“You look as if you’re pleased about it.”
“We can make it work in our favor,” Humphries said.
“I don’t see—”
“Those rock rats have been helping Fuchs, giving him fuel and food, giving him information about our ships’ schedules and destinations.”
“Yes,” she said. “Obviously.”
“Somebody told him about the base on Vesta.”
“Obviously,” Verwoerd repeated.
“And now he’s killed a couple of dozen of his own people. Rock rats. Construction workers. Right?”
She took a deep breath, straightened up in the chair. “I see. You think they’ll turn against him.”
“Damned right.”
“What if they turn against you?” Verwoerd asked. “What if they decide that working for HSS is too dangerous, no matter how good the pay?”
“That’s where we play our trump card,” Humphries said. “Stavenger’s been putting out feelers about arranging a peace conference. Apparently the world government’s sticking its nose into the situation and Stavenger wants to head them off.”
“A peace conference?”
“Humphries Space Systems, Astro, Selene… even the world government will send a representative. Slice up the Asteroid Belt neat and clean, so there’s no more fighting.”
“Who’ll represent the rock rats?”
He laughed. “What do we need them for? This is strictly among the major players. The big boys.”
“But it’s about them,” Verwoerd countered. “You can’t divide up the Asteroid Belt between HSS and Astro without including them.”
With a shake of his head, Humphries said, “You don’t understand history, Diane. Back in the twentieth century there was a big flap in Europe over some country called Czechoslovakia. It doesn’t even exist anymore. But at that time, Germany wanted to take it over. England and France met with the Germans in Munich. They decided what to do with Czechoslovakia. The Czechs weren’t included in the conference. No need for them; the big boys parceled it all out.”
Verwoerd shot back, “And a year later all Europe was at war. I know more history than you think. You can’t have a conference about parceling out the Belt without having the rock rats in on it.”
“Can’t we?”
“You’ll be throwing them into Fuchs’s arms!”
Humphries frowned at that. “You think so?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“H’mm. I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe you’re right.”
Verwoerd leaned toward him slightly. “But if you included the rock rats, got them to send a representative to the conference—”
“We’d be making them a party to the crime,” Humphries finished for her.
“And the only outsider, the only one who doesn’t agree to the settlement, would be Fuchs.”
“Right!”
“He’d be isolated,” Verwoerd said. “Really alone. He’d have to give up. Nobody would help him and he’d be forced to quit.”
Humphries clasped his hands behind his head and leaned far back in his big, comfortable chair. “And he’d also have to face trial for killing all those people on Vesta. I love it!”
CHAPTER 48
Much to his surprise, George Ambrose was elected “mayor” of Ceres.
His official title was Chief Administrator. The election came about once the inhabitants of Ceres reluctantly admitted that they needed some form of government, if only to represent them against the growing mayhem that was turning the Belt into a war zone. Fuchs’s destruction of the Vesta base was the last straw; more than two dozen residents of Ceres had been killed in the attack.
Amanda tried to distance herself from her estranged husband’s offense by throwing herself into the drive to bring some form of law and order to Ceres. She worked tirelessly to craft a government, searching databases for months to find governmental organizations that might fit the needs of the rock rats. Once she had put together a proposed constitution, the rock rats grumbled and fussed and ripped it to shreds. But she picked up the pieces and presented a new document that addressed most of their complaints. With great reluctance, they voted to accept the new government—as long as it imposed no direct taxes on them.
Staffing the government was simple enough: there were enough clerks and technical supervisors on Ceres to handle the jobs. Many of them were delighted with the prospect of getting an assured salary, although Amanda made certain that each bureaucrat had to satisfy a strict performance review annually to hold onto the job.
Then came the selection of a governing board. Seven people were chosen at random by computer from the permanent residents of Ceres. No one was allowed to refuse the “honor.” Or the responsibility. Amanda was not selected by the computerized lottery, which disappointed her. George was, which disappointed him even more.
At their first meeting, the board elected George their chief, over his grudging protests.
“I won’t fookin’ shave,” he warned them.
“That’s all right, George,” said one of the young women on the board. “But could you just tone down your language a little?”
Thus it was that Big George Ambrose, now the reluctant “mayor” of the rock rats, became their representative in the conference that took place at Selene, where he had once lived as a fugitive and petty thief.
“I’m not goin’ by meself,” George insisted. “I’ll need some backup.”
The governing board decided they could afford to send two assistants with George. His first real decision as the newly-elected Chief Administrator of Ceres was to pick the two people who would go with him. His first choice was easy: Dr. Kris Cardenas.
As he tussled in his mind over who the other appointee should be, Amanda surprised him by volunteering for the post.
She popped into his “office”—actually nothing more than his everyday living quarters—and told him that she wanted to be part of the delegation to Selene.
“You?” George blurted. “How come?”
Amanda looked away from his eyes. “I’ve done as much work to create this government as anyone. More, in fact. I deserve to go.”
George said warily, “This won’t be a fookin’ vacation, y’know.”
“I understand that.”
He offered her his best chair, but she shook her head and remained standing in the middle of his one-room residence. She seemed calm, and very determined. The place is pretty messy, George thought: bed’s not made, plates in the sink. But Amanda simply stood there staring off into infinity, seeing—what? George wondered.
“Humphries is there, in Selene,” he said.
Amanda nodded, her face expressionless, frozen, as if she were afraid to show any emotion at all.
“Lars won’t like you goin’.”
“I know,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I’ve thought it all out, George. I must go with you. But I don’t want Lars to know. Please don’t tell him.”
Scratching his beard, trying to sort out what she was saying, George asked, “How can I tell ’im? The only way I get any word to him is through you.”
“I’ve got to go with you, George,” Amanda said, almost pleading now. “Don’t you see? I’ve got to do whatever I can to put an end to this fighting. To save Lars before they find him and kill him!”
George nodded, finally understanding. At least, he thought he did.
“All right, Amanda. You can come with us. I’ll be glad to have you.”
“Thank you, George,” she said, smiling for the first time. But there was no happiness in it.
Amanda had wrestled with her conscience for two days before asking George to let her go with him to Selene. She knew that Lars would not want her to be so near to Humphries, especially without him there to protect her. She herself did not fear Humphries any longer; she felt that she could handle him. Martin wouldn’t hurt me, she told herself. Besides, George and Kris will be there to chaperone me.