Voyagers III - Star Brothers (31 page)

“WE’VE been thrashing around this bush long enough,” muttered the blond leader of the hunters. “That damned gorilla is always ahead of us.”

Lela sat on the damp ground and watched silently as the men shrugged out of their rifle straps and backpacks. The last slanting rays of the setting sun made the tree trunks glow almost orange while gray threatening clouds scudded so close that some of the taller trees up along the ridge crest were lost in their misty billows.

There was no dry wood to be found, so the men lit a tin of paraffin and tamped down their miniature cooking grill over its blue flame. One of the blacks started a pot of water boiling while the others laid out their sleeping bags.

The blond leader came over to Lela, who was sitting as far away from the men as she could, her back resting against the moss-covered trunk of a
Hagenia
tree. It had been a punishing day, climbing the steep, heavily wooded slope up past the ten-thousand-foot height, close to the territory where Koku’s three females waited for him. Her chest hurt from exertion in the thin air.

The blond sagged wearily to the ground next to Lela. His voice too low for the others to hear, he said, “Now listen carefully. I know about the biochips. I know you’re telling the gorilla to keep away from us. You’ve got to stop that.”

“So you can kill him?” Lela wanted to sneer at the blond, but she was surprised to find that her voice was as much of a near-whisper as his.

“That’s right. We’re not leaving until we’ve done the job we’ve been paid to do. And the three females too.”

“There is a team of students and rangers patrolling the territory where the females have been placed.”

“We’ll get past them without any trouble, never you fear.”

“And kill them all.”

“Just the apes. We’re not here to kill people.”

“And what about me?” Lela asked, struggling to keep her voice from trembling.

The blond glanced at the other four men, gathered around the minuscule fire.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said. “You stop telling the gorilla to stay away from us, and I’ll see to it that you get back to your people safely.”

“You want me to trade Koku’s life for my own.”

“Let us kill the damned ape and get it over with!”

Lela said nothing.

“They’re going to rape you, y’know. A nice little gang bang before they kill you. I can protect you.”

“Leave me alive to identify you afterward?”

“We’ll be long gone from here by the time you get back to your friends. A chopper will pick us up once we send the signal.”

She shook her head.

“For god’s sake,” the blond hissed, “are the gorillas more important to you than your own life?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m offering to let you live if you’ll stop protecting the damned animal.”

Again Lela went silent. She did not know what to say. She did not believe him, no matter how sincere he sounded. The others would never let her live. They would strip her and rape her and then kill her. And him too, if he tried to stop them.

With a huffing sigh that almost sounded like a gorilla’s grunt, the blond hauled himself up to his feet. “Think it over,” he said, his voice still low. But now there was menace in it. “Once you’re dead, y’know, we’ll be able to track the ape down without much trouble.”

Lela believed that. She knew it was true.

It was all coming together, like the threads of an ancient tapestry, thought Li-Po Hsen. Individually, each strand means little. But weave them together properly and a beautiful picture emerges. He sank back in his softly yielding recliner chair and twined all the threads together in his mind.

Stoner. The former astronaut. The man who had visited de Sagres and the other Great Souls. Stoner, the only man to survive being frozen, the only one to be reawakened after a sleep of years. The only man to defeat death itself.

From the Hungarian scientists Hsen had learned that Stoner carried within him the alien creature who had built the starship. Within his mind was all the knowledge of the alien technology, secrets that could span the unthinkable gulfs between the stars, secrets that had already provided fusion energy and invisible screens that protected cities from nuclear bombs. How much more did Stoner and the alien within him carry inside his skull? Immortality was merely
one
of the gifts he possessed!

From Tomasso he had learned that Stoner was building a new starship at the Vanguard base out on Mare Imbrium. All the secrets of the aliens were within Stoner’s mind! Hsen knew he could not rest until he had all that knowledge for himself.

With such knowledge a man could become absolute ruler of the Earth, he knew. Emperor of emperors! The entire world would kneel at my feet!

But Stoner would never willingly share that knowledge. That is why, Hsen told himself, it is vitally important to have the bitch Camerata in my grasp. If I can control her I can control him.

He knew from the Hungarians and from the stories that Cliff Baker drunkenly reeled off that Stoner had impressive powers. But the Hungarians have learned to protect themselves against his mental abilities. And I will remain safely shielded from him.

Hsen smiled happily. It was all coming together at last. Nothing could stop him now, as long as he remained safely here in his protected headquarters while his trusted employees dangled Tomasso like a piece of bait.

Jo Camerata will snap up Tomasso, and I will have her. With her in my grasp I will have control of Stoner.

For good measure, Hsen thought, I should take the bitch’s son. And the artificial womb in which she is trying to reproduce her daughter.

He laughed aloud. With her children in my grasp, I can even get her to bed with me, if I desire her. It was a pleasant thought. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into his enfolding chair, picturing Jo Camerata naked and helpless before him.

Twelve tourists just happened to meet in the lobby of the Vanguard Hotel shortly after Jo and Cliff Baker left Archimedes. Dressed in brightly colored coveralls that were decorated with jeweled clips and patterned scarves of lunar fauxsilk, all twelve of them crowded into one of the lobby’s elevators.

On the Moon, status was indicated by how many floors
down
one lived. While a penthouse indicated wealth and perhaps power on Earth, the most preferable quarters on the Moon were those furthest from the airless surface, where hard radiation and micrometeoroids constantly churned the lunar dust.

The hotel ran five levels down, but one of the tourists pulled a palm-sized electronic black box from her coverall pocket and applied it to the elevator’s control board. With a barely-discernible click, the elevator plunged past the normal five floors, past the basement level where much of the life support equipment for Archimedes base was housed, and down to the sub-basement level that held nothing but the private quarters of the president of Vanguard Corporation.

When the elevator doors at last slid open, the twelve men and women leaped out, weapons in hands, balanced on the balls of their booted feet, ready to spray nontoxic gas from the nozzles of innocent-looking cosmetics cans.

The corridor in which they found themselves was empty.

Their leader, a solidly-built graying man with square shoulders, frowned slightly. No guards in the corridor, not even a robot. Nothing but the tiny red eyes of security cameras set up near the ceiling, and they had been short-circuited moments earlier.

These Vanguard people must be damned cocky about their security, the leader of the attack force thought.

With silent gestures he motioned eight of his force to the left, where the living quarters were, the remaining three to the other end of the corridor, where the makeshift laboratory had been established to hold the artificial womb and its associated apparatus. He himself went with the main body. There was bound to be resistance where they kept the boy.

The woman applied her electronic box to the lock of the living quarters’ main door. It popped open and they poured through…

Into an empty room. Bare walls. No furniture. Nothing but an absolutely empty room.

“We’ve been screwed,” the leader muttered.

Those were his last words. The air was pumped out of the room, out of the corridor, out of the entire sub-basement level. When a team of Vanguard security personnel came down to clean up, armored and helmeted, with robots leading their way, they found all twelve mercenaries piled in a jumble at the elevator door, their faces blue, tongues swollen in their gaping mouths, their eyes staring, their hands clawing desperately at the elevator door.

Half a mile away, Rickie played ping-pong with a Vanguard robot in the rec room of Archimedes’s maintenance department office. Connected to all levels of the underground center by utilities tunnels, the maintenance facility was spacious enough to house several visitors from the security department with ease.

Rickie watched with fascination as the plastic ball arched lazily over the net. Ping-pong in low gravity was a very different game than it was on Earth: more deliberate, like slow motion. Through the open door of the rec room Rickie could see the jumble of equipment where his sister was slowly growing to the point where she would be a baby again.

Rickie paid no attention to the artificial womb. He and the squat little robot were tied, fifteen-all, and he was bending all his energies on winning his game.

The ballistic rocket in which Stoner rode with Vic Tomasso, the two Hungarian scientists, and an assault team of Pacific Commerce commandos did not at all resemble the sleek, slim boosters of Earth. On the airless Moon, the vehicle needed no streamlining. It was round and flat, like a saucer, with six awkward-looking legs sticking out and downward from its rim.

As it began its descent toward Delphi base, Tomasso slid into the seat to the right of the command pilot and buckled the light harness straps over his shoulders. The rocket had only one port, an oblong window of lunar glassteel that curved across the entire cockpit.

Vic still wore his sand-colored Vanguard coveralls, the front open low enough to show several strands of gold necklaces resting on his hairy chest. He slipped a communications headset over his thick curly hair and then, stabbing a forefinger at the comm console master switch, Tomasso said into the pinhead microphone:

“Security override. Access code one-one-eight-three-two, yellow.”

A flat, uninflected computer-generated voice immediately replied, “Voiceprint identification accepted. Security override in effect.”

“Delphi, this is Tomasso, from corporate headquarters. Approaching in ballistic vehicle. Require clearance to land.”

A human voice, male, answered, “Clearance to land approved, Tomasso. This is Matthews. Why the security override and yellow alert?”

“I’ll explain when I get down, Matthews. Expect arrival in…” Tomasso glanced at the pilot’s control displays, “…seven minutes and twenty seconds.”

“Okay. I’ll be at the airlock.”

With a nod and a grin, Tomasso shut off the radio. “Dumb bastard’ll never know what hit him.”

The saucer-shaped rocket landed slowly, its engines kicking up dust from the lunar surface. As it settled on its six spraddling legs, an access tube snaked from Delphi base’s main airlock—little more than a rubble-covered dome on the pockmarked surface of Imbrium—and connected to the airlock of the saucer.

True to his word, Matthews was at the airlock in his frayed, faded blue coveralls. The expression on his face went from curiosity to outright shock as Tomasso and the dozen black-uniformed Pacific Commerce commandos poured through the access tube, guns in hands, and started down the power ladder toward the interior of the base.

“What the hell is this?” Matthews demanded.

Tomasso waved a slim automatic pistol in his face. “Stay cool, friend, and nobody will get hurt.”

In less than ten minutes the commandos took control of Delphi’s communications and life support centers. Tomasso led Matthews into his own office and took the seat behind Matthews’s desk. The crew-cut administrator stood in front of the desk, fuming.

“I want to know what in hell you’re doing!”

Tomasso was already pecking at the keyboard on the desk top. The display screen showed a list of the base’s personnel.

Looking up at the older man, Tomasso said jovially, “This is a sort of corporate takeover, friend. This base is now the property of Pacific Commerce.”

“Are you crazy? When Ms. Camerata hears about this…”

“She’ll be here in another hour or so. She’s going to become another Pacific Commerce acquisition.”

Matthews’s legs seemed to give way. He groped behind himself for the only other chair in the cubbyhole office and sank onto its creaking plastic seat.

Jabbing a thumb at the desktop display screen, Tomasso said, “I want you to assemble each and every member of the base’s staff in the cafeteria. Now. I’m going to check them off against this list. If anybody’s missing, those guys in the black uniforms are going to start shooting people. Starting with you.”

Two levels further down, Paulino Alvarado looked out from the makeshift quarters Matthews had given him and saw strange men in black uniforms with machine pistols in their hands stalking up the corridor. They went right past his door, intent on some task, but Paulino knew they would come looking for him sooner or later.

Police! he thought. Or soldiers.

His pulse thudding in his ears, his palms suddenly clammy, Paulino desperately looked around the tiny cubicle for some means of escape.

Matthews had cleared out one of the small labs that was no longer being used and converted it into living quarters for Paulino. A folding cot, a set of metal bookshelves that now held a few sets of coveralls, and a portable shower/sink/toilet unit plugged into the former lab’s plumbing. Other employees had generously provided odd pieces of clothing, bedsheets, a blanket.

Trapped like a bird in a net! The tiny cubicle had only one door, and it led to the corridor and the armed soldiers. Paulino peeped out into the corridor and saw the men in black pushing a handful of blue-coveralled people back in his direction.