As a rule, those who were least remarkable for intelligence showed the greater powers of survival. Such people recognized their own deficiencies and the superior intelligence of their opponents. Fearing that they might lose a debate or find themselves outmaneuvered in intrigue by their quick-witted enemies, they boldly launched straight into action. Their opponents, over-confident in the belief that they would see what was happening in advance, and not thinking it necessary to seize by force what they could secure by policy, were the more easily destroyed because they were off their guard.
Hawthorne was on his guard now against PHC plots. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.
3.
Nadia lowered the headphones and stared at the bulkhead. She hid in a tiny crawl space, her home away from home. She had a folding lounge chair that served as her bed, several boxes of concentrates, a wall stacked with five-gallon jugs of water and a horde of tech equipment and tools. All this left her about ten square meters of floor space. Her vacc suit and helmet lay on a box and an oxygen re-charger stood beside the porta-pot. The only way out was the airlock. Marten had said that this had been one of his parents’ former bolt holes.
Now…
Nadia shook her head in denial of the latest catastrophe. It simply couldn’t be happening. They had come so close, too close for this to happen. When Marten hadn’t shown—she had waited a half-hour over the limit. Then she’d fled and come here to hide and wait and try again. And he hadn’t shown the next day, at the new location. That’s when she became frightened.
Now…
She dropped the headphones onto the floor. Marten was gone. Everyone in the Sun Works was in a panic. Repair pods to the docks, shuttles scurrying all over, the Doom Star Genghis Khan hiding behind Mercury. Those five boost ships now made sense, and all those missiles lifting from the boost ships. Marten had been in one of those. That’s what the military code said, the one she’d just been listening to. The shock troops were on bearing as targeted.
Nadia sat motionless on the lounge chair, her mind blank. Finally, she forced herself to suck from a food-tube and sip water. “Marten,” she whispered. Tears trickled. She would never see him again. She sank into the lounge chair and cried. Later she wiped away the tears. Then she fiddled with the various pieces of equipment. Maybe he would return home from a successful mission, but she couldn’t believe that, didn’t dare trust it to happen. She had to think and be hardheaded.
The answer finally came. She could see no other way around it.
Nadia donned the vacc suit and boots, entered the airlock and made the long walk to the observation dome where they had first found the pod. She entered the hab and warily studied the bare area. Then she pulled a bug detector from her pocket, scanning her surroundings. Spy-sticks watched the corridor. Well, that couldn’t be helped. Hopefully the operator wouldn’t understand what he saw. She wasn’t a shock trooper, and that’s what Marten had told her they watched for.
She put the vacc suit in the locker and hurried down the corridor. A tangler was strapped to her thigh. It was the one Marten had said he’d used over four and half years ago. It had been exactly where he’d said he had hidden it. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.
4.
Hansen chortled in glee. He had her. He sat in his office and watched a screen with Nadia Pravda as its subject. He had re-routed certain spy-sticks so they only played at his desk screen. He watched Nadia stride down a utility corridor and to an empty hanger door. He wasn’t sure what she was doing in there. As he waited, he typed on a special keyboard newly installed in the desk. He loved being Chief Monitor. He loved all these gadgets. Watching people when they didn’t know they were being watched, he couldn’t compare the feeling to anything he’d known before. It was power.
He switched back to the hanger door. What was she doing in there? Too bad, he hadn’t been able to get clearance for spy-sticks in the hangers. He shrugged, waited and then checked his credit account. Oh, lovely. He bobbed his head. Dust sales had skyrocketed since he’d taken over.
A red light blinked.
He switched back to the hanger door, watching Nadia close it, glance both ways and hurry down the corridor with a heavy duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
Hansen leaned forward to examine the bag. It seemed to be full of little baggies. “Beautiful,” he whispered. At last, he would recover the stolen product. He needed it more than ever in order to fill several orders. Patience did pay off.
He turned to his intercom to summon his special team: Ervil, Dalt and Methlen. But his door opened and two Trustees entered unannounced. They were beefy, sneering men in brown plastic armor, the personal servants of Highborn. The Trustees as a group displayed big bushy sideburns. These two seemed too young to have them. Theirs were probably glued on. They stood in the doorway, arrogantly peering at his cluttered office and then at him.
As he swiveled around to better see them, Hansen innocently switched off the screen and pressed another button that caused the keyboard to disappear deep into his desk.
“The least you could do is knock,” he said.
“You’re to come with us,” said the Trustee with narrowly placed, beady eyes.
Hansen sat back, trying to think, wondering why Trustees had been sent. They were notoriously difficult to deal with. He said, “Do you realize that Chief Monitor means I keep taps on everything that occurs on the Sun Works Factory?”
“That don’t mean nothing to us.”
“No?” asked Hansen. “You’re innocent of all wrong doing?”
“We’re Trustees. We’re immune.”
“Certainly,” said Hansen. “Until the moment you step out of line. And who do you think catches others doing that?”
The two Trustees glanced at one another. One of them laughed. The beady-eyed Trustee smiled nastily at Hansen.
“You’re trying to suborn a Trustee?”
“Never!” said Hansen. “I’m simply curious as to your errand. How you think you can barge in unannounced? I ask that you give me a few moments to collect myself.”
“No time, Chief Monitor,” said the beady-eyed Trustee, snapping his thick fingers. “Hustle your butt over here double-time, boy.”
Hansen blustered. “I’d like to come now, but I’m engaged in sensitive business. So, if you will tell me who sent you?”
The Trustees nodded to one another and strode into the office.
Hansen leaned forward and tried to click the foot alarm under his desk. A Trustee grabbed one of his skinny arms and jerked Hansen bodily out of the chair. The other Trustee grabbed the other arm. They hustled him out the office, through his secretaries’ rooms and past the desks of surprised monitors. His special team—led by Ervil with his heavily bandaged nose—rose from their chairs.
“We’re under the Praetor’s orders,” the beady-eyed Trustee said.
Dalt and Methlen sank back into their chairs. The shorter Ervil dared take a step toward them.
“We can come back for you later,” the beady-eyed Trustee said. “If you wanna be stupid about this, that is.”
Ervil hesitated and then moved aside.
5.
Nadia heaved a sigh of relief as she donned the vacc suit and reentered the observation dome airlock. It had been a gamble going after the dream dust. But she was going to need it. She was on her own again. To live one needed credits. That was an unpleasant fact. And the universal currency was drugs in demand. It was better than gold or platinum, something that even the common man wanted.
She made the long walk to her hideaway. Back inside she felt more claustrophobic than ever. She was glad she’d spent all this time studying astrophysics. Putting away the dust, she began rummaging through the pile of electronic equipment. What a packrat’s hoard. Finally, she sat, crossed her legs and went through the computer catalog. Ah, that’s what it looked like.