Selmo looked at the data and frowned. “It’s certainly a fighter. Well defended. Plenty of guns. Strong hull. But I’ll be damned if we want his help.”
Concepcion knew at once whose ship it must be.
“It’s Lem Jukes,” said Selmo.
Lem grabbed a meal box and found Benyawe already eating at one of the dining counters. “I have an idea that I’d like you to pursue, Dr. Benyawe. Something to keep you busy on the flight home.”
“We’re not exactly twiddling our thumbs in the lab, Lem. We do work.”
Lem smiled. “Naturally this would be in addition to your current duties with the glaser.”
“And if I refuse? Will you abandon me at the next stop like you did Podolski?”
“Podolski had a special assignment and will be well taken care of,” said Lem. “He has passage to Luna. We didn’t abandon him. The whole thing was his idea.”
“He must’ve forgotten that when we left him behind. He didn’t seem too eager to stay.”
“Going to the weigh station was a mistake,” said Lem. “I take full responsibility. I had no idea it was crawling with criminals. We took decisive action, and I don’t think anyone can begrudge us for self-defense. How’s Dr. Dublin?”
“Recuperating. The doctors reset the finger breaks. He’s in a cast and taking meds.”
“Good.” Lem pulled the tab on his meal box, allowing the food to float to the top of the container where he could suck it up with the straw.
She studied him a moment. “Did we kill those men because they knew about the glaser?”
Lem sighed. “ We didn’t kill anyone, Doctor. Chubs and his security team, working under my father’s instructions, saved our lives. And no, they didn’t kill them to protect corporate secrets. We were threatened. You were there. Now, put it out of your mind. I need that brain of yours focused on other matters.”
“Your idea.”
“I agree that gravity focusing is the future of the company, but not in its present state, not as a glaser. It’s too unstable. The subsequent gravity field is too unpredictable.”
“We’ve been working sixteen-hour days for almost two years, nearly getting ourselves killed to demonstrate this glaser for you, Lem, and suddenly you’re not interested?”
“On the contrary. I’m very interested. But I think you’ll agree our current model needs some work. I’m merely making a suggestion on how to improve it. If it’s a terrible idea, you’ll tell me. You’re the engineer, not me.”
“What’s the idea?”
“Two glaserlike devices connected to each other like a bola that can be placed on opposite sides of an asteroid. Like earmuffs. They operate under the same principle, but their gravity fields counter each other, so the asteroid is still ripped to shreds by tidal forces, but the gravity field doesn’t grow to unstable levels. It’s far more contained. The rock is still ground to powder, but nobody dies.”
“I’ll put a team on it,” said Benyawe. “I’ll oversee it personally. It’s a good idea. It’s worth exploring.”
Lem was surprised. He had expected a polite, yet slightly condescending lecture on how the idea was appreciated but far too impractical, a verbal pat on the head that essentially said, “Why don’t you leave the thinking to the grown-ups?” After all, how could he presume to think of something they hadn’t? They were the most brilliant minds in their fields. He wasn’t a scientist; he didn’t know physics, not to their level anyway. Yet Benyawe was going with the idea. Or was she merely placating him? No. It was a good idea. It did have promise. And isn’t this what entrepreneurs do? They have ideas, and they call on people who can make them happen. Isn’t that what Father had done?
Lem left the dining hall with a spring in his step, which was easy in zero gravity. Everything was finally working out. It was all coming together. He had four cargo bays nearly full of cylinders as a gift for the Board. He had successful tests with the glaser. Podolski was handling the snafu with El Cavador, so that would go away. And now, if Benyawe and her team pulled through, he might return to Luna with plans for the next generation glaser, an idea for which he could largely take credit.
Lem smiled.
He had gone through a rocky patch, yes, but the old Lem Jukes was back. He stopped and checked his reflection in one of the shiny metallic columns positioned throughout the ship. He hadn’t shaved in two days, but he liked the stubbly facial hair. It was that rugged, devil-may-care look that women he had known seemed to swoon over. He put his shoulders back and checked his profile. It was the look of a leader, a face that demanded to be followed. He had Father to thank for that.
He straightened his jacket, checked his other profile, and continued on. He hadn’t gone far when he passed a female crewmember-someone who worked in the kitchen by the looks of her. He gave her his best smile, and the woman nodded and blushed, continuing on her way. So he still had it. After almost two years out of the game, he hadn’t lost his appeal.
He took the tube to his quarters and wondered whom he should call on when he returned to Earth. It probably wasn’t too early to think about that. If he achieved a more prominent place in the company as he expected, it would pay to have a woman at his side. Not necessarily a wife, per se. But someone who could accompany him to corporate engagements and charm members of the Board.
Lem put on some music, took off his greaves and vambraces, and floated over to his computer terminal. There was no shortage of beautiful women in his contact list: women of enterprise, medicine, science, entertainment, even a Danish countess, though Lem had found her rather self-absorbed eventually. He clicked through their photos and smiled at the memories. Many had progressed to a third or fourth date, but rarely had they gone any further. Lem traveled too extensively and worked too heavily.
The most recent entry was over two years old, he noticed, but that was to be expected: Lem had been in space. Other entries were as old as seven or eight years, which surprised him. Had it been that long? Worse still, he hadn’t maintained contact with any of them, even though he had promised to stay in touch with them all. He suddenly realized how foolish he would sound trying to contact them when he returned. Hey, remember me? We had dinner seven years ago and I was completely charming and then never called. Shall I pick you up at eight?
How classy. Lem allowed his eyes to readjust until he saw his own reflection on the terminal screen. He was kidding himself, and he knew it. He pushed off the desk, found his razor, and shaved. Stubbly hair indeed.
He was towel-drying his face when an alert popped up in the holospace above his desk. Lem waved his hand through it, authorizing the message. Chubs’s head appeared in the holospace. “We’re getting a high-bandwidth radio message over an emergency frequency, Lem. And you won’t believe who it is.”
“Someone we know?”
“El Cavador,” said Chubs.
Lem froze. El Cavador? How was that possible? “I thought the radio was down. I thought we had interference.” They hadn’t received any messages for days now.
“The interference mostly affects long-range transmissions,” said Chubs. “If a transmission is close enough and strong enough, it gets through apparently.”
“How close is El Cavador?”
“A day behind us. Matching our speed.”
Lem swore under his breath. A single day. They were practically on top of them. Well that was just perfect.
“It’s worse than you think,” said Chubs. “They’re asking for you personally.”
Lem closed his eyes. Everything was coming apart again. Podolski couldn’t have wiped El Cavador already. It was too soon. The free miners had been tracking him. They must have read Lem’s files and now they’re coming to name their price for the files’ safe return.
“What do I tell them?” asked Chubs.
For a moment, Lem considered not taking the transmission. If he ignored them, maybe they’d go away. But no, if extortion was their agenda, they’d only go somewhere else and sell the data, which would be worse. “Put it through,” said Lem. “But I want you watching and recording this holo, Chubs. You alone.”