Cold as Ice (39 page)

Mobarak was staring at him, finally perhaps off balance—but not as far off balance as Bat, who could feel himself quivering. He was ashamed of his emotion and loss of objectivity.

"Suppose the answers to both your questions are yes. So what?"

"So—
this
." Bat pulled out from his robe the list of calls that he had made over the past day. "To confirm some of my thoughts and suspicions, I have tried again and again to reach Jon Perry. And I have failed, a dozen times. Observe these replies: Ararat Base admits that Jon Perry and Wilsa Sheer are on Europa, but they insist that they are 'unavailable.' Europa itself is in isolation mode. Mount Ararat will not permit me to communicate with Perry and Sheer in any way."

"What about it? They're probably in the submersible again, wandering around."

"Then why am I not offered that information? But regardless of where they are, I believe that they may be in terrible personal danger."

"I don't see why. They've been there before. They're both experienced."

"The danger does not come from the planet. It comes from Hilda Brandt."

"Nonsense. I know Hilda . . . and you're the one who insists that I know her better than anyone else in this system."

"That is true. Yet I think that perhaps you do not know her at all. She is a complex personality."

"So is anyone worth knowing."

"I mean unusually complex. More so than you . . . or me. And far more dangerous. I wish I could find a way to prove to you how dangerous."

"Oh, rubbish." Mobarak rose from his seat and went striding away toward Bat Cave's communications center. "Give me a fast line, and I'll settle this in a minute. Camille Hamilton is still at Ararat Base, too, and David has an open connection to her. I'll find out exactly where Jon Perry and Wilsa Sheer are, and what's been happening on Europa."

"You are proposing to call David Lammerman?" Bat rose from his seat also, and padded across to stand at Mobarak's side.

"Right now."

"You seek his assistance?"

"I sure do." Mobarak was keying in access codes. "I'll tell him to sort this out. If necessary, I'll tell him to head right over to Europa and to call us from there."

"Then permit me to intrude where I have no right to." Bat placed his hand next to Mobarak's on the console, preventing the completion of the call sequence. It was the closest that Bat had come to physical contact with anyone in years, and far beyond his comfort level. He forced himself to keep his hand there, and went on: "You asked me to discover your enemy in the Jovian system. In exploring that question, I naturally considered many people, and reviewed many private files. Including David Lammerman's."

Mobarak pulled his hand away from the console as though it had stung him. "You investigated David? You thought that
David
—"

"I looked at everyone. And I learned much of personal relationships that did not concern me. But they should concern you."

"Are you telling me that
David
—I can't believe it." Cyrus Mobarak looked sick, and his face aged fifteen years. "I can't
believe
. . ."

"That he is your enemy, and would betray you?" Bat was filled with conflicting emotions. He was confronting naked misery, just the sort of situation that he had designed his whole life to avoid. He should retreat, and remain aloof. Or at the very least, he should
use
Mobarak's misunderstanding to further his own purposes. Emotion was a weakness that should be exploited.

Except that the man bent-headed in front of him was, in a curious but real sense, Bat's
best friend
—an alien thought! They had jousted over the Puzzle Network since Bat's youth: Torquemada and Megachirops, Megachirops versus Torquemada, aware of each other always, head and shoulders above the rest, knowing that they were each other's only real competition. They had spent twenty years in teasing and challenging, devising special problems intended for one other remote and invisible person. Bat's most diabolical brain teasers had been constructed with Torquemada alone in mind.

Friendship
? Did not such intellectual contact mean
more
than the carnal contacts, mindless camaraderie, or inebriated revelry that most of humanity was forced to describe as friendship? And did not the higher form of friendship impose its own duties and constraints?

Bat sighed again, this time for opportunity foregone. "I am sorry. You mistake my meaning. David Lammerman is no enemy of yours, although many would say that he has ample reason to be. Tell me, are you"—Bat had to force the alien word out—"
fond
of your son?"

"Am I fond—" Mobarak cleared his throat. "My God. David is my only child. We've seen too little of each other over the years, but not because I wanted it that way. Of course I'm fond of him. I would give him
anything.
But he avoids me."

"He does." Bat was committed now, to discussion of the kind he most hated. There was no way out of it, even though he wriggled in horror at the waves of raw emotion filling the air around him. "And I know why he avoids you. I have seen tapes made when he was talking to you, or preparing to do so. He thinks that his father is the greatest man in history, but he is terrified of him. He becomes tongue-tied in your presence. You crush him with your personality."

"I don't mean to. He's the apple of my eye."

"You do it without thinking. Cyrus Mobarak overwhelms David Lammerman. If you want to be close to him, you must let him
breathe
."

"How? I'm just being myself with him."

"Then you must be someone different, someone more like the Cyrus Mobarak who meets with me. I have seen you on tape also, many times. Do you think I am unaware that with me your personality has been
damped down
, for my benefit?" Bat lifted his hand at last from the control console. "Call David now, if you wish. But
ask
him for what you need. Do not
tell
him. Say that you would like his assistance, that there is a special task that you dare not entrust to anyone else in the system. Can you do that?"

"I can try." Mobarak at last made the connection, while Bat drifted back to his special comfort seat. He was exhausted. He had taken all that he could stand, and
hated
it. How did Magrit Knudsen handle this sort of thing, day after day? Yet she seemed to
thrive
on such personal confrontation, such emotional intertwining.

"David." The line was open. Mobarak's voice was gruff and oddly tentative. "David, are you busy?"

"I'm pretty busy." David Lammerman's face was on the screen, guarded and uncertain. "I'm in a meeting with Tristan Morgan and Nell Cotter. We're discussing the ways that Mobies might help Outward Bound."

"David, I hate to interrupt. But I need your help with a . . . a special task that I dare not entrust to anyone else. I am in a meeting with Rustum Battachariya. Jon Perry and Wilsa Sheer are on Europa, and we have reason to think that they are in great danger. Would you try to reach them through Camille, and make sure they are safe?"

"Of course." David Lammerman's face was puzzled. "The last time I spoke to Camille, everything was going well. But I'll call Europa right now. Are
you
all right?"

"I'm fine."

"And if there
are
problems on Europa . . ."

"Use your best judgment. You can call me if you want a second opinion—but you certainly don't have to. Go to Europa yourself, if you think it's necessary. Use my credit, my name, anything else you need. I know you'll do the intelligent thing. But please hurry. This is urgent."

"I'll sure do my best." David glanced away from the camera for a moment. "I'll have help here if I need it. I'd better get on with it. Are you
sure
you are all right."

"I am certain of it. I'm . . . better than I've ever been."

There was a long, self-conscious moment, when neither man spoke. They finally nodded at each other and simultaneously broke contact.

"Well." Cyrus Mobarak stared blindly at the blank screen. "I tried. He's very competent, you know. Did you notice that he didn't ask me one unnecessary question? But I have a thousand questions. About Europa, about Hilda Brandt. About how you connected me with her. About why you think she's dangerous. When will you be ready to give me answers?"

"Very soon." Bat was more than happy to change back to factual discussions. "There is one thing I must do first."

He rose and lumbered over to Mobarak's side, where he set up his own instruction sequence.

"You're ordering a
ship
?" Mobarak could not quite follow the abbreviated command codes, shortened for Bat's personal use.

"Indeed I am. A ship, and also suits."

"For me?" Mobarak had seen his own name flash across the display.

"Yes. And for me also. I am going with you."

Mobarak stared in amazement at the screen, where the complete mission profile was appearing. His name was there, along with that of Rustum Battachariya.

Rustum Battachariya. Passenger!

A few minutes earlier, Bat had wished for a way to prove to Mobarak just how dangerous he believed Hilda Brandt to be. He had found one now, without saying a word.

Proof enough for anyone: For the first time in uncounted years, the Great Bat was about to abandon his cave on Ganymede. He would endure the chaos and crowded discomfort of a high-gee flight through the open space of the Jovian system, his destination the barren, naked surface of Europa.

23
Too Late

The communication channel offered only one reply to all inquiries:
"Europa is in isolation mode until further notice. Your approach request has been noted, but permission to land cannot be provided."

Three of those anonymous rejections were quite enough. David Lammerman's fourth message was not a request; it was a notice of intention to land, with a well-defined arrival time.

And that produced results. In rapid succession there appeared on the ship's screen a confused, low-level Fax of Buzz Sandstrom; a less polite but equally confused high-level Fax; a Mount Ararat mid-level live official who changed in a few seconds from calm obnoxious superiority to shock, anger, and disbelief; and, at last, Sandstrom himself.

"You've heard it six times." His nostrils were dilated, and he was leaning far forward so that his distorted face filled the screen.
"Go away.
We're in
isolation mode.
You can't land at Mount Ararat, no matter who you are."

"I'm afraid we must, unless you let me talk at once to Camille Hamilton, Jon Perry, or Wilsa Sheer." Lammerman's voice remained as mild and reasonable as ever. "Actually, we're already in final approach. I called as a courtesy, to make sure that nothing in the spaceport will be damaged by our ship's exhaust when we come down."

"Touch down and you'll be under arrest the minute you step out of your ship."

"Then that's the way it will have to be."

"Buzz is going through the ceiling," said Tristan Morgan softly. He and Nell Cotter were sitting tucked away in the rear of the cabin, where they could watch Sandstrom but not be seen or heard by him. "I've met him a dozen times, and he's not really such a bad guy. A bit dim, maybe. But I've never seen him like this before."

"I don't think it's all anger." Nell had been watching every muscle-twitch on Sandstrom's face, and recording it. "He may be annoyed, but there's more to it than that. Seems like he's battle-scarred. Nearly ready to weep. Somebody's been giving him a prize chewing-out. A little more shove, and I think he'll break completely."

"You have to be wrong. He's deputy director on Europa. He dishes it out, he doesn't take it."

"All the more reason why he doesn't like it. But that limits the choice of chewer: Hilda Brandt or nobody. Let me past. I want to try something."

She edged around Tristan and moved forward, to a point where Sandstrom could see her. "If you say we can't talk to the others, then I demand to speak with Dr. Brandt. Immediately. And I will tell her how you have been behaving toward us."

"And who the hell are you?" Buzz Sandstrom had met Nell on her previous visit to Europa, but he did not seem to recognize her. He hesitated, then went on in quieter tones: "I really don't see why Dr. Brandt would want to talk with you."

"Well, you can't say that about me, Buzz." Tristan had followed Nell and was standing beside her. "I talk to Hilda all the time. And we're
entitled
to land on Mount Ararat. We have a permit from Rustum Battachariya, the head of Passenger Transport for the Outer System—including Europa."

"That doesn't overrule an isolation-mode notice."

"I don't agree. But that's something for the lawyers to argue over. We'll be touching down at Mount Ararat in five minutes. We need a landing slot. And we want to talk to Hilda, or to Perry and the others. Better cooperate, Buzz, or you'll get yourself in
real
trouble."

"Cooperate!" But Buzz Sandstrom was wilting. His muscles had lost a lot of their tightness, and the line of his jaw no longer had its pugnacious jut. "Even if you do land, you can't talk to Dr. Brandt. She's not here."

"According to the system transit manifests, she is. She arrived on Europa a couple of hours ago, and there's no record of her leaving."

"I didn't mean she's not on Europa." Buzz was actually starting to sound placating. "I mean she's not
here
, not at Ararat Base."

"So where is she?"

"On the surface. Camille Hamilton is with her, so you can't talk to her either. They're out at Blowhole. It's iced over, and they're trying to clear it." Sandstrom lost the last shred of belligerence. "Look, Tristan, it's not my fault. I was just following Dr. Brandt's orders. There was no
reason
for her to get so angry with me. She was the one told me to put Europa in isolation mode, and she was the one told me to keep Perry and Sheer from talking to others. How was I supposed to know the two of 'em would go out and commit suicide?"

"They're
dead
?"

"No. Yes. I mean—I don't know. They may be. I mean, it happened over two days ago. They escaped from Ararat Base and went out onto the surface. They took a submersible down below the ice without permission."