Because the next decision he would make now—and answer for later—was whether to continue pursuing the starship or to return to the Demarchy. And the decision was not as obvious as it seemed.… The starship had taken a thousand tons of hydrogen—far more than it needed to escape from the system, from what Osuna had told him. Enough fuel to critically cripple its speed and maneuverability. Had they done that for revenge, too? Somehow he doubted it. They had destroyed a ship before; this time they could have destroyed so much more … they could have destroyed the major distillery. But they hadn't. He experienced a curious mingling of fascination and relief.
But the starship had gone to Lansing when it first entered the system; there had been a Lansinger with the woman at Mecca. If its crew had made some sort of deal with Lansing, that could explain a lot of things. And it would mean that the starship would not be heading directly out of the system; that there was still a chance for Demarchy ships to overtake it.
MacWong looked back as the ship's pilot approached Tiriki and the others, to interrupt them deferentially. And what would happen if they captured the starship? He glanced out of the port beside him, seeing the long, intensely lavender thread of a second ship's torch reaching across the night. By then they would be millions of kilometers from the Demarchy—these three armed ships, and the men who controlled them: ambitious men, men who enjoyed power, men like Esrom Tiriki. No matter what the people decided concerning the starship, by then there would be no way that the Demarchy could force these men to obey it … and no one would be quicker to realize that. His nearness to Tiriki and his insulation from the people had made him understand what Abdhiamal had known instinctively from the start: that the starship which could be their salvation could instead turn out to be the bait for a deadly trap.
He sighed. You were always a better man than I was, Wadie; and that was your whole problem.… And maybe that explained Abdhiamal's treason better than any speculation about revenge. He had been more than sorry to make Abdhiamal into a man without a world … but maybe in the end it would turn out to be the best move he had ever made. And perhaps now he had the opportunity to repay Abdhiamal in part, as the spokesman of the people—by keeping his mouth shut about what he knew.
“Demarchs—” The three company men and the pilot looked up at him together; he watched a mediaman adjust a camera lens. “I think we all know by now that our attempt to seize that starship has failed. But at least it hasn't fallen into enemy hands. It's leavin' the system; we might as well save a further waste of our own resources and return home—”
“Maybe we haven't lost it yet, Demarch MacWong.” Tiriki showed him a porcelain smile that was somehow more unpleasant than his former petulance.
“We've just been given some new information about the starship.” The Estevez nephew nodded at the ship's pilot. “Lin-piao says that the ship isn't leavin' the system; it's turned back in toward the Main Belt.”
“To Lansing,” Tiriki said. “They're goin' back to Lansing.”
“We still have a chance to take it; Lin-piao says it's only doing one-quarter gee now.”
MacWong hesitated, seeing the three of them united, finally, in the purpose of carrying through their mission. And behind them the entire Demarchy watched in silent judgment. It knew what they knew; and it knew that he, MacWong, had instigated this pursuit. The people didn't know everything—but had they already learned too much? He could still press for a retreat … but would they accept it now? “If the people feel that a further effort to pursue the starship wouldn't be worth the Demarchy's while, I hope they'll let us know.” He spoke the words to the waiting cameras with careful emphasis. “In the meantime …” He felt the intentness of seven sets of eyes, felt the pressure of a thousand more behind them. “In view of this new information, I feel we should continue our mission. I have personal data, concernin' the starship's entry into the system and its fuel needs, that support the theory it's headin' for Lansing now.” Sorry, Wadie. He watched the faces relax into satisfaction and complacency. But it's my job to give the people what they want. He matched them smile for smile, one satisfaction for another.
“Demarchs …” The pilot pulled self-consciously at the hem of his golden company jacket. “By the time we've changed course, we still may not be able to catch up with 'em. Even if the starship can only manage one-quarter gee, by the time we decelerate again for Lansing ourselves—”
The pilot broke off, as a frown spread among them like a disease. MacWong weighed its significance like a physician; and prescribed the remedy that he knew would heal any damage to his own credibility: “I think that may not turn out to be a problem, demarchs. If you'll consider the followin' course of action.…”
Ranger (in transit, Discus to Lansing)
+2.96 megaseconds
Wadie walked the corridor to Betha Torgussen's private room, slowed by one-quarter gravity and the fatigue of their work in space … and by the same tangle of emotion that drove him to face her now. The memory of the Discan sky, hazed with shining flotsam and hung with crescent moons, haunted him: the knowledge of a costly victory won and almost lost again by his own actions; two lives, the last of the Morningside crew, almost lost—and with them the part of himself that he had only just begun to discover.…
He reached the open door, stopped as the hallway slipped back into focus, and stepped through.
Rusty's head appeared suddenly from a cocoon of bedding, watched him like a familiar as he looked across the room. The captain sat at her desk, her back to him, her attention lost among scattered displays and printouts. Empty coffee cups littered the desk top; there was a sign above her head on the wall, TEN YEARS AGO I COULDN'T EVEN SPELL “ENGINEER,” AND NOW I ARE ONE. He smiled briefly, until he heard her sigh, a sound that was a small groan. The vision formed inside his eyes of her cracked and bandaged ribs, a bruise the width of his arm.
He turned abruptly to leave the room again, found a picture on the wall inside a broad green arrow pointing DOWN: found Betha Torgussen, and Welkin, and—Eric, bearded now and smiling. With them, two more women, two more men, and seven children bundled in heavy clothes; all pale, laughing, waving in three dimensions, joyfully disheveled against a background of snow. A family who knew how to share … and somehow, with the fever of futile greed that burned through Heaven, their sharing no longer seemed so alien or so bizarre.…
Rusty stirred on the bed, blinking; she mrred inquiringly. Betha turned across the back of her chair, controlling a grimace, her own eyes suddenly quick and nervous, question his presence.
“Betha … I'd like to see you, if you don't mind. There're some things I think I need to say.” He crossed the room.
“All right, Abdhiamal.” Her eyes went to his wrist, Clewell's wristband. “Yes, maybe you should.” Her face changed. “But first, tell me how Clewell is. How is he taking the acceleration?”
“Well enough, I guess. He's very weak, but he's no fool.…” And nobody's fool. Sudden appreciation for the old man filled him. “I don't suppose I'd have the guts to be here if I didn't believe he was goin' to be all right.… But what about you? What are you tryin' to prove? Why the hell aren't you getting some rest—” He broke off, not sure who he was really angry at.