand, like some nasty little piece of putrefaction.”
He shuddered. “Jelka, I didn’t—“
“You didn’t what? Didn’t have my aunt and uncle killed? Didn’t kill your own father? And what about that child? How could you have done that? Your own child? What kind of animal are you?”
Ebert hung his head, silent.
She lifted her hands angrily as if reaching for him, the chains pulling taut against the rings in the wall behind her. “You know what? If I were free right now—if I had a knife in my hand and the chance to use it—I’d stick it deep in your guts and twist it hard for what you’ve done. I’d slit your throat and watch you bleed to death, you know that?”
“I know.”
She laughed, scorning him, as if it were he who was chained. “I wish I could say you got what you deserved, but it’s not true, is it? I mean, you’re still here ... the stink of you is still here.” She shook her head, suddenly pained, remembering what had happened. “Do you realize what you did? All the suffering you caused?”
“I realize.”
“Do you?” She stared at him a moment, such disgust, such utter loathing, in her eyes that he bowed his head once more. “So what now, Hans Ebert? What further excesses, what filth and degradation, have you got planned for me? Or am I wrong, is it my soul you’re after now?” He jerked his head up, surprised. For a moment his mouth faltered, and then he spoke again, his voice quiet, hesitant. “You have it wrong. I never killed them. Not one of them. Fest, yes. But the others . . .” She stared at him, contemptuous, destroying him silently, forcing him to lower his eyes again as his voice faltered and fell still. “Enough,” she said, easing back onto her bunk, the chains falling slack. “Do what you have to. But don’t think you’ll ever touch me. Not the real me. That you can’t touch.”
“No,” he said quietly. “No . . .”
There was silence, an uneasy stillness, and then the door swung open behind Ebert. Echewa came in slowly, looking across at the young woman. He frowned, sensing the tension in the cell, then turned to Ebert. “You know her?”
“Yes. We were engaged, back on Chung Kuo. It was my father’s idea. He wanted to link our families. To consolidate the friendship he had with her father. I wanted it, too, I guess. But I did her a great wrong. 1 can’t blame her if she hates me.”
Echewa’s eyes widened. “Then I’m sorry for you both, Hans Ebert. I’ve heard from our friend DeVore. He’s sent new instructions. He wants you two married, and he wants it today.”
THE MACHINE SAW EVERYTHING.
From a satellite, high above the orbit of tiny Deimos, it watched the three craft swoop low over the great dust plain of Tharsis; saw missiles flash arrow-sleek in the weak sunlight; witnessed the gouts of flame amid the vivid green, like sudden flowers blooming after desert rainfall, and, afterward, the dark scars on the land.
From a camera perch above a half-completed reservoir it watched as a dozen men—masked, their suits blending with the surrounding desert—climbed down into the huge oval-shaped depression and placed their charges. Like ghosts they vanished, merging into the vastness. A moment later there was the dull thud-thud-thud of detonations, a sharp, cracking sound, the presence of dust hanging in the air.
From its position above the feeding stalls, half a li below the sands of Sinai, it heard the troubled lowing of the beast-men and watched as they were herded down the narrow corridors toward the loading bays. From its vantage point above a ViewScreen on the far side of a luxurious office overlooking Kang Kua City, it watched the man who had brought it here to Mars—the architect of these present troubles— as he placed a stone here, a stone there, making his plays in the great game he carried in his head. And recognized that here was the source and seed of its potential destruction.
Not that it was in any danger. Not yet. But for as long as the girl remained captive, so this matter would remain unresolved. The destruction would continue. And at some point it would become endangered. This it knew. This it saw, clearly and unequivocally. Action, it seemed, was called for. But what?
It could arm the satellites—as Schenck had long proposed—and shoot down the three invading craft. But that would bring war, and war would bring further destruction, possibly its own. Best, then, to give them what they wanted. The girl. Jelka Tolonen. And then, perhaps, they’d go away. It blinked, understanding what it had to do. And on a screen, less than a li from where it was, a face appeared: the face of a man who, only an hour before, had been appointed pro-tern Governor of Mars. It smiled, and then began.
port captain thomas brookes bowed low before the screen, then straightened up, hurriedly fastening his tunic.
“Governor Henderson,” he said, signaling off-camera for someone to bring him his boots. “I didn’t expect your call so early.” “No. I’m sure you didn’t, Captain. But now that you’re out of your bed, there’s something you can do for me. I understand that you’ve a ship there out of the Trojans that you’ve been holding up. The Tat Feng, registered in the name of Shen Yeh. Well, I want you to let it go, understand me? And I want it done right now.”
Brookes hesitated, realizing he was in a difficult position, for while Henderson was his titular superior, Culver had told him that no one was to leave Tien Men K’ou spaceport without his direct instructions. He swallowed, then lowered his head again, deciding to face the matter squarely.