EMPIRE

BUILDERS

TOR BOOKS BY BEN BOVA

As on a Darkling Plain

The Astral Mirror

Battle Station

The Best of the Nebulas (ed.)

Challenges

Colony

Cyberbooks

Escape Plus

Future Crime

Gremlins Go Home (with Gordon R. Dickson)

The Kinsman Saga

The Multiple Man

Orion

Orion in the Dying Time

Out of the Sun

Peacekeepers

Privateers

Prometheans

Star Peace: Assured Survival

The Starcrossed

Test of Fire

To Save the Sun (with A. J. Austin)

The Trikon Deception (with Bill Pogue)

Triumph

Vengeance of Orion

Voyagers

Voyagers Il: The Alien Within

Voyagers III: Star Brothers

The Winds of Altair

BEN BOVA

IVIPIRE

BUILDERS

A TORN DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK ·NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in

this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events

is purely coincidental.

EMPIRE BUILDERS

Copyright © 1993 by Ben Bova

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or

portions thereof, in any form.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

A Tor Book

Published by Torn Doherty Associates, Inc.

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, N.Y. 10010

Tot®is a registered trademark of Torn Doherty Associates, Inc.

Design by Lynn Newmark

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bova, Ben.

Empire builders / Ben Bova.

p. cm.

Sequel to: Privateers.

ISBN 0312851049

I. Title.

3552.O84E48 I993

813'.54--dc20

93-21613

CIP

First edition: September 1993

Printed in the United States of America

0987654321

To Robin and Mike Putira

EMPIRE

BUILDERS

"I DON'T WANT your crappy little company!" said Clan Randolph.

"The hell you don't!" Willard Mitchell snapped. Clan gave a disgusted snort and leaned back in the stiff unpadded

chair. Mitchell glared across the table at him. The two lawyers,

seated beside their clients, shifted uneasily in their chairs.

The room was windowless, deep underground, without even a

video screen on the wall. Just bare lunar concrete lit by glareless

fluorescents set behind the ceiling panels. Technically, the chamber

was not a cell or even an interrogation chamber. It was a conference

room where defendants could meet in private with their lawyers.

Clan Randolph fished a small oblong plastic box from his inside

tunic pocket. About the size of his palm, it was a flat gray color with

a single row of tiny winking lights set across its face. All the lights

were green.

"No bugs in here," he muttered, adding silently to himself, At

least none that this little snooper can sniff out.

He slipped the detector back into his pocket and turned his gaze

again to Mitchell, still glaring at him from across the wobbly conference

table. Randolph was on the small side, but solidly built, a

welterweight with sandy hair that was turning gray at the temples.

He had a pugilist's face: strong square stubborn jaw, a nose that had

been slightly flattened by someone's fist a long time ago. But his

10

BEN BOVA

light gray eyes glinted with a secret amusement, as if he were

inwardly laughing at the foolishness of men, himself included.

Across the table from him Willard Mitchell was scowling

grimly. Once he had been lean and athletic, a polo champion at

Princeton, a well-known young yachtsman. But years of living in the

Moon's easy gravity had softened him. Now he appeared older than

Randolph, bald pate gleaming with perspiration, badly overweight

and overwrought. Like Randolph, he was wearing business clothes:

a collarless waist-length tunic and matching slacks. But where Dan's

suit of sky blue looked trim and new, Mitchell's pearl gray outfit was

baggy, wrinkled, rumpled; stains of sweat darkened his armpits.

"This is all your doing, Randolph," he snarled in a heavy grating

voice. "Don't think I don't know that you set me up."

Clan raised his eyes to the glowing ceiling panels. "Lord spare

me from my friends," he said to the air. "I can protect myself from

my enemies."

Mitchell's lawyer, a sallow-skinned old man with the build and

demeanor of a cadaver, dressed in a blue so deep it looked almost

black, leaned toward his client and whispered something that Clan

could not hear.

Mitchell scowled at his lawyer, but turned back to Clan and

grumbled, "All right, all right, as long as we're stuck here what's

your offer?"

Mitchell was on trial before the Global Economic Council's lunar

tribunal for illegally exceeding his allotted quota of lunar ores. He

was guilty. He knew it, his lawyers knew it, and the tribunal had the

evidence to prove it. The fine that the tribunal was about to assess

would bankrupt him.

Clan Randolph leaned both elbows on the rickety table and

hunched forward in his chair. "First off," he said, his voice crisp with

suppressed anger, "I did not set you up."

"The hell you say."

"Goddammit to hell and back! The day I turn anybody over to

the GEC will be two weeks after the end of the world. If I wanted

to grab your pissant little outfit I would've done it myself. I don't

need the double-damned GEC to help me."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 11

Mitchell fumed visibly, but held back from answering.

Randolph's lawyer, a strikingly red-haired young woman new

to the Moon, was sitting attentively at her boss's left. She said

mildly, "Mr. Mitchell has asked to hear your offer, Clan."

He grinned at her. "Yeah. Right."

"So7" Mitchell growled.

Randolph spread his hands. "I'll buy your stock at the current

market price--"

"Which is forty percent below par because of this lawsuit."

"--and pay the fine that the GEC's going to sock you with. You

continue to operate the company; you remain CEO and COO. You

can buy back your shares at market value whenever you want to."

Mitchell sank back in his chair, the expression on his fleshy face

somewhere between suspicion and hope. "Now, wait a minute," he

said. "You buy my shares-"

"All your shares," said Randolph. "Sixty-three percent of the

total outstanding, so I'm told."

The other man nodded. "You buy the shares. You pay the fine.

I stay in charge of the company. And then I can buy the shares backT"

Randolph gave him a crooked grin. "The harder you work, the

more the shares'il be worth."

"Suppose I let the company go to the dogs and leave you

holding the bagT"

Randolph shrugged. "That's the risk I take. But I don't see you

shitting on your own baby."

Mitchell glanced at his lawyer, who remained deadpan, then

turned back to Randolph. "I don't get it. What's in it for you7"

Dan's smile turned dazzling. "A chance to shaft Malik and his

double-damned GEC. What elseT"

DANIEL HAMILTON RANDOLPH was the richest human being

living off-Earth. While there was no dearth of suspicious souls who

were convinced that no one could get that filthy rich while staying

entirely within the law, for the most part Clan Randolph had earned

his wealth legally.

Once, briefly, he had been accused of piracy. By Vasily Malik,

who had then been director of the Russian Federation's space program. Clan had evaded the charges against him, married the Venezuelan

woman Malik was engaged to, and personally broken the

Russian's jaw, together with a knuckle of his own right hand.

Now, ten years later, Dan's marriage had long since ended in

divorce. The woman he had loved, the woman who had thought she

loved him, was now Malik's wife. And Malik himself had survived

the turmoil and treachery in the Kremlin to become the new Russian

Federation's representative on the Global Economic Council.

In the middle of the twenty-first century, space was becoming

vitally important to the Earth's global economy. Even the United

States, which had abandoned its space program decades earlier, was

now building factories in orbit and allowing its citizens to operate

mining facilities on the Moon. Under GEC supervision, of course.

The GEC had legal control of all extraterrestrial operations, from the

teams of explorers combing the rusted sands of Mars to the hordes

EMPIRE BUILDERS 13

of insect-sized probes examining Jupiter and the outer planets; from

the factories and laboratories in orbit around the Earth to the mining

operations on the Moon that fed them.

Clan Randolph had amassed his fortune from space. When

America had floundered and waffled, too preoccupied with earthly

problems to move boldly in space, Clan had battled his way to a job

with the Japanese building the first solar power satellite. "When the

going gets tough," he announced to anyone who would listen, "the

tough get going--to where the going's easier."

Not that the going was altogether easy among the Japanese. It

was on the Moon, in a brawl with four sneering Japanese mining

engineers, that his nose had been broken. But he had won that fight,

and won the grudging respect of all his fellow workers. Some of

those fellow workers were women, and somehow Clan managed to

be highly attractive to them. His rather ordinary features seemed to

intrigue them. "Is it my smile?" he once asked a buxom Swedish

electronics technician who shared his bed for a while. She considered

carefully before she answered, "Your smile, yes. And your eyes.

There is the devil in your eyes."

By the time he had returned to Earth he was a moderately

wealthy man. He started his own company, Astro Manufacturing,

and headquartered it in sprawling Houston, where a handful of

entrepreneurs were desperately trying to start a new industrial

revolution despite their own government's persistent indifference

and occasional outright hostility. Houston, because by then Clan had

met Morgan Scanwell, an earnest, incorruptible young politician

who had the energy and drive to match Dan's own. Scanwell helped Clan to make the contacts that funded the fledgling Astro Manufacturing. Clan raised money for Scanwell's political campaigns. They

joked between themselves that one day Scanwell would be in the

White House and Clan would be on Mars.

They made an unlikely duo. Morgan Scanwell was austere,

abstemious, a man whose ultimate guide was his deeply held religious

faith. Clan Randolph was a hell-raising scoundrel who was out

to mak as many millions as he could while cutting a swath through

the female population of every community in which he lived.

14 BEN BOVA

The glue that held the two men together was Morgan's wife,

Jane Scanwell: a tall, regal woman with long, flowing copper red

hair, alabaster skin, and eyes the color of a green icy fjord. Utterly

loyal to her husband, Jane had no other goal in life than to see

Morgan Scanwell elected President of the United States.

She was unobtainable. Naturally, Clan fell in love with her. It

was impossible; it was sinfully treacherous. But as Morgan Scanwell

inevitably abandoned his moral rectitude and succumbed at last to

the women who sought to touch his power, Jane came at last to Clan

Randolph's bed. To their mutual surprise, she discovered that she

had fallen in love with this scoundrel, her husband's best friend.

By the time Scanwell was campaigning for the presidency, Jane

had painfully terminated her affair with Clan. She had the strength

to end it; the White House was more important to her than romance.

"The country needs Morgan, Clan," she said, convincing herself by

trying to convince him. "And he needs me. We can't jeopardize his

chances by sneaking around behind his back. If anyone found out

he'd be finished."

Morgan Scanwell was governor of Texas then. Dan's personal

fortune was nearing a billion dollars. He knew that Jane's mind was

made up, so he went back to his old ways and became notorious

again for his sexual pursuits. While he was squandering his energies

on every woman he desired, Jane allowed a compliant Oklahoma

legislature to confer a residency upon her, so she could run for

vice-president alongside her husband.

Morgan was elected president, only to face a string of crises that

killed him. The Russian Federation emerged from its own desperate

internal cataclysms with a new belligerency. After coming so perilously

close to dissolution and civil war that the rest of the world

expected the tottering new Federation to collapse, the Russians

regained control of their sprawling land and peoples. The United

States, half disarmed, was suddenly confronted with a resurgent,

bellicose Moscow. America had long since lost real interest in space,

and had allowed Japan and Europe to take the leadership in space

developments. Now the Russians, with the world's most powerful

rockets and still armed with thousands of ballistic missiles, quickly

EMPIRE BUILDERS 15

took a stranglehold on all space operations--military as well as

civilian.

The U.S. economy was foundering. The Russians were making

demands on an unprepared America. Congress studied opinion polls

that showed the American people were in no mood for a war that

would rain hydrogen bombs on their heads.

America bowed. And Morgan Scanwell suffered a fatal stroke. Clan Randolph left Texas when Congress revoked all federal licenses

for space operations. Astro Manufacturing moved to Venezuela,

and Jane Scanwell became the first woman President of the United

States.

She still held a deep passion for Clan Randolph. But now that

passion had turned to hatred.

THE GLOBAL ECONOMIC Council's lunar tribunal was based in

Copernicus City. Like all the other centers on the Moon, Copernicus

was deep underground, gouged out of lunar rock to protect its

human population from the lethal radiation and enormous temperature

swings up on the airless surface.

Ostensibly, the GEC was politically neutral. It insisted that all

lunar habitats be given geographic names rather than being named

after national biases. Thus the Russian penal colony was officially

titled Aristarchus Center, even though most lunar residents still

called it by its older name: Lunagrad. On all GEC maps, the great

Japanese manufacturing center was called Alphonsus City, rather

than Yamagata Industries Lunar Operation -I. The place where

humans had first set foot on the Moon's dusty surface was still

called Tranquillity Base; the American astronauts had, even then,

been thinking in non-nationalistic terms.

The lunar tribunal had all the aspects of a court of law. There was a banc with high-backed seats for three judges, although officially

they were titled "conciliators."

But as Clan Randolph took his seat among the rows of benches

for onlookers, he thought that the conciliators never really reconciled

grievances; all he had ever seen them do was take a man's

hard-earned wealth and hand it over to the GEC. He looked with

EMPIRE BUILDERS 17

mixed emotions at the sky blue flag of the United Nations standing

to one side of the banc. He knew the world could not afford the

divisive competition of nationalism, especially when even the smallest

nation could manufacture biological weapons that could slaughter

millions. But the alternative was a global government to which

there was no appeal: a worldwide bureaucracy that was gradually

imposing a dictatorship by committee, leveling everything on Earth

to the same flat gray dullness. And now they were extending their

grip to the Moon.

There was no jury box in this courtroom. The three conciliators

listened to the evidence and made their decision. There was no

appeal, either.

Mitchell and his zombie of a lawyer entered the tribunal chamber

from the side door. The robot recording machine said, "All rise,"

and the three conciliators trooped in from the door behind the banc. They wore ordinary business clothes rather than robes. Two men

and one woman, the chief of the team.

Clan glanced at his own lawyer, sitting beside him. Katherine

Williams was a pert, young, ambitious redhead who had swiftly

risen to the top of his legal department despite fierce competition.

She knew all the tales about Clan Randolph's skirt-chasing. When Clan had first interviewed her for a job, she had firmly announced

that she did not sleep with the boss. Not yet, Clan had thought,

eying her with approval. Now, several years later, she was his top

lawyer, and he wondered what her body looked like underneath the

tailored royal blue jacket and fitted gold slacks she was wearing.

"The tribunal is ready to pass sentence," said the woman occupying

the middle chair up on the banc. Her voice was sharp, cutting.

"Does the defendant have anything to say in his own behalf7"

Mitchell's lawyer got to his feet, a tall scarecrow dressed like a

funeral director. With a voice to match, he intoned sorrowfully,

"The defendant deeply regrets the actions which have led to this

proceeding, Your Honors. He regrets his actions so deeply, in fact,

that he has divested himself of all ownership in the company that

he has founded and directed, Mitchell Mining and Smelting. His

remorse has led him to repudiate the ownership of his own corn

18 BEN BOVA

pany; this is similar to renouncing parenthood of one's own child.

It is a deeply wrenching emotional . . ."

"Counselor," snapped the chief conciliator, "are you telling us

that Mr. Mitchell has sold off his companyT"

"Yes, Your Honor. And I respectfully request that this act of true

remorse and regret be considered punishment enough for his mistaken

actions of the past."

The woman snorted disdainfully and glanced at her two male

colleagues. "To whom has he sold his company?" she asked.

"To Astro Manufacturing, Incorporated, Your Honor."

"I see. Is there a representative of Astro Manufacturing in this

chamber?"

Clan got to his feet. "I represent Astro, Your Honor. My name

is Daniel Hamilton Randolph."

All three judges smiled at Clan the way Torquemada might have

smiled at a rabbi. Clan smiled back and said:

"Your Honors, Astro is quite willing to pay the penalty that you

have already decided to assess against Mitchell Mining and Smelting.''

Clan knew that the penalty was already recorded in their computer

file of this proceeding. If they changed it now, because Astro

could afford an astronomically larger fine or because they hated Clan

Randolph's guts, it would give Astro's lawyers a perfect excuse to

claim prejudice and demand a new trial.

The three judges put their heads together and conferred briefly,

hands over the tiny microphones imbedded in the desktop before

them.

Finally the chief conciliator, her face grim, leveled a hard stare

at Clan. "Mr. Randolph, this tribunal cannot help but believe that

your acquisition of Mitchell Mining and Smelting is nothing less

than an obvious ploy to thwart justice."

Clan put on an expression of injured innocence. "But Your

Honor, the truth is exactly the opposite. I'm sure that the fine you've

assessed against Mitchell would bankrupt his company and drive

him out of business. His assets would become the property of the

EMPIRE BUILDERS 19

Global Economic Council. The GEC would have to assume the

burden of running the mining and smelting operation--"

"GEC management would see that the operation remained

within its allotted quotas," the chief conciliator snapped angrily.

"There would be no attempts to illegally increase profits by dumping

excess ores on the world market and driving prices down from

their mandated levels."

Dan's smile turned slightly impish. "Yes, we all know GEC

operations never show any profits. Somehow, when the GEC takes

over a company, it always seems to run at a loss."

His lawyer made a polite little cough, a warning to get off that

tack. This is no time for sticking the needle into them, she was

telling Clan.

Still facing the judges, Clan went on, "However, Astro Manufacturing

is quite willing to pay the fine you've assessed. And Astro

will manage Mitchell Mining and Smelting at a profit, I'm sure,

while staying within the GEC's mandated quotas. That will generate

more tax revenues for the GEC. Everybody gains. It's a win-win

situation."

"And what of Mr. Mitchell7" the chief conciliator demanded.

"What punishment will he receive for his blatant disregard of the

lawT"

Clan smiled his brightest. "Why, he'll have to work for me. That

ought to be punishment enough."

Clan and his lawyer rode alone in his private trolley back to Astro's

main base at the great ringed plain of Alphonsus, where Yamagata

Industries had set up its first and still largest lunar center.

One of the privileges of great wealth was privacy. Another was

convenience. Clan was one of only two men who had a private

trolley vehicle on the Moon. The other was Saito Yamagata, once

Dan's boss, for many years now his friend and sometime partner.

Like cable cars that climb mountains or cross chasms on Earth,

the lunar trolleys were suspended from cables made of lunar aluminum

and titanium. Cryogenically cooled, the cables carried electric

20 BEN BOVA

ity at low resistance that powered the trolleys swiftly and smoothly

ten meters above the battered lunar terrain.

"You almost blew it, boss," said his lawyer. She was sitting in

a softly yielding padded chair, swirling a drink she had fixed for

herself at the minibar.

Clan looked up from the display screen built into his desktop.

"Close doesn't count, except in horseshoes, Scarlett."

"My name is Katherine," she said, with a slight frown. "My

friends call me Kate."

"And what should I call you.*"

The frown turned into a grin. They had played this little game

a thousand times in the years that she had worked for Clan Ran-

dolph. "Ms. Williams will do."

"Scarlett," he said. "With that bricktop of yours, your name has

to be Scarlett."

She went back to frowning.

"That is your natural hair color, isn't it.*" Before she could

answer, Clan added, "Doesn't matter. It's gorgeous. Never change it."

She cocked an eyebrow as if she were going to retort, but

thought better of it and sipped at her drink. Clan went back to

scrolling through the messages that had accumulated during the

morning. One of them was from Zachary Freiberg, his chief scientist.

Clan routed all the other messages to the people he hired to get

things done. Zach Freiberg he called himself. The scientist's message

was marked Urgent and asked Clan to call immediately, regardless

of time zones on Earth. Clan called out Freiberg's name to the

computer and within seconds his face appeared on the screen.

"What's wrong, Zach?"

Freiberg was obviously in his office in California. Tawny brown

hills showed through the window behind him, with palm trees and

cypresses framing the view. From the angle of the sun Clan guessed

it was midmorning in Pasadena. He registered all this during the

couple of seconds it took for his words to reach Earth and Freiberg's

reply to return the quarter-million miles to the Moon.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 21

Zachary Freiberg had one of those faces that would look boyish

to the day he died: round apple cheeks, round chin, soft features and

soft blue eyes. His wiry strawberry-blond hair no longer flopped

over his broad forehead, though; in the ten years that Clan had

known Zack, the slow recession of his hairline had been the one sign

of aging he could see.

Zack looked troubled. "Can we go to security modeT"

"I'm on the trolley, moving too fast for a laser link."

Freiberg bit his lower lip.

"We can scramble," Clan suggested. "Or wait till I'm back in the

office and we can use the laser."

"Scramble, then," said Freiberg two and a half seconds later.

Wondering what could be making him so upset, Clan typed in

his private security code. The screen flickered briefly, then steadied

once again.

"What is itT" he asked.

Unconsciously, Freiberg hunched closer to his screen, like a man

about to whisper a secret in a neighborhood bar.

"I've been looking at the long-term climate trends," he said.

"You remember, you wanted to get a better fix on the greenhouse

effectT"

Clan nodded, glancing at Kate Williams. She was staring

through the window by her seat, watching the pockmarked Mare

Cognitum whiz by. How big are her ears? Clan wondered.

"I remember asking you about the long-term effects of the

greenhouse warming, yeah," he replied to Freiberg. "If the sea level

keeps rising we'll have to build a dike around the launching center

at La Guaira."

"Right." Freiberg's round face took on an even more anguished

look. "Dan--if what I've come up with is right, and I think it is,

we're in for big problems. I mean, major catastrophe."

"Will we have to abandon the launch center?"

"It's worse than that, Clan. A whole lot worse. It's not just Astro.

It's the whole fucking world!"

Clan had never heard Freiberg use that expletive before. The

guy's scared!

22

BEN BOVA

Without waiting for Clan to ask, Freiberg went on, "It's a cliff, Clan . The climate doesn't change gradually, it all of a sudden shifts

and bang! you've got the glaciers melting down, Greenland and

Antarctica melting down, the sea levels going up thirty meters,

rainfall patterns radically shifting, all the coastlines on Earth inundated-it's

a mess, a goddamned catastrophe like out of the Bible!"

Clan sank back in his chair. Kate Williams saw the expression on

his face and stared at him.

"Nobody's considered the gas hydrates in the deep-sea sediments,''

Freiberg was almost babbling, "and under the tundra all

across the Arctic. They release methane when they're disturbed and

the pressure conditions--"

"When?" Clan asked. "How soon?"

"Soon. A few decades. Maybe as soon as ten years from now."

He ran a hand across his forehead. "I think maybe it's already

started."

"You're sure? Certain?"

Freiberg nodded unhappily. "I've had half a dozen people check

it out. It's real. Floods, killer storms, croplands turned to deserts--the

whole thing. All that stuff the environmentalists have been

spouting for the past fifty years. It's all going to happen, Clan. And

it'll happen so fast there's practically nothing we can do about it."

"We've got ten years?"

"Maybe more. Maybe less."

Clan sucked in a deep breath. He knew he should feel alarmed,

frightened. But he did not. He was more annoyed than anything

else. His mind accepted what Freiberg was saying; he knew intellectually

that this was a real emergency looming, a disaster of incalculable

proportions. But deep in his innermost animal being he felt no

terror, no panic. The reality of this threat was too remote, too

academic, to spark his emotions.

And that's the real danger of it, he told himself. It's too far in

the future to stir the guts, even though it's close enough to kill us

all.

To Freiberg he said, "Haul your ass up here, Zach. I want to go

through this with you inch by inch."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 23

Freiberg nodded glumly. "The numbers aren't going to change,

boss."

"Yeah, I know. But there must be something we can do about it."

"Learn to swim," said Freiberg.

THE GLOBAL ECONOMIC Council was headquartered in Paris, a

city just beginning to brighten once again after the turmoil of the

past few decades.

Western Europe had found it much more difficult to digest

Eastern Europe than even the most pessimistic economic forecaster

had predicted. After more than four decades of stagnation and

repression, the peoples of Eastern Europe shouted for democracy

and freedom. What they really wanted was the economic well-being

of their Western neighbors, the higher standard of living that they

saw in the capitalist nations.

But the capitalist idea of working hard was foreign to them. At

first they demanded bread and meat and milk for their children. And

they got it, for it was impossible for the West to deny humanitarian

aid to their impoverished brethren. But quickly they began to demand

the toys and trinkets of capitalist societies--without working

to produce the wealth that could pay for them.

A whole generation simmered in distrust and bitter animosities

as slowly, painfully the peoples of the formerly socialist world

learned that it was the capitalists who truly followed Marx's original

dictum: "From each according to his ability; to each according to his

work."

At last the Poles and Czechs and Romanians and even the

EMPIRE BUILDERS 25

Russians learned to work once again, learned to produce the goods

and services that paid for their happiness. The Hungarians reasserted

their marketing craft. The centuries-old hatreds between ethnic

groups were subdued--but not entirely forgotten--in the new

rush to obtain expensive gadgets and personal wealth. Now Paris

was a happy city once more.

The economic boom was partially fueled from space.

Much of the wealth that allowed Europe and the rest of the

world to prosper came from the energy, the raw materials, the

manufactured products produced in space. From the Moon came

raw materials for space construction and isotopic fuel for Earth's

fusion power generators. From factories in space came new alloys

and electronics crystals, medicines and vaccines of incredible purity,

solarvoltaic cells cheap and efficient enough to turn a family home's

rooftop into a self-sufficient solar energy generator. And hovering

in orbit around the Earth, giant solar power satellites converted

unfiltered sunlight into electricity and beamed it to energy-hungry

cities and factories cleanly, without polluting the atmosphere.

The economic boom that was just getting started was heavily

dependent on this new wealth streaming in from space. Five and a

half centuries after Europe began the exploitation of the New

World, all of Earth was beginning to benefit from the exploitation

of cislunar space a harsh frontier that was rich in real wealth and

entirely unpopulated, except for the ten thousand or so men and

women of Earth who went there to find their fortunes.

Slowly the Earth was healing from the wounds inflicted by the

Industrial Age. Slowly the smokestacks were being replaced by

fusion or solar energy. Slowly the petroleum-burning engines were

converting to methane or synfuels. Slowly the burgeoning population

of Earth was stabilizing at the twelve-billion level.

Too slowly.

Vasily Malik was not concerned, at this precise moment, with

these great questions of wealth and the environment. Head of the

Russian Federation's delegation to the Global Economic Council,

Malik was deep in conversation with the woman who had been the

chief conciliator at the trial of Willard Mitchell.

26 BEN BOVA

"You have all the necessary documentation?" Malik asked.

He studied the conciliator's face while his words headed toward

the Moon at the speed of light. She had a lean, hard face, not easily

given to smiling. A spinster's face, Malik thought, knowing that it

was chauvinist of him but thinking he was right just the same.

Vasily Malik was handsome enough to be a video star. He was

tall for a Russian, brushing six feet; broad-shouldered and heavily

muscled, he kept his body in good trim through a rigid schedule of

daily exercise. Once he had worn his golden hair modishly long.

Now it was trimmed to an almost military burr. His ice blue eyes

could sparkle with laughter, but at this moment they were glittering

with hope born of a deep and abiding hatred.

"Yes," said the chief conciliator. "He talked Mitchell into selling

out to him. If we had known that it would be Randolph we were

dealing with we would have tripled the fine. Quadrupled it!"

Malik's broad features eased into a relaxed smile. "You did your

best. Randolph is a clever rascal, we must grant him that."

When his words reached her, she nodded bitterly. "It's not fair.

Mitchell was guilty. He should have been driven out of business.

But now Randolph owns his company and he'll continue to operate.''

Malik made a few sympathetic noises and ended the conversation

by asking her to send all the documentation on the trial to him

immediately.

Then he leaned back in his imposing leather chair, put his booted

feet on his immaculately gleaming desktop, and waited for the fax

machine to begin spitting out Clan Randolph's comeuppance. I only

wish it were his death sentence, Vasily Malik said to himself.

Nearly three hours later, at eleven o'clock in the morning, Paris

time, the weekly meeting of the Global Economic Council's executive

committee convened in the small conference room down the

corridor from Malik's office.

Muhammed Shariff Sibuti of Malaysia, chairman of the committee

for this session, was already seated at the head of the gleaming

table when Malik entered the room. A lightweight, in every dimension,

thought Malik. Sibuti looked shriveled and old, too small for

EMPIRE BUILDERS 27

the chair in which he sat. His starched white high-collared shirt

made his wrinkled dark skin look almost as black as the leather of

the chair's padding.

"We must begin," Sibuti said, in a voice that sounded like rusty

hinges groaning. "We have a very long agenda. A very difficult

agenda."

The other committee members were milling around the room,

largely ignoring their chairman. Malik saw Jane Scanwell at the long

table that had been set out with refreshments and finger foods.

He went to her, under the pretext of pouring himself a glass of

hot tea from the silver samovar in the center of the table.

"I have good news from Copernicus," he said softly.

Jane Scanwell glanced up from the coffee cup she had just filled.

The former President of the United States was a handsome

woman, nearly as tall as Malik in her heels. She was wearing a

skirted suit of forest green over a pale green silk blouse. Her richly

auburn hair was neatly coiffed up off her long graceful neck. She

surveyed Malik with the cool green eyes of a Norse goddess.

"What did you say7"

"Good news from Copernicus," Malik repeated. "Clan Randolph

has made one clever move too many. He has fallen into a trap that

I concocted for him."

Jane's sculptured face gave no hint of emotion. She merely said,

"You must tell me about it, after the meeting."

"I'll be happy to."

As the meeting droned on, Malik could barely suppress his

eager anticipation. Randolph had bested him in so many ways, over

the years. It was Randolph who had broken the Russian monopoly

on space industry, after Malik had slaved for a decade to drive all

competition out of business. Randolph had married the woman

Malik had been engaged to, and even though she had divorced the

American eventually and had come back to him, there was no real

love in their marriage. Both he and his wife were settling for second

best.

But Randolph had been in love with Jane Scanwell, once. Perhaps

he still was. Perhaps that was what destroyed his marriage,

28 BEN BOVA

really, and gave the impetus to his philandering ways. How ironic

for this womanizer to desire the Ice Queen, the immovable, unobtainable

Jane Scanwell! How delicious that Jane Scanwell will be the

instrument of Randolph's destruction.

The meeting ended at last and Malik followed Scanwell to her

office. It was a spacious corner room with a view of the Eiffel Tower,

no less. Fit trappings for a former head of state.

Instead of going to her desk, Jane sat in an armchair next to one

of the windows.

"Fix yourself a drink," she said, nodding toward the bar built

into the far wall.

Malik said, "Thank you. A good idea after such a long and

utterly dry meeting. Can I make something for you?"

"Just a glass of filtered water with a twist of lime, please."

Malik found the bottled water and a dish of fresh limes in the

little refrigerator. And vodka in the freezer compartment. When he

took the two drinks back toward her, he saw that Jane was eying

him carefully, her long legs crossed, the expression on her face

unfathomable.

He handed her the water, then touched his glass of vodka to

hers. "Zah vahsheh zdahrovyeh," he murmured.

"Here's mud in your eye," Jane replied, with just the ghost of

a smile on her lips.

Malik took the armchair on the other side of the window and

rolled it next to jane's.

"Now what were you telling me about cooking Clan Randolph's

goose?" she asked.

He grinned at her. "You are full of Americanisms this afternoon."

"I'm an American. What about Randolph?'

"He has just bought out a small competitor of his, a man named

Mitchell who owned a mining operation on the Moon."

"What of it7"

"He bought Mitchell's company because Mitchell was about to

be hit with a stiff fine by the lunar tribunal for exceeding his

allotment of ores."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 29

Jane took another sip of her water, then said, "I see. Clan can

afford to pay the fine but Mitchell can't. So Clan buys him out at a

bargain-basement price."

"Exactly so."

"So how does that get Clan in trouble.7"

Malik's grin spread into a broad happy smile. "We passed a

regulation last spring to the effect that any attempt to subvert or

avoid the rulings of the GEC is punishable by confiscation."

"We did?" She looked surprised.

Malik made an expansive gesture. "Oh, the wording is rather

obscure, something about 'joint and several liability.' The lawyers

worked very hard to phrase it so that no one would notice it. And

the regulation was buried among several dozens of other minor

changes to existing rules. But the regulation was passed; it exists

and it is legally binding."

Jane's eyes seemed to focus beyond Malik, as if she were looking

at something that was not physically in the room with them.

"Do you mean that you can use that regulation to confiscate

Dan's holdings? All of them? All of Astro Manufacturing and everything

else he owns7."

Malik nodded. "He stepped into my trap and I intend to snap

it shut on him."

"Lots of luck."

"You don't believe I can do it?"

"I believe that Clan is very resourceful, very powerful, and very

stubborn. He won't give up easily."

"You can be of great help in this."

"I can?"

"Yes," said Malik, pulling his chair even closer to her. "It will be

easier to deal with him here on Earth, rather than on the Moon. He

has too many friends there, too many places where he can hide

himself away while his lawyers try to find loopholes he can escape

through."

"You don't intend to jail him, do you?" For the first time a hint

of emotion showed on Jane's face. Malik could not decide whether

it was fear or anger. Or something else.

30 BEN BOVA

"It would be better," he said slowly, "if he were . . . under

protective custody, let us say. Someplace where he can be held

incommunicado--only until the confiscation orders have been processed

and carried out, of course."

"That's not legal."

"Not in America, I realize that. But the Global Economic Council's

regulations do not include a Bill of Rights, you know. And there

are many nations on Earth where he could be held indefinitely."

Her face hardened.

"Oh, I don't mean to put him in a dungeon," Malik said, smiling

easily. "A small island, perhaps. Some tropical paradise where he can

have everything he wants: wine, women and song."

"Everything except his freedom."

"And his holdings."

Jane thought a moment, then smiled back at the Russian. "I

know just the place: a coral atoll out in the middle of the Pacific. A

very romantic spot, as a matter of fact."

"Excellent!" Malik resisted the urge to rub his hands together

gleefully. Instead, he asked, "Is this a place you know from personal

experience?"

"My husband and I honeymooned there, a thousand years ago,"

said Jane.

That took Malik aback. But only for a moment. "I see. Do you

think that you could somehow get him to meet you there'?."

She nodded. "I'm sure he'd come if I asked him to."

Yes, Malik thought. Clan Randolph would come flying to this

woman. What hatred she must have for him! To turn the site of her

honeymoon into a prison for her former lover. Ah, women! They are

far fiercer than men.

"There is no sense getting angry at me," said Napoleon Bazain, over

the muted roar of the plane's engines. "I am merely a messenger. A

middleman."

Sergio Alvarez stared down his patrician nose at the Frenchman.

"You are a parasite."

Bazain smiled blandly. "No, I work for a parasite."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 31

"It is all the same to me," Alvarez muttered.

The twin-engine plane was cruising high above the Madeira

River, an hour out of Manaus. Below them, where there had once

been pristine forest there now stretched long ugly brown gashes of

bare ground, scars left by the timber companies and the landowners

who had chased away the native Indians in the vain hope of turning

the area into grazing land for cattle.

Up front in the cockpit sat the pilot and the ecologist, a young

university graduate who still had stars in his eyes. Back here, sitting

on bare bucket seats amid the big tanks of seed and fertilizer,

Alvarez faced reality.

"Why be angry?" asked the Frenchman. His smile was still

showing, but his eyes looked uneasy, as if he were worried that this

hot-blooded Castilian might toss him out of the plane in a fit of

righteous anger.

Bazain was small, light of frame, almost delicate. His face,

though, was fleshy with the beginnings of jowls. His thinning hair

was slicked back as if he were about to go out on a date. He wore

a custom-tailored silk business suit. As far as Alvarez could tell, he

was unarmed.

Sergio Alvarez, regional director of the GEC's reforestation

program, looked every inch the grandee from Madrid. Thin aristocratic

nose, sculpted cheekbones, hair as silver as a newly minted

coin. Yet he wore a faded windbreaker and chinos that had lost their

crease years ago.

"Listen to reason," Bazain said, almost pleading. "The very fact

that I'm on this plane with you proves that we have no intention

of doing harm."

"Not yet."

"Not at all--if you simply divert the funds as you've been asked

to do."

Alvarez felt his blood seething. "That money is for the reforesting

of this jungle! How dare you and your.., your thugs--how

dare you demand extortion money from this program?"

Bazain hunched forward in the bucket seat, rubbing his palms on

32 BEN BOVA

the knees of his expensive trousers. "It's not me. I only work for

them."

"The Mafia." Alvarez spat the word.

"That's an old-time phrase. Nobody uses that term anymore."

"Whoever they are, they are crooks."

"They are businessmen."

"Who want to steal money that is needed to bring this rain

forest back to health!"

Bazain sighed deeply. Then, with obviously strained patience,

he explained once again, "What does it matter if we get a share of

the program's money? The money comes from the Global Economic

Council, doesnt lt. And where do they get it? From taxes. They take

it from all the national governments in the world, and from the big

multinational corporations."

"It doesn't matter where the funding comes from."

"Certainly it matters! They collect billions, hundreds of billions.

Every year! So you siphon some of the money they give you to us.

All you have to do is go back and tell them that you need more

funding. Tell them that the program is more expensive than you had

thought it would be. That's what everybody else does."

"I will not?' Alvarez snapped. "Every centavo given to this

program will be spent on reforesting the jungle."

Bazain shook his head sadly.

"Don't you understand?" said Alvarez. "The world is being

choked to death by the greenhouse effect. The best way to reverse

the greenhouse is to plant trees. Billions of trees! Replace what has

been cut down and then go on to plant still more. Others are

seeding the oceans to grow more algae; they take up carbon dioxide

and . . ."

"Spare me!" Bazain raised his hands.

"You don't want to understand, is that it? You don't want to

know."

"You must understand something," said Bazain, his voice taking

on a hard edge. "Unless we get our share of your money, you will

be killed. That is the message I was told to give you. My superiors

have been very patient, but their patience is finished. You pay or

EMPIRE BUILDERS 33

you die. This plane will be blown out of the air. Your young

scientist up there will be killed. Maybe your wife and children, too.

They are capable of it."

Alvarez said nothing. He was panting, his nostrils flaring like a

thoroughbred racehorse's.

"And if such violence happens," Bazain went on smoothly,

"what will come of your precious program then7 Even if the GEC

presses on with it, it will cost much more, won't it7 Dealing with us

is far cheaper. And safer."

Alvarez had no answer.

CLAN RANDOLPH STOOD at the long, sweeping glassteel observation

window that curved across the far end of Alphonsus City's

main dome. Away from the GEC tribunal and the need to be dressed

respectably, he wore his usual sky blue coveralls, faded from long

use, wrinkled and comfortable. No name patch on its breast; merely

the sturdy simple logo of Astro Manufacturing. He had no need to

be recognized.

"The people who know who I am don't need to be reminded,"

he often said. "The ones who don't, don't need to know."

The great ringed plain of Alphonsus was so wide that Clan could

not see its far side from the observation port where he stood. The

Moon's abrupt horizon cut across the tired old ringwall mountains

like the brink of eternity, nothing but utterly black sky and solemn

unblinking stars hanging beyond its edge.

The floor of the plain was dotted with lunar factories, open to

vacuum of course, tended by sterile robots under remote control by

sweaty, breathing humans sitting safely underground in their offices

inside Alphonsus City. Each factory was protected from the occasional

meteoroid by a gracefully curved roof of light honeycomb

metal. Most of the roofs bore the flying-heron symbol of Yamagata

Industries. A few were marked with the more prosaic ^STRO logo of

Dan's company.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 35

On the other side of the ringwall, Dan's company ran a fleet of

automated vehicles patiently plying the Mare Nubium, scooping up

the top layers of the lunar regolith the way a herd of cows grazes

a field. There was oxygen in the powdery upper layers of the lunar

soil, and aluminum, titanium, plenty of silicon and even some iron.

But the most precious element in the regolith was an isotope of

helium--helium-three--bom in the Sun and carried across interplanetary

space on the solar wind to be imbedded in the porous

regolith over long eons.

Helium-three made fusion power practical on Earth. Lunar fuel

was beginning to light the overcrowded cities of Earth, cleanly,

cheaply, with minuscule pollution and radioactive waste.

It was making Clan Randolph a new fortune.

If he had thought about it, he would have grinned at the cosmic

justice of it. Helium-three was created in the Sun by the fusion

processes that made Earth's daystar shine. Some of it was wafted off

into space; a scant fraction of that found its way to the Moon.

Humans mined the stuff and shipped it to their home world, where

it was used to power fusion generators: man-made artificial suns that

generated the electrical power to run an overpopulated world.

It was elegantly beautiful. And profitable.

But Clan was thinking of other things as he waited for the shuttle

to land. In the hip pocket of his coveralls was a message from Jane

Scanwell inviting him to meet her at Tetiaroa. No reason given. Just

a one-line note, as impersonal as a bill of lading:

IMPERATIVE WE MEET AT TETIAROA AS SOON

AS POSSIBLE. JANE.

Imperative, Clan repeated to himself. What could be so imperative?

Why Tetiaroa, way out in the middle of the Pacific? Why won't

she answer my calls to her? What's happening down there that she

has to see me as soon as possible?

A flicker of light caught his eye.

Craning his neck, Clan could just make out the angular ungainly

shape of the shuttle falling like a rock in slow motion. Another puff

of its retros, the cold gas glittering briefly in the sunlight, and the

spraddle-legged vehicle slowed. It seemed to rock slightly, then

squirted several brief jets of retro fire as it steadied and settled down

softly on the landing pad, a full kilometer out on the floor of the

plain from the edge of the dome where Clan was standing.

Half an hour later, Zach Freiberg lay sprawled across the couch

in Dan's office, a morose expression on his boyish face. In the ten

years Clan had known Freiberg, it still surprised him to realize how

tall the scientist really was. Zach gave the impression of being a

small, soft pooh-bear of a guy. But when they stood face-to-face, he

was several inches taller than Clan.

II

"It's real, boss," he was saying moumfully, his head resting on

one arm of the couch, his booted feet on the other. "I've had the best

people in the business check out the numbers."

Clan, seated tensely behind his desk, said, "Now let me get this

straight. You're saying that the greenhouse effect is going to hit

suddenly, within ten years. Right?"

Freiberg stared up at the paneled ceiling. "It's already hitting, Clan . You know that. Droughts in the middle latitudes; floods in the

tropics. Killer storms getting worse every year."

"Yeah, but you were saying that the ice caps-"

"Will melt suddenly, right. Not gradually. Ten years from now

the Antarctic and Greenland caps will start to melt down. Ten years

after that, sea levels all around the world will be five-ten meters

higher than they are now."

"Fifteen to thirty feet?" Dan's voice sounded hollow, even to

himself.

Freiberg nodded.

"What can we do about it?"

"Not a helluva lot," Freiberg said.

"There must be something!"

Freiberg pulled himself up to a sitting position and faced Clan.

He had been a planetary geochemist ten years earlier, when Clan had

hired him. Since then he had been forced to dabble in so many

disciplines that now Clan thought of him as Astro's resident genius:

a man who understood what made planets work.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 37

"Clan," he said slowly, "it's taken a couple of hundred years for

the greenhouse effect to make itself felt. It's an accelerating phenomenon.

Every year it goes faster. It builds and builds. And then it hits

a discontinuity. In ten years it'll reach the point where the ice caps

start to go."

"But I thought the greenhouse was mostly due to industrial

pollution: carbon dioxide and other crap that we pour into the

atmosphere."

Freiberg nodded.

"Then, if we stop polluting the atmosphere," Clan said, "won't

the greenhouse effect stop, too?"

The nod turned into a weary shake of his head. "Nice try, boss.

But there are two problems with it: One, the greenhouse effect is

already here. Global temperatures are already high enough to cause

disastrous changes in climate, worldwide."

"Yeah, I know," said Clan impatiently. "But if we stop"

Pulling himself up to a sitting position, Freiberg said, "That's the

second problem." His round-cheeked face went tense, grim. "How

the fuck are you going to stop twelve billion people from shitting

up the atmosphere? In ten years or less."

Clan leaned back in his chair, shocked at the younger man's

sudden fury.

"I've done my homework, boss," Freiberg said. "I've gone

through the numbers. You know what we're up against? We'd have

to cut down on the cee-oh-two we put into the atmosphere by

ninety percent. Ninety percent! For starters?'

"Well," Clan said weakly, "I didn't say it would be easy."

Freiberg's anger dissipated. He went back to being melancholy.

"It can't be done, Clan. There's nothing that you or I or anybody can

do. Mother Nature's going to solve the problem for us--by killing

several billion people."

But Clan said, "Goddammit to hell and back, I'm not going to

sit here and watch the world drown! There must be something we

can do!"

"Like what?"

"Shut down all the goddamned factories. Move 'em into orbit.

38 BEN BOVA

Stop burning fossil fuels. Convert every motor on the planet to

electricity. Use fusion and solar power. We've got the technology,

for god's sake!"

"How're you going to get the whole flipping world to change

over in ten years?"

"The Global Economic Council," Clan said. Then he snorted

with disdain.

"The GEC? Don't make me laugh."

"They're the only organization in the whole world that has

anywhere near the clout to get the job done. You've got to show

findings to them."

Y°U['I already have."

"Huh? What'd they say?"

"They laughed in my face," Freiberg said.

"What?"

"I said they laughed at me. Their scientists told me I'm crazy."

Clan felt the breath rush out of him. "Son of a bitch," he said

slowly.

Freiberg inhaled. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I am crazy."

Clan shook his head. "If I have to choose between them and you,

I'd say they're the ones who've nuts."

"I did have all this checked out by the best people I know,"

Freiberg said.

Clan rapped nervously on his desktop with his knuckles. "No. If

the GEC refuses to listen to you, it's for some reason."

"They can't want half the world to drown!" Clan said nothing; he was thinking furiously.

"Can they?" Freiberg asked plaintively.

"We'll find out," said Clan. Leaning across his desk, he said to his

computerized communicator, "Get me on the next flight to Sydney.

Book it under the name of Maxwell E. Rutherford."

"Maxwell E. Rutherford?" Freiberg asked.

Clan grinned at him. "Never let the authorities know what

you're doing, if you can avoid it. I want to see what's going on

down there before I meet with Jane or anybody else."

"Does the 'E' stand for Einstein, maybe?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 39

"Could be."

Freiberg almost smiled. There's nothing that Clan or anyone else

on Earth can do, he realized. But still he felt an illogical glimmer of

hope that Clan was gearing up for battle.

CLAN WAS ABOUT to leave his office on the way to the launch

facility when his desk phone buzzed. The screen spelled out: URGENT.

Grumbling slightly, he pulled his personal phone from the breast

pocket of his coveralls and flipped it open. As he dashed through his

outer office, past his lone human secretary and out to the electric

cart waiting to whisk him through the tunnel out to the launch site,

he told the phone to pick up Yamagata's call.

Nobuhiko Yamagata's angular, high-cheeked face appeared in

the phone's tiny screen. He looked solemn, very unlike his usual

cheerful smiling self.

"Nobo, what's wrong?" Clan asked as he clambered aboard the

little cart. His single travel bag was already sitting next to the driver,

a tong-legged mestizo with raven-black hair, beautiful enough to be

a video starlet back on Earth. She had been raised on the Moon

because her parents had suffered terribly from allergies in the smog

and grime of their native Caracas.

"My father," said Nobuhiko gravely. "He is dying."

"What! Sai?"

With a barely perceptible nod, Nobo said, "The cancer has

returned. It is spreading through his body. There is no longer any

hope.'

EMPIRE BUILDERS 41

"Oh for god's sake," Clan muttered. All the medical advances

that they've made, he said to himself, and still cancer cuts us down.

It's been getting worse, seems like. More people die of it every year.

He asked aloud, "How long . .. ?"

"My father has decided to end it himself. He "Nobuhiko

faltered, swallowed, then went on, "He asks that you assist him."

"Me?"

Nobo nodded, eyes closed.

Saito Yamagata had been Dan's boss, back in those early days

on the Moon. Clan had battled for respect from the Japanese, and

Sai had rewarded his toughness and drive by protecting him from

the chauvinists and sadists who looked on an American as fair game

for bullying--and worse. They had become friends, and together

built the first of the giant solar power satellites that eventually made

Japan independent of Middle Eastern oil. When Clan had gone into business for himself, Sai had backed him with investment capital.

Eventually they became more than friends: associates, equals, even

business partners on more than one venture.

Clan had known Nobo from the day of his birth in the orbital

infirmary attached to their construction center. Nobowith his

father's power behind him--had rescued Clan from certain death at

the hands of Vasily Malik, ten years earlier. Saito's political connections

and economic strength had helped Clan to break the Russian

stranglehold on space industries.

"How soon?" Clan asked the tiny image on the hand-held phone.

"Tomorrow, just after sunset," Nobo replied.

"Where?"

"At the family home in Kyoto."

"I'll be there," Clan said.

There was no need to change his flight to Sydney. Maxwell E.

Rutherford would ride the high-boost rocket from Alphonsus to the

transfer station in low Earth orbit. There Rutherford would clear

customs and immigration, and hop aboard the shuttle to Sydney.

Once in Australia he would take a commercial hypersonic transport

to Tokyo, where a security team from Yamagata Industries would

take him to Saito's estate.

42 BEN BOVA

And then Clan Randolph would help his old friend to die.

Hell, thought Clan. Sai's not that much older than I am. He's too

young to die.

Jane Scanwell hosted a party that evening. Although her home was

still in Texas, as the head of the American delegation to the Global

Economic Council she spent so much time in Paris that she had

leased an apartment in the embassy district, out past l'Etoile and the

Arc de Triomphe, within walking distance of the Bois de Boulogne

for a long-striding Texas woman.

This evening, though, she felt a far distance from Texas. Almost

all her life had been spent in politics, and she knew that more could

be accomplished at a social gathering than in a committee meeting.

But she felt weary of it all: the posturing, the jockeying for position,

the constant competition to get your point across, your program

adopted, your pork barrel filled.

What have we accomplished7 she asked herself as she looked

across the roomful of guests. The women wore knee-length frocks

decked with jewelry, the men Western business suits no matter what

their native tradition. They stood and chatted and laughed, sipped

drinks and nibbled canap6s.

But what have we accomplished7 Jane asked silently once again.

I've been to a thousand parties such as this, ten thousand. I've spent

my life in politics. So has almost everyone here. Is the world any

better off7 Are the people happier, healthier, richer?

She shook her head slightly. There are certainly more people

than ever before. Twelve billion of them. Maybe we've stabilized

population growth. That would be a major accomplishment. Stabilized

it at a level where half the world is constantly hungry and the

other half resists helping them with every ounce of their strength.

At least we've stopped the wars. I suppose that's something to be

proud of. We have famines and droughts and floods and millions

killed by storms each year--but at least we're not killing each other

anymore.

"You seem troubled."

Startled out of her reverie, Jane saw that it was Rafaelo Gaetano

EMPIRE BUILDERS 43

who had spoken to her. Young, tall and slim as a cypress tree, darkly

handsome, Gaetano was the chief of the Italian delegation to the

GEC. The youngest member of the GEC board. And the most

ambitious. He was rumored to be strongly linked to the international

crime syndicate, especially since his first official act upon

joining the GEC board had been to propose that the organization

move its headquarters from Paris to Palermo, in Sicily. Since that

day, almost everyone in the GEC sniggered that Gaetano was "the

Mafia representative."

Whether it was true or not, whether he heard the whispers or

not, Gaetano remained a smiling, hardworking, thoroughly charming

member of the GEC board.

"A lady as lovely as you, my dear Jane, should never have to

frown," he said, handing her a tulip glass of bubbling champagne.

His voice was a deep baritone, melodious. "Tell me what dragon is

annoying you and I will go forth and slay it."

Despite her cares, Jane Scanwell smiled back at him. "I wish it

were that simple, Rafe. I really do."

Gaetano gently took her arm and led her toward the ceiling-high

windows of her own living room. "Look," he said softly. Yet

his voice penetrated the background babble of the crowd. "All of

Paris is out there. You should be enjoying yourself. This is the city

of romance, you know."

She arched a brow slightly. "I'm getting a bit too old for

romance, Rafe."

"Nonsense! You are in the prime of your life."

"I wish that were so."

"Let me prove it to you," he said, running a finger across his

pencil-thin moustache.

She looked at him. Is he serious? she asked herself. He gazed

back at her, smiling a smile that might have been amorous, or just

friendly. Or perhaps it was the self-confident smile of a healthy

young male with a sensitivity for lonely older women.

"There are plenty of younger women here," Jane said at last.

"Yes, that is true," he admitted, somewhat ruefully. Then his

grin returned. "But it took you several moments to arrive at that

conclusion. I consider that a good sign."

Then he moved away, without another word. Jane stared after

him. What's he after? she heard a voice in her mind ask.

And she replied to herself silently, Jane Scanwelt, you've been

in politics too damned long if you're automatically suspicious of

some good-looking young Italian making a pass at you!

Trying to force Gaetano's suggestion to the back of her mind,

Jane busied herself attending to her guests. Malik had showed up

without his wife, as usual. And, as usual, he was the center of a

cluster of admiring women of all ages. Jane made polite conversation, saw

that the robots weaving through the crowd with trays of

drinks were functioning properly, and tried to avoid whichever part

of the big, high-ceilinged room Gaetano happened to be in.

Eventually, inevitably, she slipped out of the crowded living

room and strode swiftly down the hall to her cubbyhole of an office.

Closing the door firmly behind her, she leaned across her desk and

swiveled the phone screen around. She touched a couple of keys and

her messages scrolled silently across the screen.

There! Dan's reply to her invitation:

ON MY WAY. YOU-KNOW-WHO.

Jane crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at the screen.

Damn you, Clan Randolph. Just like him. "On my way." Doesn't say

when he'll arrive. Doesn't even say where he's going, although it's

bound to be Tetiaroa. The big oaf wouldn't even sign his name.

What's he afraid of?

But then she realized that Clan Randolph had much to be afraid

of. She was luring him into a trap, not a romantic rendezvous. She

was going to defeat him, crush him, once and for all.

She fought back the tears that were welling in her eyes.

An earthquake shook the Tokyo airport just as Clan was being

greeted by the head of the Yamagata security team, a bone-thin man

of about fifty, dressed in a severe suit of dead black, who bowed to

him and asked:

"Mr. Rutherford-san?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 45

Clan started to return the bow when the floor beneath him

rippled. The crowd streaming past, coming off the plane from

Sydney, seemed to freeze and draw in its breath as if preparing to

scream. A deep rumble filled the air, like the drawn-out thunder of

a dragon lurking beneath the ground. The long decorative streamers

hanging from the ceiling high overhead swayed back and forth.

Beyond the heads of the people facing him, Clan could see through

the big windows on the other side of the terminal that the planes

out there seemed to bob up and down, like ships on a choppy sea.

Then it was over. The rumble died away. Before anyone could

scream. Before Clan had fully registered that an earthquake was

happening. It was over. The floor became solid again. The planes

outside were still, as if they had never moved at all. The streamers

fluttered only slightly, as if a passing breeze had briefly disturbed

them. The crowd flowed back into motion, babbling and chattering.

"Mr. Rutherford-san," the security man repeated, his immobile

face showing neither anxiety nor relief, "your transportation is

waiting for you."

"Dorno arigato," Clan replied. He had not spoken Japanese in

years, but he had spent his time on the spacecraft and hypersonic

transport from Sydney listening to newscasts from Tokyo to revive

his ear for the language.

"You have luggage, sir?." the man asked, switching to Japanese.

"Only this." Clan hefted his soft-sided travel bag. Originally

dead black, it looked gray and threadbare from much use.

"This way, please." The security man did not offer to take Dan's

bag. He's not a porter and he wants to have both his hands free at

all times, Clan told himself.

Glad that he had kept up his daily regimen of exercises while on

the Moon, Clan followed after the security man on legs that felt only

slightly rubbery in the heavy gravity of Earth. He looked around for

the rest of the team. The terminal was crowded, abuzz with hundreds

of conversations in a score of different languages. People

scurrying everywhere: mothers dragging crying children, red-faced

businessmen rushing to their heart attacks, tourists looking sweaty

and lost. Half a dozen younger men and women hurrying along the

46 BEN BOVA

terminal corridor looked as if they might be security types, but it

was impossible to single them out from the rest of the crowd.

So far so good, Clan told himself. Nobody but Sai's people

knows I'm in Japan. I'll have my Caracas office contact Jane and tell

her I'll be a day or two late for Tetiaroa. Give them a bit of time to

check out the island, too.

Abruptly the security man opened an unmarked door along the

corridor and brusquely gestured Clan to step through. The door

snapped shut behind him and four husky young men in coral pink

coveralls bearing the flying-heron symbol of Yamagata Industries

snapped to spine-popping attention.

Escorted by this new team, Clan followed the black-suited man

through another door to the concrete apron outside the terminal. A

palpable wall of noise slammed his ears. An executive-style helicopter

stood waiting some twenty meters away, its turbine engine

whining, its twin rotors already spinning blurrily. Jet airliners

screamed and thundered, making the very air quiver as they

swooped in for landings or roared up in takeoffs every few seconds.

Planes taxied along the concrete guideways, giant, busy, purposeful

aluminum ants directed by the traffic controllers at the hub of this

vast nest of humans and machines.

The noise actually made Clan tremble. I've been away from all

this crap too long, he thought as he clambered up the metal stairs

of the copter. It's so peaceful on the Moon, I'd forgotten how ".

raucous things are down here.

He turned as he stepped through the hatch and shouted, "Thank

you for your help," to the security man. The man bowed and said

something in return, but it was lost in the uproar of the airport.

At least the interior of the chopper was quiet, once the hatch

was closed. Good acoustical insulation muffled the helicopter's engines

to a soft purr. Clan sank gratefully into a thickly padded seat

and automatically buckled his safety belt as the copter lifted quickly

into the busy afternoon air.

He was alone inside the luxuriously appointed passenger compartment.

The two pilots sat up front, separated by a thick slab of

clear plastic. Like a New York taxicab, Clan said to himself. But cabs

EMPIRE BUILDERS 47q

all over the world now isolated their passengers from their drivers.

Violence and crime were no longer confined to one city alone. Even

in London the streets were no longer safe after dark.

He took a deep breath, then remembered that he was rushing to

the side of his dearest and most trusted friend in order to help him

commit suicide.

Clan shook his head angrily. "The hell I will," he muttered.

"THE MAN IS a menace," said Vasily Malik. "He must be brought

under control."

Rafaelo Gaetano smiled lazily at the Russian through a haze of

cigarette smoke. "Yes, perhaps. But how?"

The two men were sitting on a park bench on the right bank of

the Seine, having walked leisurely from the GEC headquarters up

the river until they were almost opposite Notre Dame. Without a

word of discussion between them, they sat on the bench, overlooked

by the towers and flying buttresses and stone gargoyles of

the massive cathedral. Gaetano had immediately pulled a silver

cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket and offered one to Malik.

The Russian had refused with a shake of his head.

"Noncarcinogenic,'.' Gaetano had said. "Guaranteed."

"No, thanks," Malik replied. "I broke that habit once. I have no

intention of starting it again."

It was slightly past noon. The sun felt warm, boats slid by on

the ancient river carrying luncheon customers, men and women

were picnicking here and there on other benches. The hum of

automobile traffic behind them was muted by the thick walls containing

the sunken highway, but the stench of petrol fumes fouled

the pretty afternoon.

"I have a plan in mind," Malik said.

"About what?"

"Randolph. What else?"

Gaetano had spread his arms along the back of the bench and

stretched his legs out so that people walking along the paved path

had to detour around his gleaming leather oxfords. He smiled from

behind his cigarette at the women who passed by.

Suppressing his annoyance, IMalik said, "This is extremely important,

you know."

"I know," Gaetano said without taking his eyes off the passing

parade. "You hate this man Randolph."

"This is far more important than a personal matter," IMalik

snapped. To himself he added, I am not some petty Sicilian chieftain

pursuing a vendetta.

"Destroying Randolph is of great importance to you," Gaetano

said mildly.

"Stopping Randolph is of great importance."

"Whichever."

"It should be important to you, too!"

"And why?"

Malik leaned forward, elbows on knees, and forced himself into

the Italian's field of vision. "You are the representative of United

Europe on the GEC board of directors. What is the most important

problem United Europe faces?"

Gaetano turned his head slightly to look at the Russian. "The

most important problem? That's easy. We need to lower the taxes

the GEC imposes on us."

"Very well." It was not quite the answer Malik had expected,

but it was close enough to work with. "How can you expect lower

taxes when the Africans and Latin Americans are starving? Even in

India there is renewed threat of famine. To say nothing of Bangladesh.''

Gaetano took a deep puff on his cigarette. "Raising taxes on us

will only spread the poverty to Europe."

"But we need more money for the poor sections of the world,"

Malik said. "The southern hemisphere regions are desperate."

Blowing smoke into the air, Gaetano said, "Obviously you have

a solution in mind."

"Yes. Increase the taxes paid by the space industrialists."

"Good idea--if you can get away with it."

.TThey make enormous profits," Malik pointed out eagerly.

"Their tax rates are much lower than comparable industries' on

Earth."

"The reason they always give is that they take much greater

risks, up there on the Moon and in their orbiting factories. And they

claim that they plow most of their profits back into expanding their

operations."

"Randolph and his ilk live like bloated plutocrats! They think

they can hide themselves away from the public eye, living on the

Moon or on their enormous private estates, as Yamagata does."

Gaetano flipped his half-smoked cigarette into the river, smiling.

"I know you have tried very hard to expose Randolph in the media.

Wasn't it you who sent that investigative reporter to the Moon?"

Malik frowned. "The bitch jumped into his bed the instant

Randolph crooked his finger at her."

"Now she's a vice-president or something for the Lunar News

Corporation, isn't she?"

He's baiting me, Malik realized. This oily Sicilian puppy dog is

making jokes at my expense.

The Russian forced himself to an icy calm. "Whatever Randolph

has done in the past is of no consequence now. He may have

managed to elude justice, but this time I have him where I want

him."

"Really?"

"Really. His own greed has tripped him up. He bought out a

smaller competitor when the other man was facing bankruptcy over

a fine imposed by our lunar tribunal."

Gaetano's eyes narrowed. "That new set of regulations you

pushed through last winter..."

"Precisely." Malik's appreciation of the Italian went up a notch.

Hardly anyone on the board had bothered to read all the fine print

EMPIRE BUILDERS 51

in what was supposed to be a dry revision of technical safety

specifications.

"How could a man so smart fall prey to such a trick7" Gaetano

wondered aloud. "Surely he has lawyers who would protect him."

"Greed," Malik answered. Then, unable to hide his delight, he

smiled and added, "And lust."

"Lust?" Gaetano's heavy dark brows rose. "Ah--the lawyer he

used was a woman."

"A very clever woman," said Malik, "who will soon be employed

by the GEC in San Francisco, which is her hometown, I

believe."

Gaetano considered this for a few moments, absently brushing

his thin moustache, then said, "So you can confiscate Randolph's

entire empire, then. Congratulations, I suppose."

"Not only Randolph's company," Malik said. "Any corporation

that is linked to Randolph by partnership agreements is also subject

to confiscation."

"Really?"

"The regulations provide so."

"That means that you can start proceedings against Yamagata

or anyone else that Randolph has links with."

"Precisely so."

Gaetano gave a low whistle. "I am impressed."

Malik inclined his head in a brief nod of acceptance.

"What more do you need?" Gaetano asked.

He is no fool, Malik conceded. Aloud, he replied, "I intend

to-ah, sequester--Mr. Randolph while we move through the legal

procedures of confiscation. Everything will go much more smoothly

and quickly if he is not available to interfere."

The Italian said nothing, but his expressive features showed that

he was paying full attention.

"It is possible, however, that Randolph's lawyers--"

"His other lawyers'?."

"Yes." Malik grinned. "His other lawyers may appeal directly to

the GEC board on this matter, whether Randolph is available to

direct them or not."

52 BEN BOVA

"If they make such an appeal, you will need a simple majority

of the board to reject them, noT"

"Yes. A simple majority. Five members."

"Who do you have with you already?"

Malik gazed up at the bright blue sky. "Oh, I think I can safely

count on India and Black Africa."

"And the Russian Federatipn, of course."

"Of course. Latin America' is doubtful; much of Randolph's

operations on Earth are still headquartered in Caracas."

"Greater East AsiaT"

II

7'IYamagata still c°ntr°ls them'"' ?''

see. What about the Islamic League.

"That old fool Sibuti will jump in whichever direction he thinks

will be the winner. He won't cast his vote until he sees what the

others do."

"That leaves North America--and Europe."

"North America will vote in favor of confiscation."

Gaetano looked impressed. "You are certain? I thought that Jane

Scanwell was--well, you know."

"She will vote my way."

"That gives you four assured votes."

"You could be the final nail in Randolph's coffin."

With a smile, Gaetano asked, "What's in it for United Europe?"

Malik noticed that the Italian was delicate enough to refrain

from asking for a personal reward, although both men knew what

his words actually meant. And, the Russian also noted, Gaetano was

no longer watching the women strolling past. His eyes were locked

on Malik's, hot with ambition.

DEAN INGERSOLL LOOKED up from his desktop display screen

and gazed out at the floor of the power plant, two stories below his

office window. He smiled to himself.

Spend so much time looking at the damned screen, you can

forget what the hell the numbers are all about.

He got to his feet, a solid square-shouldered man of middle years,

slightly graying, his face weathered from spending as much time up in

the hills as he could possibly spare from his work and family.

The fishing had gone all to hell years ago. Acid rain had devastated

the woods and poisoned the lakes. There were the snowmelt

streams in the spring, of course, but the state only stocked them

once a year and the next day the stream banks were wall-to-wall

with once-a-year fishermen who left a midden heap of beer cans and

other trash after they drove back to their condos and tract houses.

Besides, the past three years in a row there had been so little

snow that the streams were too feeble to be stocked.

No, Ingersoll went up into the hills to dream about how all the

forest and the deer and even the fish would come back one day. He

hoped he lived long enough to see it.

What was going to make this miracle of regeneration possible

was the shining, nearly silent machine he was watching now, smiling

like Moses must have when he saw the Promised Land.

54 BEN BOVA

Beneath his appreciative eyes the fusion power generator

hummed to itself as it transmuted deuterium from the sea and

helium-three from the Moon into pure energy. Fusion was the hope

that made Ingersoll smile. Fusion power was beginning to replace

fossil fuels and even the old uranium-based fission plants. The hope

of the future, Ingersoll told himself. Maybe my grandchildren will

be able to see the woods in bloom again.

He took his windbreaker from its peg on the back of his office

door and headed out for the parking lot, where his electric bike

waited. It was his own design. You pedaled most of the time, using

the little electric motor only to help you up hills. Charged up the

battery while you were pedaling. Clean and efficient, as long as you

lived close enough to the office.

The night shift was coming in as he left; all four of them.

Ingersoll's fellow day-shift workers were kibitzing with them as he

waved to them all and went out into the late-afternoon sunshine.

There's a fusion generator for you, he said to himself as he

squinted through the bare trs at the westering sun, red from the

dust and pollution of the city down in the valley. Been shining for

five billion years and has at least five billion more to go. Talk about

reliability.

Don was at the parking-lot gate, trudging slowly back and forth

across the entrance with a new sign. NO MORE NUKES, it said, just like

the tattered old one Don had carried for so many years that it had

become practically illegible.

Ingersoll pedaled up to the lone demonstrator and stopped, one

booted foot lightly touching the paving.

"Hey, Don, how's it going?"

Don Knight was Ingersoll's age. They had gone to kindergarten

together. But Don appeared much older, perhaps because of the

long gray beard he had allowed to grow down his chest. He had

always looked frail, ascetic, but he had never been sick a day in his

life, as far as Ingersoll knew.

"Not bad, Dean. Nice day, huh?"

Ingersoll looked around at the dead trees and the pale sky

beyond them. "Guess it was. I wouldn't know. Been inside all day."

EMPIRE BUILDERS

55

"Thought I saw a robin," said Don.

"Going home now?"

"Might as well. Want a lift in my car? We can stow the bike in

the backseat."

Ingersoll shook his head. "You still driving that gas-burner?"

"Nope. My royalty check finally came in. I bought a new

Barracuda."

"Another gas-burner? Why didn't you get one of the electrics?"

Don made a face from behind his beard. "No zip. No fun to

drive."

"Don"--Ingersoll had asked the question hundreds of times

before, maybe thousands, but he had never been satisfied with the

answer--"why in hell do you still tromp around here? I mean,

nobody pays any attention to you at all."

"That's not entirely so," Knight replied, not in the least defensive.

"Last August the TV news people came out for the anniversary

of Hiroshima."

"But this is a fusion generator. It's got nothing to do with

Hiroshima."

"It's nuclear, isn't it?"

"So's the Sun, for god's sake!"

Don shook his head. His beard swayed back and forth like a

horse's tail. "My father was anti-nuke. My mother was anti-nuke. I

know that there's hardly any of us left, but somebod¥'s got to keep

the protest going."

"Why? It's wrong. It's stupid."

Don did not get angry. Instead, he smiled benignly, like a saint

listening to the foibles of a sinner. "Nuclear power is wrong, Dean.

Radiation is bad. I don't care what you think or what the rest of the

world thinks. I know what I believe."

Ingersoll shrugged. He had been through this with his old friend

since boyhood.

"Want to have a beer down at Suder's?"

"Good idea," said Don.

"See you there."

The nuclear engineer got on his bike. The protester ambled to

56 BEN BOVA

his shining new convertible, tossed his sign in the backseat and took

off with a roar and a cloud of exhaust gas.

The Yamagata family estate was set on a rugged hillside high above

the towers and apartment blocks of Kyoto. Built like a medieval

Japanese fortress, the solid yet graceful buildings always made Clan

think of poetry frozen into shapes of wood and stone. Much of the

inner courtyard was given to an exquisitely maintained sand garden.

There were green vistas at every turn, as well: gardens and woods

and, off in the distance, a glimpse through tall old trees of Lake Biwa,

glittering in the sun.

The helicopter settled down,

screeching,

turbines

in

the

outer

courtyard. Clan unbuckled from his seat and was through the hatch

before the pilot was able to stop the rotors. Squinting through the

dust kicked up by the downwash, Clan saw Nobuhiko waiting at the

gate to the inner courtyard. Saito Yamagata's only legitimate son

was wearing a Western business suit of pale blue. His lean, angular

face looked solemn as Clan approached him.

By damn, he must be nearly thirty-five by now, Clan thought,

struck all over again by how much Nobo looked like his father did

when they had been building the first solar power satellite. But

almost a foot taller. It always surprised Clan to realize that Nobuhiko

was taller than he was himself, by several inches.

The two men bowed simultaneously, then grasped each other's

hand.

"Nobo, how is he?"

The younger man made a tight smile. "Drinking sake and complaining

about the GEC's new tax ruling."

"He's not in pain?"

"He doesn't show any pain."

They walked along a path of stones set in the carefully raked

sand garden. Clan noticed that a few new rocks had been placed off

in one corner of the garden, by the miniature olive tree he had given

Sai many years earlier. Half the year the tree was covered by a

transparent plastic dome, heated and protected from the winter

wind.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 57

"How are you?" Clan asked.

Nobo's nostrils flared slightly. "I am going to miss him."

They removed their shoes at the open door to the main house.

A woman in a carnelian red kimono silently took Dan's travel bag

the instant they stepped inside: a servant or a family member, Clan

could not tell which. Doesn't matter all that much, he knew. The

servants have all been part of the Yamagata family for generations.

He heard Saito from halfway down the hall. The old man's

rasping voice made the shoji screen walls quiver.

"Stop looking so morose! I want to see happy faces, not these

long sad frowns. Must I bring in a band of geishas to please me?

Can't I have pleasant looks around me on my final day?"

Women were scurrying along the hall, some bearing trays of

food, others jars of sake. They all looked distressed, close to tears.

Two men in business suits backed out of the room at the end of the

corridor, bowing so deeply Clan thought they could wipe their

noses on their kneecaps.

"Where is that idiot who calls himself my personal attorney?"

Saito was shouting. "With all these papers I have to sign, why isn't

he here to witness my signature?"

The two business suits nearly bumped into Clan and Nobuhiko,

they were in such a hurry to get away from their master. Flustered,

they bowed again, bobbing up and down several times. Nobo gave

them a single curt nod of his head; Clan bowed with more respect.

Then they stepped through the open doorway.

"Ah! My son and heir," said Saito. "And Clan, you are here at

last."

Saito Yamagata scrambled to his feet and came around the low,

paper-cluttered table at which he had been sitting to grip Dan's

outstretched hand. His kimono was deep blue, decorated with white

herons. Strangely, Sai looked ten years younger than he had the last

time Clan had seen him. The cancer had burned away the fat $ai had

accumulated over the years of rich living. He was almost as lean as

his son, though considerably shorter.

Clan searched his old friend's eyes. There was no pain there, not

even anxiety.

58 BEN BOVA

"Sai . . ." Dan's voice nearly broke. Surprised at his own emotion,

he swallowed tears and forced a cheerful "By damn, Sai, you

look better than I do."

"I feel well," Saito said, gesturing Clan to the low lacquered

table. The three of them sat on the tatami floor mats. Saito pushed

aside a small mountain of paper and poured sake into delicate little

cups that had tiny whistles built into their lips so the drinker could

show his appreciation by making as much noise as possible.

"Is there anything I can say," Clan asked, "that will talk you out

of this?"

I I

Sai drained his cup, whistling thinly, then banged it down on the

I

table. "You would prefer that I die in agony?"

"But if you feel so good, why end it now?"

"It is only a matter of time before the damnable tumors begin

to torture me to death." Saito's face showed no fear, only resolution.

"I must make an orderly transition of all my holdings, so that my

son can step into my place with a minimum of difficulties."

"Yes, but ..."

Saito made a noise that might have been a grunt. "The only

regret that I have is that my son has not yet seen fit to present me

with a grandson. It would be a great relief to me to know that the

family will go on for another generation."

Nobuhiko kept his face immobile and said nothing.

"However," Saito sighed heavily, "there are some things that

even the most devoted father cannot do for his son."

Clan felt a slight nervousness inching through him. "Sai--what

am I supposed to do here?"

"There are several documents you must sign. Do you realize we

are still in partnership on three separate operations?"

"Three? I know there's the solar power company and the water

production factory at Alphonsus. What's the third?"

Saito rummaged through the stack of paper on the corner of the

table, muttering, "With all the advances in computers and informa

tion storage, still the lawyers demand signatures in ink on sheets

made by killing trees."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 59

Clan felt himself grinning. The paperless office had been promised

for more than a century, yet there was always more paper.

"Ah, hereremember thisT"

Clan took a stapled sheaf of papers from his friend's hand and

flipped through the first two sheets.

"By double damn! The asteroid retrieval operation. I haven't

even thought about that since ..."

"Since all that trouble with Malik was resolved, ten years ago,"

Yamagata said.

Nodding, Clan said, "That chunk of rock is still in the orbit we

left it in; maybe we ought to go out and start mining it, after all."

"There is not much of a market for asteroidal metals," Nobo

said. "Lunar resources are cheaper."

"Yeah, sure," Clan said, growing excited. "But the Moon doesn't

have anything heavier than iron except where meteorites have hit,

and most of them are buried too deep to be profitable."

"You would like to mine the asteroidsT" Saito asked.

"We'll have to, one day." Clan kneaded his thighs; he was

unaccustomed to sitting cross-legged. "There ought to be enough

gold and platinum in that one asteroid to pay for a dozen flights."

"The GEC has set a firm price on precious metals," Nobo

pointed out.

Clan felt his spirits sink again. "The goddamned GEC. What a

pain in the butt those bastards are."

Saito laughed. "You haven't changed at all, Clan."

Clan grinned back at him. Then he remembered why he was

here.

"Okay," he said. "What do you want me to signT'

Ruffling through the papers again, Saito replied, "Our partnerships

are personal arrangements, legally. Since Nobuhiko is going to

take charge of Yamagata Industries, it will be necessary for you to

sign new agreements with him."

They spent the next several minutes in silence, Clan signing

almost blindly where Saito indicated, Nobuhiko adding his signature

with a felt-tipped pen both in Roman script and Japanese

hiragana characters.

60 BEN BOVA

"Good," said Saito, when they finished. He glanced out the

window at the miniature garden and the reddening sky beyond.

"Now we can have dinner and then . . ."

"What am I supposed to do?" Clan asked. "How are you going

to do it?"

Saito smiled at him. "There is nothing for you to do except to

wish me a pleasant journey. The doctors will take care of every

thing. All is prepared and ready."

Feeling somewhat relieved, Clan asked, "You're not going to

slice your belly open?"

For the first time in all the years that Clan had known Saito

I

Yamagata, the man looked

surprise.

stunned

with

Nobuhiko said, "What do you think my father is going to do?"

"End it," Clan replied. "That's what you told me. Harakiri."

Saito burst into uproarious laughter. Even Nobo laughed until

tears streamed down his cheeks. Clan felt like a dolt, staring at them.

"You mean you're not... ?"

Shaking his head, barely able to control his voice, Saito said,

"Clan, my old and dear friend, you've always had a flair for the

dramatic. I am honored that you were willing to help in a ceremony

that is so far removed from your own culture. You are truly a brave

man, Clan. And an honored friend."

"Well, what in hell's going to happen?"

"Cryonics," said Nobuhiko.

"I am going to have myself frozen," Saito explained. "I have not

worked in high-technology industries all my life without absorbing

some faith in the future."

"Frozen." Clan felt as numb as if he were on ice.

"Yes! My condition is incurable today. But tomorrow, perhaps

ten thousand years from tomorrow, medical science will conquer

cancer. Then I can be revived and returned to health."

Clan sank his head in his hands. "Cripes almighty. I thought

maybe you wanted me to whack your head off with one of those

Samurai swords."

Father and son laughed. But after several moments the laughter

quieted.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 61

"I will be leaving you," Saito remarked. "Just as though I were

going to die. I might never be revived. Or it might be so far in the

future that neither of you will be alive. We are truly departing from

one another, my friend."

Clan let a grin creep across his face. "I'll be waiting for you, pal.

If it comes to that, I'll have myself frozen, too. We'll see the future

together, Sai."

"I would like that."

"Damned right!"

Dinner was long and filled with laughter and reminiscences. Saito

regaled his son with tales of Dan's first days on the Moon, his

battles with his fellow workers, his pursuit of the few women living

on that rugged frontier.

"Do you still chase the women?" Saito asked.

Clan shrugged. They were sitting at a Western-style table on

elegant chairs of Philippine mahogany: Yamagata's concession to

the comfort of his friend.

"From what I hear," Nobuhiko joined in, "the women now

pursue you."

Grinning, Clan replied, "They love me for my money."

"You must send a few of them my son's way," Saito said, his lips

smiling but his eyes more serious. "I despair of the boy ever marrying.''

"Wouldn't you want him to marry a good Japanese woman?" Clan asked.

"I want a grandson! I don't care who the mother is, as long as

the child is legitimate."

Nobo said to Clan, "My father doesn't realize that men of my

generation tend to marry much later in life than he did. The women,

too. We have plenty of time."

"But I don't!"

All the smiles around the table faded. Saito huffed unhappily.

"I apologize," he said in a low voice. "I have ruined the spirit of

felicity with my selfishness."

62 BEN BOVA

"I will make you a grandson, Father," said Nobuhiko. "You may

depend on it."

Nodding, Saito said, "I know, my son. I was merely trying to be

humorous. I was not cut out to be a comedian."

"As long as we've gotten so damned serious," Clan said, "there's

something that you can check out for me, Nobo."

He told them about Zach Freiberg's calculations of the greenhouse

cliff.

"That could be disastrous for Japan!" Saito exclaimed once he

understood what Clan was saying. "Half our population lives on the

seacoast. If sea levels rise abruptly--a catastrophe?

Clan grumbled to himself, Great going, guy. His last damned

night on Earth and you tell him half his countrymen are going to

be drowned or driven from their homes. Nice way to send off an old

friend.

Aloud, he said, "It's only numbers in a computer, Sai. It might

not mean anything at all in the real world." Turning to Nobuhiko,

"But I'd like to see if your scientists come up with the same numbers,

given Zach's input."

Nobo said, "I will have the chief of our research section contact

Dr.

Freiberg first thing tomorrow."

"Good."

Saito pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet.

"It is time," he said.

Wordlessly, Clan and Nobuhiko followed the elder Yamagata

out into the courtyard. A bright, nearly full Moon was scudding in

and out of silvery clouds. Clan could make out pinpoints of light at

Aristarchus and Copernicus. Alphonsus, almost dead in the center of

the Moon's lopsided face, was lost in the natural glare.

"A beautiful night," Saito said as they approached a building Clan did not

recognize. "If I were a poet I would write a haiku about

this night."

They entered the new building. Inside it was like a hospital:

shadowless lighting from overhead panels, dry cool atmosphere, a

faint antiseptic odor, silence except for the slightest whisper of air

coming through the screened ducts up near the ceiling.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 63

"My mausoleum," Saito explained, as he pushed open another

door.

A team of green-clad medics sprang to their feet and bowed

deeply. In the middle of the room stood what looked to Clan like

an operating table, with a cluster of big lamps above it and tables

of surgical instruments to one side. Along the far wall rested a large

metal canister, a dewar big enough to hold a man. A twenty-first-century

sarcophagus, Clan thought. Next to it stood a row of

cylinders: liquid nitrogen, for freezing Sai's body.

A nurse helped Clan and Nobo into green surgical gowns and

sterile masks while the rest of the team stripped Saito naked and laid

him on the table. Clan saw the chief doctor bend over his old friend

and inject him in the left arm with a hypodermic syringe.

Sai beckoned to Clan with his other hand.

"These are my last moments," he said when Clan was beside

him. "At least, for a while. Take care of my son, will you, old friend?

I ask nothing more of you."

Clan gripped Saito's hand as if it were his only lifeline. "I'll look

after him as if he were my own son."

Saito smiled weakly. "Good. Good. Perhaps you can find him a

suitable wife, too."

Despite himself, a grin broke across Dan's face. "I'm probably

not the best man in the world to give marriage advice."

"Better than you think, Daniel. You have always been a much

better man than you believe yourself to be."

Clan felt at a loss for words.

"Please . . . send Nobo to me now."

Clan stepped away and gestured Nobuhiko to his father's side.

The two spoke briefly in tones too low for Clan to make out. Then

the son let go of his father's hand. It dropped to the sheeted tabletop

lifelessly.

"It is done," said the chief medic. "I declare him clinically dead."

One of the assistants bowed deeply to Nobuhiko and presented

a legal form attached to a clipboard for his signature.

DAN'S DREAMS THAT night were filled not with memories of

Saito but with strange shifting apparitions of Jane Scanwell and

Lucita, his ex-wife, and other women he had known. He woke before

sunrise, sitting up in his Western bed, beaded with sweat, an oppressive

sense of doom weighing down on him.

"Sai's not really dead," he muttered to himself as he stumbled

through the dark bedroom toward the toilet. "They could revive

him tomorrow if they wanted to."

Yeah, maybe, a voice inside his head replied. If they don't kill

him all over again in the thawing procedure.

After a quick shower and a decision that he could skip shaving, Clan strapped on his wristwatch and checked the time in Paris. A

little after eight in the evening. He used the phone by the bed to

put through a call to Jane. She was not at home, her answering

machine said, but all messages would be forwarded to her hourly.

Must be in some double-damned GEC meeting, Clan grumbled

to himself. He spoke into the phone, "Jane, it's you-know-who. I'll

be there in twelve hours or so, unless I hear from you. Bye."

Then he pulled on a pair of slacks and a loose velour shirt, trying

to remember exactly where the kitchen was. He always got a kick

out of shocking the servants by getting his own breakfast.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 65

Jane Scanwell was in her office, poring over the reports and memoranda

that she never seemed to have the time to read during the

nominal working day.

You either have to be an early bird or a night owl, she told

herself. The only way to get any real work done is to do it when

nobody else is around to bother you. Once the regular working

hours begin it's nothing but meetings and conferences and phone

calls all the blessed day long.

Phone calls. Her computer scrolled all her incoming messages at

the top of every hour. And there was a message from Clan, finally.

Still being cute, signing it "You-know-who." It infuriated her. According

to the computer the call had originated in Japan. Lord

knows where Clan really is. He's as devious as a used-car salesman.

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Close to

midnight. Where is Dan7 What's he doing? And will he really be at

Tetiaroa in twelve hours or less?

She found that she almost wished he wouldn't be. She felt

disappointed at that. But not surprised.

It was well past midnight when Rafaelo Gaetano returned to his

apartment on the Boulevard Saint Germain. Even before he switched

on the lights he sensed that someone was already in the apartment.

Then his conscious mind realized that there was a faint trace of a

woman's perfume: not the expensive kind that was meant to be

seductive, this was more like a simple floral aroma.

There was no concierge in the building. That function had been

taken over by electronics ages ago. So Gaetano silently flicked his

fingertips across the security keypad next to the door, guided only

by the crack of light from the hallway coming through the nearly

closed front door.

The pad's little screen lit up with a numeral one, and a time:

11:48. Gaetano silently closed the door and smiled to himself. He

knew who his visitor was. Or at least, who it should be. Either way,

he tiptoed across the thick carpeting to the window that overlooked

the street. Plenty of traffic out there, although the double-paned

glass effectively soundproofed the apartment. Slowly, quietly, he

66 BEN BOVA

closed the blinds, then tapped on the side panel of the window

frame in his private code. The panel slid open noiselessly. Gaetano

reached in and curled his fingers around the waiting nine-millimeter

Beretta.

Silently, like a commando or a hired assassin, he made his way

to the bedroom. The door was half open. She was already in his bed,

probably asleep.

Grinning, he put the gun down on the easy chair by the doorway

and swiftly stripped down to his briefs. Then, armed and ready,

he stepped into the bedroom and switched on the lights.

Katherine Williams blinked in the sudden glare and sat up in the

bed, her flame red hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, the sheet

slipping down from her breasts.

"Hands up, thief!" Gaetano said.

She frowned at him. "For lord's sake, Rafe, I'm in no mood for

your silly damned games."

He leveled the gun at her. "I said hands up!"

She sighed and raised her hands over her head. The sheet

slipped further down, to her hips.

"Caught you trying to burglarize my apartment," he said, grinning.

"Now, should I call the police, or are you willing to make

amends?"

"What do you want, a blow job?"

His grin widened. "That would be nice. For a start."

An hour later he was lying on his back in the darkened bedroom

and Kate was saying:

"... so I left Alphonsus right after he did and came straight here.

But

I felt so damned tired in this gravity that I had to go to bed."

"A good place for you to be," Gaetano murmured.

"Good for you."

"You didn't enjoy yourself?"

She did not answer.

"Those screams of ecstasy were faked? You should be an actress,

then, not a lawyer."

"A lawyer has to be a good actress, sometimes."

"Come on now, you had a good time, didn't you? Didn't you?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 67

In the shadowy lighting from the room's curtained window, she

could not make out the expression on his face. But she heard the

anxiety in his voice, and she knew that she did not want to make

him unhappy with her.

"I wasn't acting," she lied. "You know I couldn't do that. And

I don't have to. Not with you."

"Am I as good as Clan Randolph?" Gaetano asked.

She shrugged her naked shoulders. "I don't know. I've never

been to bed with him."

"Never?"

"He's never pushed it that far."

"But he has a reputation."

"I think he's getting too old for his reputation."

"Really?"

"He's never done anything more than make jokes to me."

Gaetano fell silent. Then, "Do you think he suspects you?"

"No way. He fell for the Mitchell acquisition without a quaver."

"Malik thinks it was all his idea. He thinks you're working for

him."

Kate said, "I am. And for you."

"For me," he said sharply. "You work for Malik only because I

want you to."

"Right. I know that."

"How is your sister?" he asked, maliciously.

"She's almost through rehab. She's been clean for six months

now."

"It will be difficult for her to find employment, you know, with

her record."

Kate snarled to herself, I know, you olive-oil bastard. I know!

"I will help you there, as well," Gaetano went on. "We can be

of great help to one another."

Bitterly, she replied, "Maybe we ought to get married, then, if

we're so damned helpful to each other."

Even in the darkness she could see his eyes go round. "Married?"

Then he laughed, loud and so hard that he ended up coughing.

68

BEN BOVA

Cough your lungs out, bastard. You and your Russian friend,

both. But she knew that she was tied to this man and his schemes.

There was no way out; each step she took to help him gain more

power tied her to him all the closer. Christ on the cross, we might

as well be married, she thought. I hate him enough to be.

TO HIS SURPRISE, Clan found Nobuhiko already in the silent

kitchen of the Yamagata house, sitting alone at the table closest to

the big walk-in freezer. A bowl of cereal and fruit stood in front of

him, next to a steaming mug of tea. He was wearing a white shirt

and a tie of deep blue with the inevitable white herons on it. His suit

jacket was neatly folded over the back of the chair beside him.

Business costume, Clan knew. He's the head of the company

now; probably going to Tokyo to meet with his board of directors.

"You're up early," Clan said.

"You too."

"I need to charter a plane."

"I'll get you one of the company's planes. Where are you

goingT"

"Tetiaroa. It's a coral atoll near Tahiti."

Nobuhiko's brows rose a fraction of a millimeter.

"A romantic tryst?"

With a displeased shake of his head, Clan replied, "I'm in no

mood for romance right now."

"Ah, yes." Nobo took a crunching spoonful of his cereal while Clan followed the aroma to the automatic coffee maker that had

been set up the night before.

"Did you sleep well?" Nobo asked as Clan poured himself a cup.

70 BEN BOVA

"So-so. How about you?"

"Hardly a wink. I feel as if a great weight has been hung on my

shoulders."

Clan slid into the chair opposite his young friend's. "It has.

You've got the responsibility for the entire ¥amagata empire now."

Nobo looked as if he wanted to say something, but stopped

himself. Finally he asked, "Don't you want something more than coffee?"

"I'll find something. Smoked salmon, maybe."

"In the freezer, I think. I doubt that there are any bagels,

though."

He can make a joke, Clan thought. A weak one, but at least he's

trying. That's a good sign.

He got up from the table and rummaged through the floor-to-ceiling

cupboards, the big restaurant-sized refrigerators and finally

the walk-in freezer. When he returned to the table, Clan was carrying

a tray laden with smoked salmon, cream cheese, a tin of caviar, a

handful of thin crisp biscuits, a large glass of grapefruit juice and the

entire pot of coffee.

Nobo's bowl was empty, his tea mug half drained. The younger

man was plainly unhappy, and making no attempt to hide it.

"Anything I can help with?" Clan asked as he sat down again.

After a moment's hesitation, Nobo replied, "Yes. There is."

"Tell me." Clan slathered cream cheese on one of the crackers.

"Your fusion fuel operation."

Surprised, Clan asked, "What about it?" as he forked a thin layer

of pink salmon onto the cream cheese.

"It's going to cut into our solar power sales. You're going to be

competing against us."

The brittle cracker snapped in Dan's hand. "Damn!" Crumbs and

gobs of cheese and salmon spattered over his dish, the table, his

slacks.

"I've upset you," Nobo said.

"No, I'm just too double-damned clumsy." Clan brushed at his

slacks. "I don't see fusion power competing against the solar satellites.

They should complement each other."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 71

"Our marketing department believes otherwise. Already, projected

sales for solar power are showing a slight downward trend,

for the first time since we built the original sunsat."

Clan took a deep breath. "Look, Nobo, it's only natural for people

making long-term energy commitments to hedge their bets when

something as revolutionary as fusion power comes on the scene."

"Fusion power has been available for more than a decade. It was

never a threat to our sunsats because it was much more expensive.

But now, with helium-three from your lunar mining coming on-stream,

the new fusion power plants will undercut the price of solar

power."

"Hey, I'm your partner on the sunsats, remember? If any throats

get cut, mine will be one of them."

"But you own the entire fusion fuel operation."

"You want to buy in? I'll sell you as big a share of the helium-three

business as I own of your sunsats. Okay?"

Nobuhiko closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if deep in

contemplation. Clan watched him, thinking, It's less than ten hours

since Sai was put away and already he's acting like a captain of

industry. Good for you, Nobo!

"If current projections are accurate," Nobuhiko said at last, "the

long-range trend will be for the world to move toward fusion power

and away from power delivered by solar satellites. That will be very

bad for Yamagata Industries."

"Then buy into fusion," Clan urged. "Do it now, while the price

is still reasonable."

"Eventually," Nobo continued as if he had not heard Dan's

words, "solar power satellites will find no markets on Earth. Fusion

generators, fueled with helium-three from the Moon, will effectively

take the entire market for large central-station electrical power

production."

Clan waited several heartbeats to make certain Nobo had finished

his little speech. He saw that his young friend was trying to

keep his face impassive; the result of his effort was something like

a sCOWl.

Leaning his elbows in the mess on the tabletop and hunching

72 BEN BOVA

toward Nobo, Clan said, "Listen for a minute. It's always a mistake

to try to hold on to a market in the face of radical changes. I think

your marketing analysis is probably pretty close to being accurate:

fusion power will eventually drive out solar power. Not the small-

scale kind of solar, private homes covering their roofs with solarvol

taic cells. Not that kind of thing. But the big multi-gigawatt

sunsats--yes, cheap fusion power will take away their existing

markets."

Nobo took in a deep breath.

Before he could say anything, Clan went on, "The smart thing

II

to do, in such a situation, is to buy into the innovative technology

I1

that will eventually take away your existing market. If you can't

beat 'em, join 'em. Your father understood that."

The young man's eyes blinked rapidly, several times. "I am not

my father," he said flatly.

Dumb mistake, Clan told himself. Never throw the old man at

the son. That's stupid.

"The fact remains," Nobo said, "that your fusion fuel operation

will be competing against our sunsats for some time to come."

"Then buy in!"

"Why should I have to spend capital that we could use to

develop other new industries to buy into your operation?"

"What alternative do you suggest?" Clan asked.

"Limit your sales of fusion fuel."

"What?"

"Limit the sales. You have a monopoly on the mining and

processing of lunar helium-three. Limit sales and you will drive up

the price. That will give you a higher profit margin."

Clan could not believe what he was hearing. "Nobo, I've got a

monopoly because I'm producing helium-three cheaper than anybody

else can. If I start cutting down on production, everybody and

his brother will jump into the game!"

"It will take them years to get into the market."

"The years fly by, pal."

"If you agree to limit production we can work out market shares,

divided between sunsats and fusion generators."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 73

"That's conspiracy in restraint of trade! The GEC would be all

over us in ten minutes!"

"My lawyers assure me ..."

"Your lawyers are full of shit if they're telling you we can carve

up the energy market between us without the GEC slapping us both

in jail!"

"We can handle the GEC."

"And rain makes applesauce."

"You would have made such an arrangement with my father!"

That stunned Clan into silence.

"Wouldn't you?" Nobo demanded. Clan had no reply.

"You don't wish to make such an arrangement with Yamagata

Industries now that I am at its head?"

"Nobo, I can't."

"Then you have decided to try to drive us out of the energy

business."

"No! Not at all! I'm offering you a share of the fusion operation.

And you ought to get your marketing people to start looking at

how the sunsats can be used to deliver power to other space

facilities. Hell, you could beam power all the way out to the asteroid

belt if you wanted to."

"There is nothing in the asteroid belt that needs gigawatts of

power."

"But there will be! Things don't stand still, Nobo. Don't try to

freeze everything in place. You'll get swamped by the changes that

can't be stopped."

"Stop lecturing me. I'm not a child."

"Double-damn it to hell and back, Nobo. You're taking this

personally. It's not personal; it's business!"

The younger man got to his feet and reached for his suit jacket.

"You must pardon me. I am to chair the board meeting in Tokyo this

morning. I will leave word to make a plane available for your flight

to Tahiti."

"Tetiaroa," Clan corrected glumly.

"Wherever. Goodbye."

74 BEN BOVA

Nobuhiko left without a bow, without a handshake, clearly

furious and not even trying to hide his emotions.

Clan stood at the table, thinking, Great way to start the day. I've

just made an enemy out of my old friend's son.

Jane had not slept well, either. She suppressed the memory of her

dreams, recalling only vague images of scenes from her childhood,

and of Morgan, her dead husband. I pushed him into politics, Jane

said to herself as she showered. I made him president. I killed him.

But not before Morgan himself had killed the love that they had

shared. I pushed him into politics, but I didn't force him to take up

with those other women: groupies, power-hungry bitches who slept

with the high and the mighty regardless of who they might be.

Then her anger dissolved as she realized that it was indeed truly her

fault, all of it was her own fault. If she had let Morgan alone, allowed

him to live the quiet obscure life he had originally wanted, he would

be alive today and he would still love no one but her.

But would I love him? Jane asked herself as she dressed. Did I

ever really love him? Or did I merely see in Morgan a man who

could be guided to greatness? Maybe I was his original groupie.

Until I met Clan.

With an effort of steel-hard will Jane shut off her thoughts. I

have a job to do, and I'm going to do it.

She had her limousine drive her to Orly, where she boarded the

Air France flight for Papeete. The hypersonic jet would whisk her

to Tahiti in just over two hours. There a chartered plane waited to

fly her to Tetiaroa. And there, Clan Randolph would be waiting.

Maybe.

With a start, she realized that she had not told Vasily Malik that

she was on her way to rendezvous with Clan. I could call him from

here in the plane, she thought, before the reentry blackout. Or at the

airport in Papeete. Or, better yet, I'll wait until I actually see Clan

on Tetiaroa.

Yes, she said to herself. I'll wait. It will be better to make certain

he's really there before I tell Vasily the good news.

WINGING OVER THE broad Pacific, Clan thought how convenient

it would be if he had a seaplane at his disposal. A flying boat that

could travel at supersonic speed and land anywhere on the ocean,

or a river or a lake. But supersonic speed was just not enough for

a man with global interests. The Yamagata plane he was in could do

Mach 3, and it was taking hours to reach Tetiaroa. A commercial

hypersonic spaceplane, the kind that arched high above the atmosphere

and came back down like a reentering rocket, could cross the

Pacific in less than an hour.

I'll have to phone Jane and tell her I'm at the island, he thought.

She won't come over until she's certain I'm there. She never wants

to be the first one there, wherever it is. She'd rather be six hours late

than two minutes early.

He felt a worrisome uneasiness about calling Jane to confirm

that he was on Tetiaroa. Too many other people could find out.

Somebody like Malik, or one of those other paper-pushing bureaucrats

at the GEC. Clan did not like to let his enemies know his

whereabouts too precisely. Not unless he was safely ensconced in

one of his own strongholds, surrounded by friends.

Friends. He thought about Nobuhiko again. Maybe I ought to

at least try to work out something with him. He's right, Sai and I

would've put together some kind of a deal. I shouldn't have shut him

76 BEN BOVA

off so abruptly. No wonder he's sore. I'll have to get back to him,

try to work out some kind of plan.

The plane droned on. Clan was the only passenger in the six-seat

compartment. The flight attendant, an attractive, slim young Japanese

woman, was sitting in the front row, raptly watching a No

drama on video. Clan gazed out the window at the glittering Pacific,

nothing but sea and sky as far as the eye could see in any direction.

And towering cumulus clouds reaching up beyond their cruising

altitude.

"Mr. Randolph-san," the pilot's voice came humming over the

intercom, "we are being routed around a major storm system bY

traffic control. It will cause an unavoidable delay in our scheduled

arrival, sir."

The flight attendant glanced back over her shoulder at him, as

if to ask what he intended to do about the news. Clan shrugged at

her. She turned her attention back to her video screen.

Clan tried to work. He called his office in Caracas and then his

headquarters at Alphonsus. He plugged his pocket computer into

the video screen on the back of the seat in front of him and went

through the day's inputs of data. Bored by it, he switched to the

global news channel and saw that the big story was the unseasonal

typhoon that had torn across Samoa and was now bearing down on

the Gilbert Islands.

The screen showed a devastated city on one of the Samoan

islands, Clan had not caught which one: buildings blown down, trees

scattered across streets and roads like tenpins, cars crushed, people

homeless, fierce gray surf still pounding the beaches, UN Peacekeeping

troops flying in with their sky blue helicopters to build shelters

and bring food and medicine.

Then the scene shifted to the peaceful atoll of Tarawa. "Scarcely

five meters above sea level at its highest point," the voice-over said

in a crack-of-doom tone, "this scene of one of World War Two's

bloodiest battles may soon face an even more disastrous fate:

Mother Nature on a rampage."

Clan stared at the flat sandy islands of the atoll. Cripes, it's just

EMPIRE BUILDERS 77

like Tetiaroa. If that kind of a storm hit Tetiaroa there'd be nothing

left afterward.

He waited until the newscast turned to its resident meteorologist

and his maps. With considerable relief, Clan saw that the

phoon--named Alphonsc was moving west by north, away from

Tetiaroa.

"It is very early in the season for a killer typhoon of such

mammoth size and strength," the meteorologist was intoning, while

the screen showed a satellite view of the storm. It oas mammoth:

its huge swirling bands of clouds covered thousands of square

kilometers. "And this is only the first storm in what promises to be

a very long and very dangerous hurricane season."

No mention of the greenhouse. Clan switched off the video as

the newscast switched to the sports report. Looking out the plane's

window, he could see a gray smudge far off on the horizon. Alphonse.

Silly name for a killer.

Greenhouse warming of the atmosphere does more than melt

glaciers, Clan knew. The warmer the atmosphere, the more energy

it stores. The more energy, the bigger and more frequent storms

such as hurricanes and typhoons.

It's a good thing I'm going to see Jane, he realized. I've got to

convince her about Zach's greenhouse cliff data.

At one time the "airport" at Tetiaroa had been a strip of sand on the

atoll's largest island alongside the hotel. A small plane could taxi

right up to the open-air registration desk; passengers stepping out

of the plane would be greeted by the room clerk and a grinning,

bare-chested bellman.

Supersonic jets required longer and stronger runways, however.

The French government had started to build a jet landing strip on

the next islet in the coral chain, but the people of Tahiti had won

their independence before the project could be completed, and

for years the jet airport languished half-built. Finally a JapaneseAustralian

consortium bought the hotel, finished the airstrip, and

even connected the two isles with a paved road and a concrete

bridge arched high enough to allow dugout canoes to pass under it.

78 BEN BOVA

The consortium went broke eventually, and the government of

Tahiti took over the entire tourist facility until a new commercial

buyer could be found.

Now, as Clan stepped out of the Yamagata jet onto the hard

surface of the jet runway, a smiling pair of young Polynesian

women dressed in flowered red pareos greeted him with kisses on

both cheeks and leis of colorful fragrant blossoms.

Slipping his arms around each slender waist as a husky young

man took his battered travel bag, Clan started toward the waiting

electric cart, wondering, Why would anyone want to live anywhere

ruinedelse in the world? These people are wonderful. Too bad ChristianitYtheir morals.

The hotel's registration desk consisted of a bamboo counter

beneath a thatched roof supported by four stout pillars, open to the

salty sea breeze. By the time the cart had crossed the guano-spattered

concrete bridge and pulled up at it, Clan was thinking, As

long as Jane's not here, I might as well invite these lovely creatures

to have dinner with me this evening. And then some.

He was shocked when he saw Jane standing in the shade of the

roof off to one side of the registration desk. Tall and regal, her long

auburn hair flowing past her bare shoulders, she too was wearing a

wraparound pareo, forest green with a white floral pattern. Tied at

the neck, it came to a modest midthigh on her.

Clan grinned at her and disengaged from the two Polynesian

women, who giggled and jumped off the cart. He got off more

slowly, and walked toward Jane with his smile fixed on his face.

Stepping out of the tropical sun into the shade of the roof plummeted

the temperature twenty degrees. Or is it just Jane refrigerating

the atmosphere? he asked himself.

"I didn't expect you'd be here waiting for me," he said.

"Obviously," said Jane.

"Very friendly natives." He took one of the leis from around his

neck and draped it over Jane's head, then bussed her on both cheeks.

It was like kissing a statue.

Stepping back from her slightly, Clan said, "I'd better sign in

with the room clerk."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 79

"That's all been done in advance."

"Oh? Thanks." Clan realized that the kid with his travel bag had

disappeared. He grinned again. "Are we sharing a room?"

"Not even in your dreams," Jane snapped.

"You'd be surprised what I dream about."

"Probably not."

"So which hut is mine? Are we next door to each other, at least?"

"It doesn't matter. We're the only two guests in the hotel, at present."

"The only... ?" Clan blinked. "I had heard that business out here

wasn't all that good, but there's nobody else here?" "No one but the staff," said Jane.

"That's damned romantic?

Jane made a sound that he swore was a snort. "I'll see you at

dinner," she said. Turning abruptly away, she headed off toward the

rows of thatched huts that served as guest rooms.

Clan shrugged and turned to the room clerk, a chunky middle-aged

woman who was eying him doubtfully. The two young

women who had greeted him at the airstrip were standing uncertainly

at the far end of the registration desk.

Clan took a deep breath of clean, sweet island air, heavy with the

scents of tropical flowers. The Yamagata jet roared overhead, rattling

his bones with its noise, then dwindled into the bright cloud-flecked

sky.

The sound of the plane ebbed into silence. The sea breeze blew,

the palm trees swayed. After a few minutes of just standing there

admiring the peace and beauty, Clan crooked a finger at the two

young women.

They came over toward him, smiling.

"I wonder if you lovely ladies would be good enough to show

me to my room," he said to them, thinking, When in Rome, do as

the Romans do.

All through dinner Clan tried to figure out what was bothering Jane.

She tells me to meet her here in this isolated little paradise, I come

flying out to her without asking any questions, and she's pissed as

80 BEN BOVA

hell about something. The two little wahines? Can't be that; we're

both too old to get sore at each other's sex lives. Hell, it isn't as if

we're committed to each other. Why should she be sore that I'm

friendly with the local entertainment committee?

No, he decided, watching her pick at her dinner, something else

is bothering Jane. Something inside her. Something that really hurts.

The dining area was out in the open air, as was almost all of the

hotel. The patio was not even roofed over; they could see the stars

glittering gloriously in the dark tropical night. The food was good,

better than good; Clan knew that a Cordon Bleu chef had been flown

in from Rome for the hotel.

He had not known that they would be the only two guests on

the island. That had surprised him. As they sat in private splendor,

watching the stars and the luminous white sand beach, listening to

the surf booming out along the reef, sipping a chilled ros Tavel, Clan thought how idyllic this evening would be if only he and

Jane could forget the past and begin anew.

"You picked a marvelous spot," he said, putting the wineglass

down on the tablecloth.

Jane's wine had hardly been touched. She pushed her plate of

delicately grilled apakapaka away and glanced at the empty patio,

lit by Japanese lanterns and tiny candles on each of the unoccupied

tables.

"Yes, I suppose it is pretty."

She was wearing a soft coral pink dress with a scalloped neckline,

a choker of pearls and diamonds at her throat, her hair done in

an almost girlish ponytail.

"Pretty? It's gorgeous! And you look very beautiful, Jane."

The corners of her lips twitched. "I'm older than those two

wahines you took to your room this afternoon, both of them added

together."

"Them?" Clan laughed. "They just helped me to adjust to the jet

lag."

She gave him a sour look.

"What's bothering you, Jane? Something's tearing up your insides;

I can see it from here, and I'm not a very sensitive person."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 81

Jane looked away from him, out toward the empty beach. He

waited for her to speak. She did not.

With a patient sigh, Clan said, "Okay--I didn't want to add to

your troubles, but I guess I'm going to anyway. While you're

figuring out when you're going to tell me what's eating at you,

think about this: the greenhouse effect is going to hit this planet like

a ton of bricks in just about ten years."

Jane looked straight at him. This subject was impersonal, she

could handle it. "What do you mean by that.'?"

"According to my science people, the global climate is approaching

a kind of cliff. An abrupt change. What they call a

discontinuity."

"In the next ten years?"

Nodding, "Ten is an approximation. Maybe it'll be more, but

not much. Maybe less. If we don't start preparing for it now we're

going to be flooded out."

"The greenhouse effect has been building up for a century or

more," Jane said.

"Yeah, slowly. But Zach Freiberg and the other deep thinkers

tell me there's going to be a sudden change. Glaciers will melt away

entirely. Greenland and Antarctica will melt down. Sea levels will go

way up: twenty, thirty feet, maybe."

"That's preposterous."

"This atoll will be underwater. So will New York be, and Houston,

Caracas, Venicehalf the cities in the world. Millions will be

wiped out, Jane. Hundreds of millions of people are going to be

killed. Hundreds of millions more will be homeless and starving."

"That's a scare scenario. I've heard nothing like that from the

GEC's scientists."

Clan tilted his chair back. "Maybe it's all wrong. I sure don't

know. But Zach's no Chicken Little. He's tried to get your people

to look at his data and all they did was laugh in his face."

Jane frowned at him, but it wasn't her frown of personal disapproval.

This was her "I don't understand what you're telling me"

frown. Clan took it as a good sign.

"I was glad when you asked me to come here and see you," he

82 BEN BOVA

said, "because I needed to tell you about this face-to-face. I've got

Zach's data in my computer, if you want to go over it."

"Tomorrow," she said.

"Good. Then we can go to Paris and tell the rest of the Council

about it."

But Jane shook her head. "No, Clan. You're not going to Paris

or anywhere else. You're staying here."

A tendril of unease tingled up his spine. "What do you mean?"

"Your holdings are being confiscated, Clan. The GEC has

started--"

"Confiscated?" He lurched across the table at her, grabbing for

her wrist. "What do you mean, confiscated?"

Jane avoided his hands. "Just what I said, Clan. You've violated

GEC regulations and the confiscation procedures are under way

right now."

"Son of a bitch!"

"While the procedures are being carried out, you're going to

stay here on Tetiaroa."

"What the hell is this? You mean I'm under arrest?"

She almost smiled. "You're being detained."

"I want my lawyer!"

Jane actually did smile. "You mean the same one that represented

you in the Mitchell Mining acquisition?"

Clan felt his jaw drop open. The anger evaporated. "You mean

Scarlett screwed me7"

"If that's her name. Yes."

He leaned back in his chair and lifted his face to the starry sky

and roared with sudden laughter. "The redheaded bitch screwed me

without laying me!"

Clan laughed so hard tears streamed down his cheeks. Jane sat

across the little table and watched him, startled at his laughter. She

had expected anything but that.

DAN'S LAUGHTER ENDED soon enough.

"I don't see anything funny about this situation," Jane said

coldly.

Wiping at his eyes, Clan replied, "When they hand you a lemon,

make lemonade."

'A/hat?"

Gesturing to the moonlit beach and the star-filled sky, he said,

"Here we are, alone on a tropical island, far away from the rest of

the crazy world. Let's make the most of it."

Her nostrils flared angrily. "Is that all you can think of?"

He quoted:

"'Ah, love, let us be true

To one another.; for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain . . .'"

Jane got to her feet so quickly that her chair fell over behind her.

"Vasily Malik will be here tomorrow to explain the fine details of

the confiscation procedures."

84 BEN BOVA

"Great," said Clan, grinning ruefully up at her.

"You will remain incommunicado on this island until the Council

deems it proper for you to be released."

"Released? To where? Debtors' prison'?. Or will the Council send

me to Malik's Gulag up at ^nstarcnus.

Jane huffed at him, turned on her heel and walked away so fast

that she was almost running.

Go on, Clan called after her silently. Run away. You can run,

gorgeous, but you can't hide.

Then he waved at one of the waiters who had been hovering

off at the edge of the patio. The young man came over and picked

up Jane's chair, then asked, "Sir?"

"The best bottle of Armagnac you've got," Clan ordered. "And

a large snifter."

"Armagnac?' The kid's brow furrowed. "I don't know if we

have---"

"You've got it. Just ask the bartender."

Two minutes later the youngster came back with a green bottle

shaped like a flat canteen and a snifter big enough to keep goldfish

in. Clan smiled and poured for himself. The waiter retreated back to

the shadows.

Holding his glass high, pointing it in the direction that Jane had

taken, Clan finished his quotation aloud:

"'And we are here as on a darkling plain,

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.'"

Then he laughed softly to himself. "But we're going to clash in

broad daylight, Malik and me. Tomorrow."

He awoke with the sun. And a thundering headache. Too much of

a good thing, Clan grumbled to himself as he squinted blearily at the

morning brightness. Armagnac goes down smooth, but leaves a

reminder the next day. Or maybe you're just getting old, pal. Seems

EMPIRE BUILDERS 85

to me you could drink a whole flagon of the stuff without a twinge,

way back when.

Like all the rooms at the hotel, his hut consisted of a thatched

roof and bamboo screening that reached neither the ground nor the

roof. Most of the insects native to the island had been eliminated

by biogenetic controls, but Clan still was not happy about the sand

that inevitably seeped onto the floor matting.

Shrugging, he padded naked to the bathroom, took one bleary

look at himself in the mirror, and decided that corrective action had

to be taken right away. Still naked, he walked out of the hut, away

from the hotel's office and restaurant, toward the lagoon. He

splashed into the water; it was not as warm as he had expected, but

that didn't matter. He dove in, came up sputtering and spouting,

then began methodically swimming parallel to the beach.

He reached the channel between islets, felt the current rushing

outward, and reversed his course. By the time he got back to where

he had started, one of the hotel's boys was standing ankle-deep in

the water, patiently holding a towel for him.

Clan came out of the lagoon and wrapped the towel around his

middle. He was puffing like an old man: swimming was a new sport

to him. He had never had the opportunity to do much of it back in

the days when he lived in orbital space, and somehow when he was

on Earth he was always too busy to take the time to paddle around

in a pool.

It was only a year earlier that he had finally allowed himself to

order a swimming pool built into his quarters at Alphonsus. It had

taken a real effort of mind to convince himself that water, manufactured

from lunar oxygen baked out of rocks and hydrogen scooped

up in the regolith, was no longer as rare on the Moon as it had once

been. It took a lot of energy to produce water, which made it very

expensive. But once Clan realized with a happy surprise that he

could easily afford a hundred swimming pools, he had his own

private one built.

As he started back toward his hut he could feel the tropical sun

baking him dry. He asked the young man walking slightly behind

him, "Is there a plane scheduled to come in today?"

86 BEN BOVA

"I don't know. I can check."

"Yeah, please do. I'll be going to the patio for breakfast."

"Yessir."

By the time he had finished a large glass of orange juice the

youngster came back to report that a plane was indeed due to land

shortly after noon. Clan thanked him, then started in on his breakfast

of ham and eggs. The hotel kept its livestock on one of the islets

on the other side of the lagoon. Even when the wind blew from that

direction, the isle was far enough away so that the smell did not

bother the guests.

What guests7 Clan thought sourly as he ate. This operation can't

be making a profit with only two people here. The double-damned

GEC won't pay enough to break even. Those bureaucrats don't

believe in making profits; just in getting all the privileges of living

like millionaires for themselves.

Jane stayed in her hut all morning and refused to answer his

phone calls. He was supposed to be kept incommunicado from the

rest of the world, so Clan did not even bother to try contacting his

offices. He took out one of the outrigger canoes, paddled around the

lagoon, visited the pigs and chickens on the farthest islet, and

managed to overturn the outrigger in the current between islands,

to the uproarious delight of the Polynesian staff of the hotel, who

apparently had nothing better to do than watch him from the beach.

Standing in four feet of sun-warmed water, Clan righted the

canoe, tilted it to drain the water from inside it, and then rowed with

as much dignity as he could muster back to the hotel's beach. He had

to grin to himself, though: overturning an outrigger must be a rare

sight to these kids.

Clan was lying on the beach, letting the sun dry him and his

swim trunks, when Malik's plane made its appearance. At first it was

only a barely visible dot in the bright blue sky, a foreign intruder

in paradise. Then it came lower, grew into a dark swept-wing shape,

shrieking like a turbine-powered banshee, and finally settled onto

the ground, flaps dangling down, wheels kicking up coral dust when

they touched the runway.

He watched Jane go across the bridge in the electric cart and, a

EMPIRE BUILDERS 87

few minutes later, come back again with Vasily Malik sitting beside

her. Clan smiled to himself at Malik's light blond hair and pale pink

skin. Maybe he'll get sunstroke, he thought happily.

The ozone layer was so damaged that you could get skin cancer

from solar ultraviolet if you weren't careful. But Clan found that he

could not wish cancer on Malik. Not that. Not even for him.

As he got to his feet and brushed the sand off, he saw the cart

go back across the bridge again. The plane's staying, Clan realized.

Malik's planning to leave after he has the chance to gloat over me.

With a grin, he wondered what Malik would do if he swam out to

the plane and took off in it.

"No," Clan muttered to himself. "The sonofabitch would probably

order the Peacekeepers to shoot me down. He'd tell 'em I'm a

terrorist on my way to nuke the Vatican."

So he walked slowly toward the patio dining area. Sure enough,

Malik and Jane were sitting at a table shaded by a broad, gaily

striped umbrella, their heads together like a pair of conspirators.

"What a surprise? Clan shouted as he stepped onto the iron-wood-floored

patio. "Vasily--you've flown all the way from Paris

just to see me'/. I'm honored."

Malik returned his smile. "I wouldn't have missed this occasion

for the world," he said.

Jane looked just as edgy as she had the night before. Maybe

more so, thought Clan. She was wearing a dark blue pair of shorts

and a sleeveless white blouse. Dark glasses were her only concession

to the hot tropical sun overhead. She tans well, Clan remembered,

hoping that she was smart enough to use sunblock anyway.

Malik always seemed to have precisely the correct wardrobe for

every occasion. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a video

advertisement: casual whipcord slacks of light tan, an ivory-colored

short-sleeved shirt with blue-tabbed epaulets, and a woven straw

hat with a snap brim slanted at a rakish angle. No sunglasses, but

his icy blue eyes looked darker than usual. Contact lenses, Clan

concluded. He's too damned conceited even to wear sunglasses.

In nothing but his swim trunks and an unbuttoned open-weave

88 BEN BOVA

shirt, Clan pulled up a chair and joined them in the shade of the

umbrella.

"So tell me," he said cheerfully to Malik, "how busy you're

going to make my lawyers."

Malik gave him a smile full of teeth. "Your lawyers can become

as busy as they like; there is no way for them to save you. You have

clearly broken GEC regulations, which have the force of international

law."

"And just which regulations have I broken?"

Malik explained with great patience and obvious relish, citing

specific clauses and dates. Clan listened, but his eyes strayed to Jane.

She looked as tense as a prisoner facing a firing squad.

"So you see," Malik concluded, "that if any of your lawyers

decide to try to help you, they will have to do it on a pro bono basis.

As of noon tomorrow, Paris time, all of Astro Manufacturing will

be closed down."

"Closed down?" Clan snapped. "You mean you're throwing all

my people out of work'?."

Malik raised a placating hand. "An unfortunate choice of words,

excuse me. Astro will continue to operate, but it will be managed

by specialists from the GEC. Under my direction."

"Holy sheep dip," Clan grumbled.

"It'll be like what happens when a corporation goes into bankruptcy,''

Jane said, her first words since Clan had come to their table.

"Yeah," Clan replied. "The company staggers on, profits drop to

zero, and before you know it the whole organization falls apart."

"Don't be so gloomy," Malik said. "Your employees will remain

faithful to Astro Corporation. They will not be allowed to quit."

Clan fixed him with a sour look. "Another one of your double-damned

regulationsT"

"Yes. Of course." Malik looked wonderfully happy.

With a snort of disdain, Clan leaned both his elbows on the

round table and said, "Okay. Now I've got something reall!important

to tell you about."

Malik looked surprised. "More important than losing your company7''

EMPIRE BUILDERS 89

Nodding, Clan said, "I told Jane about it last night. This is global

trouble: the greenhouse cliff."

"Cliff?"

Clan explained Zach Freiberg's hypothesis about the sudden

warming of the Earth. After he finished, Malik remained silent for

several moments.

"We haven't seen anything like this from our scientific staff,"

Jane said at last.

"Yes, we have," said Malik.

"We have?"

"Your scientists have come to the same conclusion?" Clan asked,

suddenly eager with hope.

Malik nodded warily. "It's been kept in deepest secrecy--"

Jane blurted, "You didn't even tell the rest of the Council!"

"How could I?" Malik said to her. "This is catastrophic news. It

must not leak out to the general public. There would be panic

everywhere,"

Clan gaped at him. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. I knew when your naive Dr. Freiberg

brought his findings to my--our--scientific staff."

"But you should have informed the Council, Vasily," said Jane.

"Break this news to doddering old fools like Sibuti? Or gangsters

like Gaetano? That would be a disaster piled on top of a

catastrophe."

"I don't get it," Clan said. "What in the name of bell's angels are

you doing with the information?"

"Taking your corporation away from you. All of the Big Seven

space corporations must be confiscated. Yamagata comes next."

Dan's temper snapped. He leaped across the table, hands going

for Malik's throat. But the Russian blocked him, grabbed him by the

hair and one arm, and flipped him expertly to the ironwood floor of

the patio. Clan landed with a painful thump, the wind knocked out

of him. Malik stood over him, fists clenched, hat still in place, a

twisted little smile on his lips.

"We are not in zero gravity now, Randolph. I know how to

defend myself. Shall I show you a few karate kicks?"

90 BEN BOVA

Squinting up into the afternoon brightness, Clan saw Jane clutch

at Malik's arm and a pair of beefy hotel boys rushing toward them.

Clan climbed slowly to his feet and waved the boys away. "I'm

okay," he told them. "No problem. We're just having a little fun."

"I've kept up my martial arts training," Malik said, smirking.

"Apparently you've spent all your time in low gravity making

money."

Clan picked up his chair and sat on it, fuming to himself, I'll kill

this sonofabitch one of these days. Too bad I didn't do it when I had

the chance, ten years ago. His backside hurt where he had landed on

the floor, but his only serious injury seemed to be to his pride.

Jane returned to her seat. Malik sat down, too.

"Let me explain something to you, Mr. t-aptans, Malik said.

"You may think that I am carrying out a personal vendetta against

you, but believe me, that is not the case."

"Sure," Clan muttered.

"I learned about the greenhouse disaster more than a year ago."

"And you've done nothing about it."

"Not so." Malik glanced at Jane, then returned his attention to Clan . "But before I tell what I have done, tell me--what would you do to save the world from the coming catastrophe?"

"I'd move heaven and earth to avoid triggering that cliff!"

"Yes, of course. But how?"

"Stop burning fossil fuels, for one thing. It's the carbon dioxide

and methane we pour into the atmosphere that's causing the warming.''

"Not natural causes?" Jane asked.

Both men shook their heads. Malik said, "Astronomers and

geophysicists agree that neither solar activity nor ordinary climate

cycles are causing the global warming trend. Our friend here is

correct: the greenhouse is man-made, almost entirely."

"There's some contribution from cow farts and termite burps," Clan added, "but the overwhelming cause of the warming is the crap

we're putting into the air."

Malik smiled at him. "To get back to my question: How would

you correct this situation?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 91

"Like I said, stop burning fossil fuels. Go to fusion and solar

power. Move as much as possible of the world's industrial base

off-Earth and into orbit. We can make superconducting electrical

motors and batteries in orbit, you know. They can replace petroleum-powered

vehicles."

"All around the world7"

"Right."

"In ten years?"

"What choice do you have? Maybe we can't get it all done in

ten years, but we've got start now and do as much as we can."

Malik drummed his fingertips on the table for a silent moment,

then said, "I agree entirely."

Clan blinked at him. "Then why in hell are you wasting time

trying to drive me out of business?"

"I don't understand it either," Jane said.

"Think about it for a moment," Malik said, with an expression

on his face almost of pity. "It is necessary to make the whole world

convert from fossil fuels to nuclear and solar energy. The entire

world!"

"Yes," Jane said.

"The task cannot be done piecemeal. It cannot be done on a

voluntary basis. We cannot ask people to stop driving their petrol-burning

cars and wait until we can replace them with electrical

vehicles. We cannot expect major corporations to shut down entire

industrial plants for months or years while their electrical power

plants are replaced. For that matter, how can we raise the capital required to build all these fusion power plants and solar power

satellites--in ten years?"

"What choice do we have?" Clan snapped.

Malik took a breath. "A global problem requires global coordination.

And global control."

Clan felt his jaw clench. "I knew it," he muttered. "The whole

frigging world facing disaster and you see it as an opportunity to

establish a double-damned dictatorship."

"Clan, that's not fair!" Jane said. "Vasily has an important point

here. How can you expect--"

92 BEN BOVA

"How can you expect free men to act in their own best interest?" Clan felt the anger rising in him again. "A lot better than they'd be

able to act when some double-damned global bureaucracy is grinding

them down."

Malik raised his hands in an I told you so gesture. "You see? That

is exactly how I expected you to react. You and your fellow

capitalists. That is why it is necessary to remove you from control

of Astro Manufacturing. The Council needs Astro's assets if we are

to avert this disaster."

"And Yamagata's?" Clan asked.

"Yamagata also. And all the other privately owned space industries;

all seven of them. They are the key to the world's survival.

Once the Council controls all the Big Seven space industries--"

"You'll have accomplished what you failed to do ten years ago," Clan said.

Ignoring him, Malik finished, "We will be able to begin the

process of converting from fossil fuels to nuclear and solar energy,

worldwide."

"And if you succeed, what happens afterward? Will you turn all

the space industrial facilities back to their rightful owners?"

Malik's smirking grin returned. "Why, Mr. Randolph, you surprise

me. By then, the Global Economic Council will be the legal

owner of all space facilities. In the name of the peoples of Earth, of

course. For the common good."

"Bullshit!" Clan answered fervently.

Malik's expression hardened. "You think that I am doing this for

my own personal gain. What do you call it? A power trip?"

"An ego trip," Clan growled.

"That is not the case. What I do I do to save the world from the

coming catastrophe. My own personal power, my ego, they mean

nothing. I act for the good of all the world's peoples. Not for profit."

"Sure," said Clan. "And rain makes applesauce. If you actually

believe that, you're the worst kind of fool. There's only one sin in

the world: poverty. And there's only one crime: believing your own

propaganda."

"DON'T YOU SEE?" Clan pleaded with Jane. "All he's after is

power! He's using this cataclysm as an excuse to grab total world

power."

They were walking glumly along the beach as the sunset turned

the cloud-streaked sky into flaming reds and oranges.

"Clan, you're not being fair to Vasily."

"Like hell I'm not."

"I don't like what he wants to do, but I've got to agree with him.

I don't see how we can accomplish what needs to be done without

the authority of the law behind us. We need the GEC's control over

the situation. Otherwise..." Her voice trailed off into silence.

Ignoring the beauty of the fading day, Clan urged her, "He

wants to be dictator of the world. He'll be using economic power

instead of military, but by the time the shit hits the fan he'll be a

world-class Napoleon. Or worse yet, a Stalin."

"He's not like that," she insisted. "He's really concerned. He sees

this course of action as the only one that has a chance of working."

"And if it does work, he'll be sitting on a throne for the rest of

his life."

"If it doesn't work, he'll take the blame."

Clan grunted. "Yeah, maybe. If he hasn't taken total control of

the world's media by then."

94 BEN BOVA

"Be fair!"

"Fair? He knew! The sonofabitch knew all about the greenhouse

cliff for a frigging year and he didn't tell anybody about it. He didn't

even tell you or the rest of the Council."

"Yes, I know. He was afraid that the news would leak out

prematurely. Can you imagine what effects it will have on people

when we do start to tell them? The panic?"

"The stock market," Clan muttered.

Jane stopped walking and turned to face Clan. Standing there on

the beach, the dying sun behind her, the sky flaming with color, she

looked to him like a tall, strong, beautiful goddess just come out °f

the sea.

"Clan," she said, "we've got to work with Vasily, not against

him. There's no other way."

"I don't have to do a damned thing. He's arranged it that way,

hasn't he?"

"He knew you'd fight against him."

Clan nodded. "He's right."

"But if you'd promise to cooperate--"

"Cooperate? While his paper-pushing desk jockeys try to run

my company? It'll take those drones ten years just to rework the

organization charts!"

She sighed heavily and started back toward the huts of the

hotel. "I'll be leaving tomorrow morning, you know. I have an

enormous amount of work ahead of me."

"And I'm supposed to stay here. How long?"

She shrugged.

Striding alongside her, he reached for her hand. "Well, at least

we've got tonight together."

He could not tell in the dying light, but he almost thought he

saw tears in her eyes.

"Oh Clan," she said, "it's like everything in the whole blessed

world stands between us. Has always stood between us."

"There's nothing in the world between us now," he replied

gently. "Tonight there's only the two of us on this beautiful island.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 95

The past is dead and gone and tomorrow doesn't exist yet. But we

have tonight."

"Yes," she murmured. "We have tonight."

Clan awoke when his wristwatch's silent alarm sent its pulsed tingling

signal up his left arm. It was still dark. Jane lay sleeping

soundly next to him, a thin sheet pulled halfway up her alabaster

body. For long minutes he sat in bed gazing down at her in the dim

light of the digital clock on the dresser across the room. God but

you're beautiful, he told her silently. To think of all the years we've

spent apart. What a waste. What a cosmically tragic waste.

Slowly, softly, he slipped out of the bed, not wanting to awaken

her. He grabbed a swimsuit and T-shirt from the pile in the corner

of the hut and padded out naked into the starlit predawn. Grinning

to himself, he took his pick of the empty huts, taking one as far from

his own as he could. There he urinated and showered, patted his

graying hair into some semblance of order, pulled on the trunks and

T-shirt, and then marched determinedly to the hotel's office.

No one was at the registration desk. The kitchen looked dark

and empty. Clan knew that the staff slept in the long hut behind the

office building, but the manager and his wife had a private suite in

the building itself. It was a small cottage, the only building on the

islet that had solid walls instead of bamboo screens.

There was no lock on the building's front door. Why bother7

Where would a thief go on this atoll7 All the islets put together

barely added up to a few square kilometers. You could see a man

standing on the pig farm from all the way across the lagoon; with

binoculars you could make out his face.

Clan let himself in. The entire ground floor of the little cottage

was a single room: the hotel's business office. The overhead lights

went on automatically as the wall sensor reacted to his body heat. Clan saw a desk with a computer and phone console on it, two rattan

chairs with gaudy flowered cushions, and a small bookcase that

seemed to hold brochures advertising the hotel and nothing else.

The manager gets up early, he told himself. I'll just wait for him

to come downstairs.

96 BEN BOVA

He sat in one of the rattan chairs and was almost dozing off

when he heard the sound of water gurgling through pipes. A few

minutes later, the manager came downstairs, looking more angry

than surprised that Clan was waiting for him.

"Mr. Randolph," he said, "what are you doing here?"

The manager was Polynesian, short and round-bellied, old

enough for his short-cropped hair to be snowy white. He wore

loose-fitting shorts and a brightly flowered shirt, unbuttoned: his

business attire.

"I want you to phone your supervisor in Papeete," Clan said.

are not allowed to make phone calls, sir."

"iIY°wUant you to call him."

Puzzled, the manager asked, "Why?"

"So that he can call his boss in Port Moresby."

"Is this some kind of a joke, Mr. Randolph?"

"Nope. Just tell him that Mr. Randolph is declaring an emergency.

And give him the code number fifty-six, twenty-five, seventy-five,

thirty-nine. He'll understand."

It took ten minutes of persuasion and an electronic transfer of

three hundred Australian dollars from Dan's bank in Sydney before

the manager reluctantly, suspiciously phoned his supervisor. Clan

sat comfortably in the cushioned rattan chair as the manager's call

was transferred from Papeete to Port Moresby to Honolulu to San

Diego and finally to Caracas. With each transfer the man's eyes

became wider.

Clan could see white all around the manager's pupils by the time

he handed the phone over. Smiling his thanks, Clan heard a computer's

synthesized voice say, "Please repeat the security code for

voice check."

Clan said, "Fifty-six, twenty-five, seventy-five, thirty-nine."

"Voice check positive. Stand by please."

A woman's voice said, "Security, O'Dare."

"Scramble," said Clan.

"All messages on this line are scrambled, Mr. Randolph. And

carried by laser link to avert tracing."

Clan grinned. She was curt and sharp, no wasted breath. Good.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 97

"I'm on an atoll near Tahiti called Tetiaroa. I need an airlift to

a space launching facility where I can get to Alphonsus City as

quickly as possible."

Hardly a heartbeat's delay. Then, "Computer shows commercial

flights to Alphonsus scheduled from Yamagata center in Tokyo Bay

in twelve hours."

"Not soon enough. I need a high-energy boost, too. I can't

afford to spend several days in transit."

"We can roll out a private booster at La Guaira, have it ready

for you by the time your plane gets you here."

"What about Cape York? Don't the Aussies have anything

heading for A1phonsus?"

"Not for the next thirty-six hours, sir."

The hotel manager's mouth had gone just as round as his eyes. Clan grinned at him as he said into the phone, "Get a spaceplane to

Papeete. Set up an OTV at space station Nueva Venezuela for a

high-energy bum to Alphonsus. Top priority and top security. Have

a plane from Papeete pick me up here and fly me back to the airport.

I don't want anyone to know that the plane is coming to Tetiaroa.

That's vital. And it's all got to be done before noon, my time."

"Yessir, Mr. Randolph. I'm keying it in right now."

"Good work, O'Dare."

Handing the phone back to the goggle-eyed manager, Clan

thought, Malik'll find out about the spaceplane as soon as its flight

plan is filed. Maybe he'll be suspicious about a flight from Papeete

to Nueva Venezuela, maybe not. But he can't react fast enough to

stop me. And he won't know anybody's coming here to pick me up.

He thinks he's got me stuck on this atoll. My people on the space

station can get me off to Alphonsus before he knows what's happening.

Walking out of the office into the first pale light of dawn, Clan

told himself, If we move fast enough we can get away with it. I'll

be on my way to Alphonsus before Malik knows I've left Tetiaroa.

Jane was sitting up in bed, still half asleep, when he got back to

the hut. She modestly pulled the sheet over her bosom. Clan grinned

at her reaction, thinking back to their lovemaking during the night.

98 BEN BOVA

I guess the truce is over, he said to himself.

"Where've you been?" she asked.

"Took a walk."

She looked slightly suspicious, but as he got back into bed

beside her, Jane's expression changed.

"How did you like your lemonadeT" she asked.

"Huh7"

"You told me that when they hand you a lemon, you should

start making lemonade. How did you like the lemonadeT"

Grinning, "You're no lemon, Jane. You're a peach." He kissed

her and she kissed back and their bodies twined together once again.

They barely had time to pull on their swimsuits and take a dip

in the lagoon before they heard a plane coming in. Jane squinted up

into the bright morning sky.

"It's early," she said.

"I don't think that's your plane," said Clan.

"Who"

"It's for me. And you."

She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

'vYe're going to Alphonsus. Grab your bag." He started toward

their hut as the plane swooped in for its landing.

"You can't leave this island!" Jane shouted after him.

"Watch me. And you're coming too."

She dashed after him. "What do you mean? You weren't even

allowed to make a phone call. We warned the manager and his entire

staff!"

"Honey, the manager and the entire staff work for me. I bought

this joint, the whole frigging chain, the day you invited me to meet

you here."

"You what?"

He stepped into the hut and began tossing his scattered belongings

into his travel bag. "You ought to check up on the ownership

of the places where you want to hold prisoners. Not that it would've

done you much good. There're four other corporations between me

and this hotel chain. You'd'ye spent a couple of days following the

paper trail to find me."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 99

"You sneaking bastard!"

He looked up at her, standing in the doorway, fists planted on

her hips. The swimsuit she wore was a formfitting maillot, emerald

green.

"You're calling me a sneak?" Clan laughed. "I didn't invite you

here for the purpose of sticking you in the slammer."

"And last night--you knew you were going to do this! And this

morning!"

"I knew I was going to try. I'm not going to let Malik or you

or the Pope in Rome steal my company away from me. Not without

a fight."

Furious, Jane pounded a fist against the bamboo screening. It

rattled as if one more shot would knock it down.

"Come on, come on, we don't have time to waste."

"I'm not going with you!"

"You sure as hell are."

"No?'

Closing the Velcro seal on his travel bag, Clan said, "Jane, I may

be old and slow and softened by living on the Moon too much.

Maybe Malik can beat the crap out of me. But I can still fling you

over my shoulder and carry you out to that plane, if I have to."

She glared at him. "You'd have a heart attack halfway there."

Shrugging, "Then I'll be dead and that'll be the end of it. Will

you cry over my body?"

"I'll do something else over your body!"

"That's not very ladylike. Come on, time's wasting."

"I'm not going," she insisted.

He stepped up to her, smiled sweetly, and said, "Either you

come with me conscious, or I'll knock you out cold and drag you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I wouldn't like to."

"A minute ago you were going to carry me."

"Stop stalling. I need you as a hostage. Otherwise that damned

Malik would probably use one of the orbiting lasers to blast my

spacecraft."

100

BEN BOVA

Jane looked at him. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Totally."

She went to the dresser and began emptying the drawers into

her carry bag.

I'VE GOT TO remember to give O'Dare a bonus, Clan told himself.

A big one.

The half-hour flight to Papeete was thankfully uneventful. The

spaceplane was waiting on the runway, sleek and delta-winged and

glistening white in the late-morning sun. Clan and Jane stepped from

the little jet that had carried them from Tetiaroa directly into the

spaceplane's big, empty passenger compartment. With only a routine

holdup by traffic control, the spaceplane trundled out onto the

runway and arrowed into the sky, engines screaming.

Plenty of people come to Papeete on their own private planes, Clan reassured himself. They land spaceplanes here on a regular

schedule. This isn't so unusual. I hope.

The transfer at the space station Nueva Venezuela went

smoothly enough. Jane behaved herself, and the two of them went

from the spaceplane's hatch into the zero-g receiving area at the hub

of the station and directly through an access tunnel into the claustrophobic

cabin of a modified orbital transfer vehicle.

"How do you feel?" Clan asked his hostage as they swam

weightlessly to their seats in the OTV's passenger deck.

"A little queasy," Jane admitted. "It's been a long time since I've

been in zero-g? Clan opened the compartment built into the seat's armrest and

102 BEN BOVA

rummaged through its innards. Finally he pulled out a slim plastic

package. Tearing it open, he handed Jane a little circular medicinal

patch.

"Slap this on behind your ear. It helps a lot."

She started to nod, turned pale, and pressed the patch against

her neck.

There were no windows in the passenger deck, and even if there

were they would not have been able to see much of the vehicle they

were in. An OTV was built for efficiency, not style. Since it flew

only in the vacuum of space, it did not need the streamlining or

airfoils of an airplane. It had a rocket engine, maneuvering jets,

propellant tanks, cargo bay, a cramped compartment for up to six

passengers (eight, the standard wisdom claimed, if they were in

love) and docking probes to latch on to a space station or another

spacecraft. Plus a two-person flight deck perched at its top like a

single bulbous eyeball.

From the outside it looked like an ungainly, unlikely, unlovely

collection of metallic spheres and cylinders and cones. This particular

OTV was also fitted out, Clan knew, with two extra oversized

propellant tanks and spindly, spraddly legs ending in broad round

footpads, so that it could set down on the surface of the Moon.

The ship's copilot floated down from the flight deck, feet dangling

in midair, only one hand lightly touching a rung of the ladder.

A longtime veteran of space flight, Clan could see: grizzled short-cropped

hair and a shoulder patch on her Astro coveralls that read:

GREATEST GRANDMOM IN THE SOLAR SYSTEM.

"Mr. Randolph, flight control has asked us to hold for a few

minutes. They said something about a message coming up from

Earthside." She looked more annoyed than worried.

"Are we cleared for departure?" Clan asked.

"We've got a six-minute window. They've asked us to hold until

the message comes in. It must be a message for you, I guess."

"Screw it. Let's get moving. The message can catch up with us

while we're in transit."

The greatest grandmom in the solar system nodded her agree

EMPIRE BUILDERS 103 ment. "You're the boss." And she pulled herself effortlessly up

through the hatch and back into the flight deck.

lane had a bit more color in her face. "You think the message

is from VasilyT"

"Who else7 And it's not for me, it's for the station security

officer to check exactly who's aboard this OTV and why they're

heading for Alphonsus."

"He must know we've left Tetiaroa.'

"Yep. By now."

They felt the slightest of bumps. Detaching from the docking

collar, Clan thought. Then a soft pressure, nothing more than a

feeling of settling back in their seats.

"Departing for Alphonsus," came the captain's voice over the

intercom speaker. "Estimated flight time, eighteen hours, eleven minutes."

That's the best we can do, Clan realized. High-energy burn, and it still takes

more than eighteen hours to get there. He sighed to

himself. Well, it's better than the three days the Apollo astronauts

needed. But, hell, eighteen hours! Malik could take over A1phonsus

and have a firing squad waiting for me by the time we get there.

Rafaelo Gaetano tried not to let his displeasure show. As calmly as

he could, he took a cigarette from the silver-inlaid box on his desk

and stuck it between his lips.

Malik was obviously upset. The Russian paced across the Persian

carpet in front of Gaetano's desk, hands clasped behind his

broad back, face sunk in a frown of deep thought.

"He got away?" Gaetano asked, in a tone that was almost

teasing. "How could he get away from an island in the middle of the

Pacific? Did he sprout wings?"

Malik gave him a stare that would boil water. "He is a very

clever man. Extremely resourceful. And enormously wealthy. God

knows how many bribes he paid out. My people are interrogating

the hotel staff."

"Do you know where he's gone?"

104 BEN BOVA

"No, not precisely. But I have a good idea of where he's running

to."

Gaetano picked up his heavy silver lighter and puffed the cigarette

to life while Malik resumed his pacing.

"So?" Gaetano asked, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

"Alphonsus. He'll be surrounded by his own employees there."

"BUJlgnce the confiscation is completed they will be his employees

no I-ringer. They will be ours."

"Perhaps," Malik muttered, staring out the window. "Perhaps.

Loyalty is a strange thing. They may remain loyal to him."

The Italian swiveled his desk chair around and saw that a half

moon was rising, milky pale, in the late-morning sky. He smiled to

himself.

Turning back to Malik, he said, "Arrest him when he arrives at

Alphonsus. That should be simple enough."

"Arrest him on what charge?" Malik snapped. "The plan was to

detain him on Tetiaroa. That was close to being illegal, but I was

ready to take that risk. But I cannot order our handful of people at

A1phonsus to arrest the man without some clear criminal charge

against him. A criminal charge-not this confiscation matter."

Gaetano steepled his fingers in front of his face, the cigarette

held between forefinger and thumb. Squinting from behind the

smoke, he suggested, "Shoot him down, then, before he gets to

A1phonsus. Get rid of him once and for all."

Malik started across the carpet again. ]esuto, he's going to wear

a path through it, Gaetano thought.

"He has Jane Scanwell with him," the Russian growled.

"What?" Gaetano nearly jumped out of his chair.

"She's with him. We know that much. We can't kill the American

representative to the Council. She's a former President of the

United States, for god's sake!"

"She's gone with him willingly?"

"How should I know?"

Gaetano smiled and spread his hands in a happy gesture of

fulfillment. "There is the answer to the problem. Randolph has

EMPIRE BUILDERS 105

kidnapped the American representative to the Council. Kidnapping

is an act of terrorism, according to international law, is it not?"

Malik stopped his pacing and stared at the younger man. "Yes!

Of course! Kidnapping." For the first time that morning he smiled.

"You see? There is a solution to every problem."

The Russian's smile eroded. "But Scanwell might say that she

went with him voluntarily."

"Do you think there is such a possibility?"

Malik took the leather chair in front of the desk. "I don't know.

They were lovers once, from what I've heard. Perhaps she still loves

him."

"That would be a complication."

'"Yes."

Gaetano brightened. "But you could still arrest Randolph on

suspicion of kidnapping, and hold him until Scanwell gave an official

statement to the security people at Alphonsus."

Malik's smile glimmered again. "Or hold him until a special

investigating team can be assembled and sent to Alphonsus."

"Exactly! That would take a week, ten days--perhaps even

longer."

"And by that time the confiscation procedures will be completed

and Randolph will be a man without a corporation."

Gaetano took a long puff on his cigarette, thinking, You see? I

have worked out the entire problem for you in less time than it took

me to smoke one cigarette.

But he said nothing of the kind aloud to Malik.

All during the long flight to Alphonsus Clan had to force himself to

stay away from the radiophone. He wanted to give orders to his

people in A1phonsus, he wanted to fry the ass off Kate Williams, he

wanted to find out what was going on and how far Malik and his

GEC snakes had gotten with their confiscation order.

But no matter how much he fretted he kept silent. Maintain

radio silence, he repeated to himself ten thousand times. Don't let

them know for certain that you're aboard this bucket on your way

to Alphonsus.

108 BEN BOVA

But he could listen. For hours on end he sat with headphones

clamped on and had the OTV's captain tune to the business chatter

between his office at A1phonsus and Astro's terrestrial headquarters

at Caracas.

What he heard was not good. GEC executive orders had already

been filed, notifying Astro management that the corporation was to

be confiscated. Teams of GEC administrators had already invaded

the Caracas offices and several other facilities elsewhere on Earth. It

was only a matter of days, perhaps hours, before they showed up

at Alphonsus.

Again and again he heard his top staff people grappling with the

problem as best they could, always asking:

"Where's Clan? We need him to fight this."

"Where's the boss?"

"Why isn't he available? Where the hell is he?"

Nobody knew. Clan fumed in frustrated silence as the OTV plied

its fixed trajectory toward Alphonsus. Malik hit it just right, he

groused to himself. The Russian sonofabitch knew my people

couldn't meet this threat effectively without me to okay their decisions.

And my own goddamned insistence on secrecy has just

muddled things worse. Nobody to blame but myselfmand that

double-damned Russian.

At least his board of directors had called an emergency meeting,

in Tokyo. Sai-- No, Clan corrected himself. Nobo's on the board.

And he's pissed as hell with me. Will he let his personal anger get

in the way of his business sense? Christ, I really could lose everything

I've got!

Jane slept a good deal of the time they were in transit. Clan tried

to nap but could not. The captain came down and fixed himself a

meal at the little galley built into the side bulkhead of the passenger

deck. Later on the copilot came down and prepared a tray for

herself.

"You ought to eat something," Clan told Jane, halfway to the

Moon. "How's your stomach?"

"I'm fine. The medication seems to be working, but it makes me

feel drowsy."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 107

"Psychosomatic."

The corners of her mouth curled upward slightly. "We didn't get

all that much sleep that last night on the island, you know."

He grinned back at her. "You're bragging."

Gesturing to the headphones floating aimlessly beside Clan, she

asked, "How are things going?"

"Piss poor."

"From your point of view or mine?"

Clan stared at her a moment, adjusting his thinking to recall that

they were on opposite sides, politically.

"My point of view," he said. "Malik's steamrolling through my

people. He's got GEC teams taking over all my offices."

"At Alphonsus, tooT"

"Not yet. But they're on their way, I'll bet."

"Have you given any thought to what you're going to do once

we get there?"

Clan shook his head. "Not much I can do. Not legally. I doubt

that Malik would listen to any offers from me to negotiate."

"Probably not," Jane said. "He's got the upper hand; why should

he give away anything?"

"And you're on his side? Really?"

"I've got to be, Clan."

"It won't work, you know. Malik's way won't work. Not in time.

They'll move too slowly. They'll want to have everything properly

organized, everything neat and exact. We don't have the time for

that kind of bureaucratic bullshit. We have to move fast. Nowt

Move!"

Jane shook her head. "We can't afford a chaotic approach to this.

We need organization on a global scale."

He stared at her. "Christ, you really are one of them, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am," she said.

"So you're going to let him set up his dictatorship while the

world goes to hell in a greenhouse."

Firmly, she answered, "I am going to help the Global Economic

Council to coordinate all the human race's resources--all of them,

108 BEN BOVA

off-Earth as well as on the planet--to avert the disaster that is

threatening us."

"And grind me up into little pieces in the process," Clan said.

She reached out to touch his arm. "Clan, just because you're

losing your corporation doesn't mean that your life is finished. You

could help us--help me."

"What do you want me to do," he snarled, "run for President of

the United States for you?"

Her face went white. Her nostrils flared. Finally she said, "No,

Clan. As far as I'm concerned you can go to hell."

IT WAS A gray day in Ulan Bator, although by craning his neck and

looking up high, Altan Lodoi could see that the sky above was the

perfect clear blue for which Mongolia was famous. Tourists flew in

from all over the world to see that brilliant cloudless sky and the

endless desolation of the barren Gobi.

Too much of Mongolia's economy depended on tourism to suit

Lodoi. Whole clans dressed up in costumes out of the Great Khan's

era and lived in round felt gers like nomads while the foreigners

taped pictures and called the mobile tents yurts, their Russian name.

All the days were gray here in the capital, he thought as he

stared out the window. Five million people have crowded into the

city. Their automobiles and heaters and cooking fires draped Ulan

Bator in a perpetual canopy of choking, foul-smelling smog. He

wrinkled his nose, even though inside the capitol building the air

was filtered and cool and almost as lovely as a spring day out in the

grasslands of his home.

Altan Lodoi was the nation's Minister for the Environment, the

youngest member of the powerful inner cabinet, and the least likely

to be listened to.

"His Excellency the President!" called the cabinet secretary as

the door to the old man's office swung open.

Jamsrangyn tottered in, a little bald man with a perpetual one

110

BEN BOVA

sided smile caused by a stroke that had nearly killed him more than

a year ago. But the President of the Mongolian Republic was as

tough as they came, physically. The only visible reminders of his

stroke were the smile and the slightly uneven stumbling of his gait.

"Be seated, gentlemen," he said as he took the slightly raised

high-backed padded chair at the head of the gleaming conference

table.

Lodoi and the four other members of the inner cabinet took their

customary chairs, Lodoi at the foot of the table. Each of the men

wore Western-style business suits. Even though Lodoi yearned for

the old days of legend, it would not have occurred to him to wear

anything else.

The secretary sat himself slightly behind the President, his Japanese

digital recorder on his lap.

"I call this meeting to order," said the President, slurring the

words only slightly. "Fill in the proper time and date, Hatgal," he

told his secretary.

The five ministers seated around the table used both their family

and given names, a custom adopted from their neighbors. The

President, however, stuck with the older Mongol tradition and

allowed people to address him only by one name. His secretary

followed suit, a small affectation but an annoying one.

President Jamsrangyn turned to his Minister of Energy, a lean

and bony dour-faced former engineer.

"Oyun," said the President, "I believe you have good news for

us--for a change."

The others laughed, even the Energy Minister. All except Lodoi.

As Minister for the Environment, he knew he would have to speak

out against Energy's recommendations, and that the rest of the inner

cabinet would hate him for what he had to say.

"Very good news," said Energy. "For a change," he added, with

a rare smile. "All the results of our test cores and preliminary mining

samples confirm that the Altai deposits are enormous. We can be

exporting coal to China and the Russian Federation within two

years,"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 111

"The price of coal on the world market is climbing steadily," said

the Minister of Commerce.

"Predictions for the next two years?" the President asked.

"Coal will increase in value as the price of oil increases. And oil

prices are climbing steeply as global oil reserves continue to be

depleted."

Lodoi raised his hand to be recognized, but the President instead

asked the Foreign Minister, "Will the Global Economic Council

enforce a limit on the price of coal?"

The Foreign Minister, sleek and overweight, with greased-back

hair and manicured fingernails, said smoothly, "Even if they do, it

will be at a higher figure than the world price today."

Lodoi waved his hand this time, but the President continued to

ignore him by asking the Energy Minister to continue his report.

Energy went back to extolling the treasures of the new coal deposits

that had been discovered.

Unable to control his growing anger, Lodoi interrupted, "What

is the sulfur content of this new coal?"

The Energy Minister stopped in the middle of his presentation,

blinked several times. Without turning his face away from the

President he said, "Sulfur content is about the same as our older coal

deposits to the north."

"In other words," Lodoi snapped, "high sulfur, high pollution."

The former engineer finally turned to face him. "The sulfur can

be removed by scrubbers."

"If the users go to the expense of installing scrubbers in their

power plants."

"We use scrubbers."

"Yes, and look how much good it does us!" Lodoi angrily waved

a hand toward the window.

The President glared down the table at his Minister for the

Environment. "What does it matter to us if those who buy our coal

use scrubbers or not? Let them foul their own nests if they want to,

it is of no concern to us."

Jumping to his feet, Lodoi pleaded with the older men, "Don't

you see? Can't you understand? It does matter to us! Even with

112 BEN BOVA

scrubbers, coal-burning is turning our city into a cesspool. Cases of

asthma, emphysema, tuberculosis and even lung cancer are rising

faster than our medical facilities can handle them?

"That's not true!" the Foreign Minister snapped. "And even if it

was, such tales should not be told where foreigners could hear

them."

"It's worse than that," Lodoi said, inwardly surprised at the pain

and sorrow in his voice. He wanted to sound strong; to himself he

sounded like a crying old woman. "No matter who burns the coal,

no matter where it is burned--it adds to the greenhouse effect. It

makes the world hotter. Don't you realize that the climate is already

The Foreign Minister chuckled. "Yes. In a few more years we'll

be able to grow rice in the Gobi."

"And build seashore resorts with the profits from our coal sales,"

laughed the Minister of Commerce.

"We've got to stop burning coal!" Lodoi insisted. "And oil, too.

All the fossil fuels are destroying our global environment. We must

stop exporting coal--"

"Never!" snapped the President. "Our coal exports are a major

source of foreign income. With the .new Altai deposits, coal revenues

will top our income from tourism and all other foreign trade.

We cannot afford to stop exporting coal and we will not do so.

Never."

"But the greenhouse ..."

"That's a problem for our grandchildren to worry about," said

the President.

Everyone around the table agreed, except for the one man who

understood the problem.

You've done a great job of alienating anybody who can help you, Clan told

himself as he waited impatiently to get out of the OTV.

Jane was sitting stiffly in her seat, looking anywhere but at him.

The cramped little spacecraft had finally landed at Alphonsus. Clan

could hear through the open hatch of the flight deck the captain

going through the landing procedures checklist with the ground

EMPIRE BUILDERS 113

crew. The access tunnel had been rolled out and connected to the

OTV's airlock hatch. Now they were checking the air pressure and

the integrity of the hatch seal. All done remotely; the ground crew

remained in the safety of their underground offices and teleoperated

the machinery out on the open lunar surface.

"Check. Air pressure in the green. Cracking the hatch now."

The copilot slid gracefully down the ladder in the low lunar

gravity and went to the hatch built into the side of the passenger deck.

"Hold your breath," she said over her shoulder, with a wink.

She pulled the hatch open. A puff of air sighed into the spacecraft.

It smelled fresh and clean after more than eighteen hours in the

cramped compartment.

Clan had phoned his office the instant the OTV had touched

down and made hard-wire connections with the Alphonsus spaceport.

Now a quartet of worried-looking men stood at the hatch to

the terminal as he and Jane made their way through the ribbed

plastic of the access tunnel in the stalking, long-striding walk of

one-sixth g. The two younger men wore standard lunar garb: single-piece

coveralls, color-coded by job specialty. Clan saw that these

two wore the policeman blue of Astro's security department.

The other two, older, grimmer-faced, were in identical business

suits: pearl gray cardigan jackets over white turtleneck shirts, with

sharply creased slacks of charcoal gray. The midlevel executive's

uniform, Clan thought sourly. He himself was in faded old coveralls

that had once been forest green. Jane was wearing the business suit

she had come to Tetiaroa in, beige slacks, tan jacket and off-white

blouse.

"Welcome, Mr. Randolph!" said the taller of the two executives. Clan

scanned his memory and came up with the man's name: Hubert

Peel. Bert stuck out his hand and tried to smile bravely. He was

several centimeters taller than Clan, but his gut bulged unheroically.

Clan shook hands with him and with the other guy, shorter,

balding, his round moon face cut in half by a flowing luxurious dark

moustache. Harold Schmidt, Clan recalled.

"This is President Scanwell," Clan introduced, "the American

114 BEN BOVA

representative to the Global Economic Council. Madam President

will want to arrange transportation back Earthside immediately."

Each man shook hands with Jane and mumbled his own name,

seemingly embarrassed to meet a former President--and one of the

enemy.

Then they started toward the conveyor-belt people mover that

led to the main dome of the A1phonsus complex.

"I wish you had let us have some advance warning of your

arrival, Mr. Randolph. All hell's broken loose here," Bert said.

"I can imagine. Where's Kate Williams?"

"She went back Earthside a couple days ago," said Harry, scurrying

to keep up with the rapid pace Clan was setting. The two

security youngsters had taken Jane in hand, literally; unused to the

lunar gravity, she had stumbled and almost fallen. Now the two

young men held her arms and helped her along. Clan glanced once

over his shoulder and saw that she was in good hands. Then he

turned his attention back to his two aides.

"There's a GEC team on its way here," Bert was explaining.

"We've already received legal notification that the GEC is taking

over control of the entire corporation."

Harry said, "GEC teams have been hitting every one of our

Earthside offices. It's like police raids."

"Or a hostile takeover," Bert said.

"Very hostile," said Clan.

"We were told we're not supposed to have any further dealings

with you," Harry added. "Not even talk to you."

Clan grinned at him. "You're not obeying an official GEC order?"

"Shit, boss, you're the guy we work for."

"Not for much longer," Clan said ruefully. "They've got me by

the balls."

"The GEC's really taking over?" Harry seemed aghast. "But they

can't do that! They don't know how to run this operation."

"Doesn't matter to those double-damned bureaucrats. They've

got the law on their side, it looks like."

They reached the sliding way and stepped onto it. Still Clan kept

up the rapid pace. Jane and her escorts fell farther behind.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 115

"What're we gonna do?" Harry asked.

"Get my legal staff together and see what grounds we have for

fighting them. And call a teleconference of the heads of each of the

Big Seven."

"That'll take some time," Bert said. "They're all busy people."

'%/e don't have time! Get them together on the phone. Open

links, we won't need scrambling or secure lines. Just do it now.

We've only got a few hours."

Both men nodded in unison. "Right, boss."

By the time Clan entered his office, his one human secretary rushed

to him, a stricken look on her fashion model's sculpted features.

"Thank god you got here!" she gasped. "We have just received

notice that a GEC legal team is on its way from Paris with a warrant

for your arrest!"

Clan breezed past her and into his private office. She hurried

behind him.

"What charge?" he asked as he went to the minibar.

"Kidnapping?

Clan huffed as, kneeling, he opened the minibar and pulled out

a bottle of Jack Daniel's green label. "Is that all? I thought they'd try

to stick me with mass murder and kiddie rape, at the very least."

The secretary did not crack a smile. "Clan, kidnapping falls under

the World Court's terrorism acts. If they convict you, you could be

executed!"

"Yeah," he said, pouring a healthy slug of the sour-mash whiskey

into a tumbler made of lunar crystal. "That would save us all a

lot of trouble, wouldn't it?"

His secretary had been with him for four years, a new record for

a man who had a reputation for bedding his hired help and then

getting rid of them. Her name was Tamara Duchamps, and she had

been a fashion model in Paris, where her smoldering Ethiopian

beauty and flowing dark hair had set photographers and magazine

editors into near-frenzy. But she had been intelligent enough to see

that modeling was a dead end to all but the very few who allied

themselves sexually to the high and powerful. A woman of thor-

114

BEN BOVA

representative to the Global Economic Council. Madam President

will want to arrange transportation back Earthside immediately."

Each man shook hands with Jane and mumbled his own name,

seemingly embarrassed to meet a former President--and one of the

enemy.

Then they started toward the conveyor-belt people mover that

led to the main dome of the Alphonsus complex.

"I wish you had let us have some advance warning of your

arrival, Mr. Randolph. All hell's broken loose here," Bert said.

"I can imagine. Where's Kate WilliamsT"

"She went back Earthside a couple days ago," said Harry, scurrying

to keep up with the rapid pace Clan was setting. The two

security youngsters had taken Jane in hand, literally; unused to the

lunar gravity, she had stumbled and almost fallen. Now the two

young men held her arms and helped her along. Clan glanced once

over his shoulder and saw that she was in good hands. Then he

turned his attention back to his two aides.

"There's a GEC team on its way here," Bert was explaining.

"We've already received legal notification that the GEC is taking

over control of the entire corporation."

Harry said, "GEC teams have been hitting every one of our

Earthside offices. It's like police raids."

"Or a hostile takeover," Bert said.

"Very hostile," said Clan.

"We were told we're not supposed to have any further dealings

with you," Harry added. "Not even talk to you."

Clan grinned at him. "You're not obeying an official GEC orderT"

"Shit, boss, you're the guy we work for."

"Not for much longer," Clan said ruefully. "They've got me by

the balls."

"The GEC's really taking overT" Harry seemed aghast. "But they

can't do that! They don't know how to run this operation."

"Doesn't matter to those double-damned bureaucrats. They've

got the law on their side, it looks like."

They reached the sliding way and stepped onto it. Still Clan kept

up the rapid pace. Jane and her escorts fell farther behind.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 115

"What're we gonna do?" Harry asked.

"Get my legal staff together and see what grounds we have for

fighting them. And call a teleconference of the heads of each of the

Big Seven."

"That'll take some time," Bert said. "They're all busy people."

"We don't have time! Get them together on the phone. Open

links, we won't need scrambling or secure lines. Just do it now.

We've only got a few hours."

Both men nodded in unison. "Right, boss."

By the time Clan entered his office, his one human secretary rushed

to him, a stricken look on her fashion model's sculpted features.

"Thank god you got here!" she gasped. "We have just received

notice that a GEC legal team is on its way from Paris with a warrant

for your arrest!"

Clan breezed past her and into his private office. She hurried

behind him.

"What charge?." he asked as he went to the minibar.

"Kidnapping?'

Clan huffed as, kneeling, he opened the minibar and pulled out

a bottle of Jack Daniel's green label. "Is that all? I thought they'd try

to stick me with mass murder and kiddie rape, at the very least."

The secretary did not crack a smile. "Clan, kidnapping falls under

the World Court's terrorism acts. If they convict you, you could be

executed!"

"Yeah," he said, pouring a healthy slug of the sour-mash whiskey

into a tumbler made of lunar crystal. "That would save us all a

lot of trouble, wouldn't it?"

His secretary had been with him for four years, a new record for

a man who had a reputation for bedding his hired help and then I

getting rid of them. Her name was Tamara Duchamps, and she had

been a fashion model in Paris, where her smoldering Ethiopian

beauty and flowing dark hair had set photographers and magazine

editors into near-frenzy. But she had been intelligent enough to see

that modeling was a dead end to all but the very few who allied

themselves sexually to the high and powerful. A woman of thor-

116

BEN BOVA

oughly independent mind, she left the fashion industry altogether

and entered the world of business.

Within a year she was Clan Randolph's office manager and

irreplaceable assistant. Her title was "secretary," but she knew that

the title meant little. Her boss knew it too, which was more important.

She was aware of Clan Randolph's reputation; she evaded his

early efforts, even though they seemed rather gallant to her. To her

surprise, Randolph respected her caution. Everyone else in the office

told her that once he had slept with her she would be transferred

far away. They took bets on when the inevitable would happen.

Now, four years later, all bets were off.

"Clan," she said, in her exotically flavored British English, "this

is not something that you can talk your way out of. I have checked

with the legal department and they are totally off the wall. They do

not know what to do!"

He plunked himself in his comfortable desk chair, took a sip of

the whiskey, and leaned back far enough to put his feet on the desk.

He still wore the sandals he had taken to Tetiaroa.

"Tamara, honey, never ask a lawyer what you should do. They

don't know. Their brains are so stuffed with crap that they can't find

their way across the street without a court order. You tell a lawyer

what you want him to do. Or her," he added, his face hardening.

"Kate Williams has betrayed you," Tamara said, looking angry

at the thought.

"And I never laid a glove on her," Clan mused. "Maybe if I had

been more persistent she wouldn't have done this to me. Hell hath

no fury, you know."

Tamara shook her head. "She would have cut your testicles off,

one way or the other."

"Pleasant thought."

Suddenly exasperated, Tamara nearly shouted at him, "So what

are you going to do? You cannot just sit there drinking! There is a

squad of GEC people on its way here to put you in jail!"

With his free hand, Clan pointed past her shoulder. "Here comes

my kidnapping victim."

Jane walked cautiously into the office, like a woman on a tight

EMPIRE BUILDERS 117 rope. The two security men hovered beyond the door, in the outer

office.

Before Jane could say a word, Clan told his secretary, "Tamara,

please arrange transportation for President Scanwell back to Paris--or

wherever else she wants to go."

Jane looked the younger woman up and down as she made her

way past Tamara and sank gratefully into one of the clear plastic,

foam-cushioned chairs in front of Dan's desk. On Earth, the chair

would have been too fragile to bear an adult's weight; on the Moon,

it bent only slightly as Jane sat on it.

"Did I hear correctly?" Jane asked, her voice calm, subdued.

"You're about to be arrested?"

Clan nodded. "For kidnapping you."

"That falls under the terrorism laws," Tamara added.

"This is very serious," said Jane.

Clan grinned crookedly. "Will you testify on my behalf at my

trial? Assuming that Malik allows me to have a trial?"

"Of course you'll have a trial!"

With a shrug, Clan said, "I could always have a fatal accident

while I'm in custody."

"Nonsense."

"So, assuming I come to trial, will you testify on my behalf? Or

against me?"

"You did take me here against my wishes," she said, with no hint

of a smile.

"Yeah, I suppose I did."

Tamara looked from Clan to Jane and back to her boss again.

"You cannot just sit here! You must do something!"

"What do you suggest?" Clan asked mildly.

"I don't know!"

"Well, I do," he said, getting up from his chair. "I'm going to my

quarters and get some sleep."

"What?"

"When the GEC goon squad arrives at the spaceport, wake me up. Ten to one, Kate Williams will be with them."

118

BEN BOVA

"Is that all you are going to do?" Tamara seemed on the verge

of tears.

Clan nodded. "And arrange transport for President Scanwell."

He came around the desk, bent over Jane and gave her a peck

on the cheek, then waved to Tamara and left the two women in his

O'f'ice.

Once in his quarters, though, Clan did not immediately go to sleep.

First he went to his bedside phone. The display screen glowed a

cheery yellow and showed in bright blue letters:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

WELCOME TO THE BIG 50

Cripes, Clan said to himself. Today's my birthday. Tamara

must've remembered. He shook his head ruefully. It's going to be

some party.

He spent several hours speaking to his managers in their offices

all over Earth and in several orbital facilities. In between calls, he

chivvied Bert Peel about getting all the space industrialists together

for a teleconference.

"I'm working on it, boss," Bert exclaimed, beads of perspiration

on his upper lip. "I've got about half of 'em lined up, but every time

I call another one he or she wants a different time and I've got to

recontact all the others."

"You tell them this is an emergency?"

"Yes! Sure."

"Okay, keep at it. I've only got a few hours, at most."

Bert mumbled what might have been profanity and cut the

connection.

Clan actually managed to sleep for about twenty minutes. He

dreamed he was struggling with someone, a faceless man, or maybe

it was a woman. They were on the edge of the roof of some

enormous skyscraper back on Earth. They fell off, and suddenly Clan

EMPIRE BUILDERS 119

was completely alone, plummeting toward the hard pavement of the

street far below.

He sat bolt upright in his darkened bedroom, cold with sweat,

still in the coveralls he had not bothered to take off when he had

flopped on the bed.

Casting a quick glance at the digital time displayed on the

bedside screen, he peeled off the coveralls as he made his way into

the bathroom, showered, shaved and put on a clean outfit: another

set of forest green coveralls, but these were new enough so that

their color was still vivid. And he left his sandals by the bed; lunar

softboots were much more practical. Then he stalked back to his

office and went in through his private entrance, avoiding Tamara

and anyone else who might be in the outer office.

The dumb birthday greeting was on his desktop screen, too. Clan scowled at it as he slumped into his desk chair and flicked on

the windowall. It was tuned to an outside camera view of the broad,

crater-pitted floor of Alphonsus. Factories dotted the plain out to

the horizon, with wide spreads of solar energy farms glittering in

the sunlight. A few tractors were chugging across the dusty landscape.

He told the voice-activated phone to find Peel. Almost instantly,

his aide's face appeared on Dan's desktop display screen.

"Got 'em all, boss," Peel said without preamble. "Except

Yamagata. His people say he's out of contact, on a field trip somewhere."

Out of contact, my ass, Clan said to himself. Nobo doesn't want

to talk to me.

"Guess we'll have to settle for number two, then," he told Peel.

"Right. In that case we can get started in about ten minutes."

"Good."

Tamara opened the door from the outer office. "The GEC team

will be landing in half an hour," she announced, looking angry and

afraid at the same time. "And you were right: Kate Williams is in

charge of the team."

"Has President Scanwell left?" he asked.

120 BEN BOVA

"Not yet. She decided to wait until the GEC people arrived, and

then go back with them. She's waiting out here."

Clan smiled weakly. "She wants to be here for the kill, does she?

Okay, ask her to come in. She might as well see the show."

Tamara ushered Jane into his office. She was still in the same

beige slacks and tan jacket. Clan gestured her to a chair as he slid his

computer keyboard from its niche in his desk. He spent the next few

minutes huddled over his computer display screen while Jane sat

silently watching him.

Then Peel called in to say that all six of the space-industry

corporate chiefs were on-line for the emergency teleconference

except for Nobuhiko Yamagata. His chief legal counsel would participate

in the conference in his place. The windowall broke up into

six separate images: four men and two women, representing six of

the seven major corporations that dominated space industries. Each

of them was on Earth; of the Big Seven, only Clan was off-planet. Clan touched

one more key, and two smaller images appeared in the

lower right corner of the windowall: a view of the landing pad

outside, and an empty corridor deep below the office levels of

Alphonsus City.

Shooing Tamara out with one hand, Clan adjusted the phone

camera on his desk so that it showed only a head-and-shoulders

view of himself. If Jane wants to join the conversation, I'll swivel it

around, he thought.

Then he grinned crookedly at the six electronic images. "I

suppose you're all wondering why I asked you here today."

It took two and a half seconds for Dan's feeble little joke to

reach them and their response to get back to the Moon. They all

tried to talk at once. In the sudden torrent of angry, frightened,

urgent voices Clan made out the clear fact that all of them were

under pressure from the GEC to turn over control of all space

industrial operations to the Council.

"That means Malik," Clan said, loud enough to cut through their

babble and silence them. "Malik wants to take over all our companies.

He's always wanted to be the commissar of all space operations.''

EMPIRE BUILDERS 121

Jane stirred slightly in her chair but said nothing.

"I understand," said the Yamagata lawyer, a sallow-faced Japanese

with narrow, suspicious eyes, "that your assets are being

confiscated entirely, at this very moment."

"That's right," Clan said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a

spacecraft settling down on the landing pad outside. It bore the sky

blue markings of the Global Economic Council.

"What can we do' to help?" asked the Argentinean president of

Astrofbrica Corporaci6n.

"Not a hell of a lot, Jorge," Clan admitted. "But there's something

even more important that you must be made aware of."

Six faces stared at him, silent, waiting. The spacecraft sat on the

landing pad while an access tunnel snaked toward it. Jane watched

him too, her face as close to expressionless as she could make it.

Clan began to explain to them about the greenhouse cliff. Only

one of them had heard of it, the woman who headed Eurospace A.G.

"The head of my research staff is working with your chief scientist,

I believe, to determine whether this phenomenon is real or not," she

said.

"It's real, Hilde," Clan replied. "Malik knows it. He's using it as

an excuse to take over all space industries. In the next ten years we

either convert the whole spinning Earth away from fossil fuels or we

see the ice caps melt and sea levels go up ten meters or more."

He waited the two and a half seconds for their reaction. Then:

"In ten years?"

"That's not possible!"

"I've never heard of such a thing."

"No one informed me!"

"How can that be?"

"Your scientists can give you the details," Clan said, flicking the

image in the corner of his windowall to show the corridor between

the landing pad and the main plaza. Sure enough, Kate Williams was

leading a dozen grim-faced men and women, all of them dressed in

dark gray slacks and jackets bearing the GEC emblem.

Quickly, Clan reviewed his discussion--argument--with Malik

at Tetiaroa, and emphasized Malik's decision to take over all the Big

122 BEN BOVA

Seven space industrial corporations in the name of necessity, due to

the impending global disaster.

"He can't force us--"

"Yes he can, if he has the Council behind him."

"I never trusted those politicians."

"We'll lose everything!"

"What difference does that make if the world is drowned in ten

years?"

Clan quieted them down, all the while watching Kate and her

band of GEC enforcers making their way toward his office. And Jane

sitting almost within his reach, silent, watching, waiting.

"Now listen," Clan told the six of them. "Hilde is right. What

difference does anything make if half the world's going to go

underwater? We've all got to work together with the GEC to do

whatever we can to avert this catastrophe."

Jane looked surprised. He grinned at her.

"Work with the GEC?"

"Let them take over our corporations?"

"Allow them to steal what we've earned over all these years?"

"No," Clan said firmly. "We can work with the GEC and hold

on to our companies--at least, you can." Kate and her gang were

at the door to his outer office. Tamara was getting up from her desk,

ever so slowly, to manually open the door for them. Jane was

looking from Clan to the picture in the windowall's corner and back

to Clan again.

'We're facing a situation that's like a major war; the biggest

double-damned war anybody's ever faced. We've got to stop thinking

of our profits and start working with everything we've got to

win. It's victory or death, there's no middle ground.

"What you've got to do," he was saying quickly, knowing that

he was running out of time, "is to make a voluntary statement,

announce it in the world's media, shout it as loud as you can, that

your corporations will voluntarily place themselves at the command

of the GEC for the length of this emergency period. You will follow

GEC orders to do whatever is necessary to save the planet from the

greenhouse cliff--but without relinquishing ownership or control of

EMPIRE BUILDERS 123

your companies. Got that? That's the only way to work it. Voluntary

cooperation. That's the only way to beat this greenhouse

disaster. Cooperate voluntarily with the GEC, let the bastards take

all your profits--but run your companies yourselves! You know

how to do that better than any desk-bound paper-shuffler."

The door to his office burst open and Kate Williams strode in,

with half her team behind her.

"Daniel Hamilton Randolph, you are under arrest for kidnapping,"

she said.

The windowall went dark.

I

CLAN GRINNED AT Kate Williams from behind his desk.

"Welcome back, Scarlett. You're fired."

She almost grinned back at him. "You can't fire me. I resigned

twelve hours ago."

"You never really did work for me anyway, did you7"

"We don't have time for chitchat," Kate snapped. "You're under

arrest. Get on your feet and come with us."

Clan put his hands flat on the desktop. "Now, wait a minute. I'm

being charged with kidnapping, right? Well, here's my 'victim.' Let's

ask her if she was kidnapped or not."

Kate shook her head. "Nice try, Clan, but I've already spoken

with President Scanwell, while we were on the way here. She'll

testify that you brought her here against her will."

Clan swiveled his chair slightly to face Jane. "Is that true?"

Jane hesitated only a fraction of a heartbeat. "Yes. That will be

my testimony. That's what you did, Clan, and we both know it."

He shrugged as if defeated. "Et to, JanieT"

"On your feet, Randolph," snapped one of the young men

standing beside Kate. He looked like a jock: broad shoulders, burr

haircut, jacket straining across his chest. Clan realized that he was

carrying a gun in a shoulder holster. Probably all of them are, except

for Kate. Maybe her too; be just like her to have a loaded bra.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 125

Slowly, so as not to alarm them, Clan slid open the top drawer

of his desk. "Just give me a minute here," he muttered as he pushed

away the papers that covered the slim matte-gray pistol he had put

there.

"I really have no intention of going anywhere with you, Kate,"

he said, leveling the pistol at them with one hand and pulling out

his computer keyboard with the other.

"This is nonsense," Kate began. "You can't--"

But the burrhead beside her started to reach into his jacket. Clan

fired once, a sudden shocking explosion of noise and smoke. The kid

slammed over backward as if hit by a baseball bat and smashed into

the couch along the far wall, then slumped to the floor.

Before any of the others could react, Clan said, "He's not hurt

much. It's a tranquilizer dart. He'll be okay in a few hours."

No one else moved.

"I spent a lot of years in Venezuela," Clan said, tapping keys

with his left hand. "The Indians out in the Orinoco River valley have

developed some dandy drugs. They use them for hunting. Once in

a while they hunt other people. Still a few cannibals out there,

although nobody wants to admit it." He grinned wickedly.

"Clan, you're crazy," Jane said. "You can't expect to get away

with this."

He pointed the gun at her. "You're a hostile witness, Madam

President. The jury will disregard your remarks."

"He's gone insane," Kate said.

"Maybe." Clan swung the gun back toward her. "Is insanity a

valid defense, in my case?"

She clenched her fists and took a step toward him.

"Don't let your temper trip you up, Scarlett. I'll shoot you if you

force me to. And I don't know how the stuff in these darts might

affect you. The close is big enough to knock out a horse like your

snoozing pal. It might do more damage to somebody of your petite she ."

"You're only making things tougher for yourself," Kate said. But

she stood still.

126 BEN BOVA

"Tougher than a kidnapping charge? Terrorism is punishable by

execution. What can be tougher than that?"

Jane said, "Clan, please ..."

He gave the keyboard one final touch, with a flourish of his left

hand, then stood up. A hooting wail clamored out of the speaker set

into the ceiling panels.

"EMERGENCY!" bellowed a computer-synthesized voice.

"LIFE-SUPPORT SYSTEM WILL FAIL IN ONE MINUTE! ONE

MINUTE TO LIFE-SUPPORT FAILURE!"

Clan hollered over the warning system's announcement, "In one

minute this entire level of offices will be opened to vacuum. I

suggest you haul your asses out into the corridor and run like hell

to the nearest emergency hatch. Those hatches are programmed to

shut automatically when they sense a drop in air pressure. You don't

want to be on the wrong side of a hatch when it slams shut."

"You're bluffing!" Kate snarled.

"FORTY-FIVE SECONDS TO LIFE-SUPPORT FAILURE.

FORTY-FIVE SECONDS."

Clan shrugged. "Sure I am. And rain makes applesauce." He

backed away, still pointing the pistol at them, and felt for his private

door behind him.

The urgent wail of the warning siren seemed to grow louder,

more shrill. "FORTY SECONDS TO LIFE-SUPPORT FAILURE."

Jane got to her feet. "I don't know about the rest of you," she

said, and started for the door to the outer office.

"Hey!" Clan called after her. "Don't you want to come with me?"

Jane hesitated only an instant. Then she shook her head and kept

on going.

"You always were a smart lady," Clan called after her. "See you!"

"THIRTY SECONDS TO LIFE-SUPPORT FAILURE. THIRTY

SECONDS."

Kate and the others suddenly bolted for the outer office and

safety, leaving the unconscious burrhead sprawled on the floor.

Laughing, Clan opened his private door and stepped into the back

corridor. He could hear the automated warning voice calling out

EMPIRE BUILDERS 127

"TWENTY SECONDS" and then "TEN SECONDS" as he loped

down the corridor toward the hatch that led to the ladderway.

Tucking his pistol into a thigh pocket and zippering it shut, Clan

opened the hatch and started down the steel rungs of the ladder. He

heard very faintly, "THIS HAS BEEN A TEST OF THE EMERGENCY

WARNING SYSTEM. THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.

ALL PERSONNEL MAY RETURN TO THEIR

NORMAL STATIONS. THIS TEST IS CONCLUDED."

Chuckling to himself at the picture of Kate Williams' face when

she heard that, Clan clambered down five levels, to the very bottom

of the tubelike ladderway. There was no hatch down here; he merely

stepped out into the dimly lit bottom level of Alphonsus City, a

world of machinery where humans rarely bothered to go.

Most of the machinery was for life support: the air scrubbers and

fans, electrical inverters and routing substations, water purification systems and recirculators. The very air hummed, throbbed like the

giant mechanical heart of the city that it actually was. Clan knew that

there were teams of teleoperators up above, sitting in their comfortable

offices and keeping tabs electronically on the machines down

here. They had video cameras, too, so they could keep the entire

section under visual surveillance.

He knew also that, like inspectors anywhere, the men and

women responsible for monitoring this equipment rarely paid attention

to their work, except when a warning light flashed red or a

synthesized voice warned of trouble that the computer's sensors had

detected.

Until they're specifically told to search for me, Clan told himself,

they won't be looking for anybody prowling around down here. I

hope.

He made his way through the shadowy light toward the tunnel

that he knew existed at the back end of this bottom level. He had

helped to carve it out of the bedrock of Alphonsus' ringwall mountains,

back in the days when he operated a plasma torch and alternately

drank and fought with his Japanese coworkers.

One of the few mobile maintenance robots suddenly came from

128 BEN BOVA

behind a ceiling-high electrical transformer. Clan almost bumped

into it.

The robot was one of the newer models, almost six feet tall and

gleaming in the far-spaced overhead lights. Its head bore two round

camera lenses where eyes would be, and a speaker grille in place of

a mouth. It had four arms, each ending in fully rotatable pincers with

the strength to break bones.

"Unauthorized personnel are not allowed in this area," said the

robot's tinny synthesized voice, in Japanese.

Crapola! If I exceed this double-damned tin can's programmed

commands, it'll send a warning buzz to the operators upstairs.

Thinking swiftly, Clan replied in Japanese, "This is an unannounced

routine inspection tour."

"Authorization code?" asked the robot.

Clan pecked at his wristwatch for the last authorization code he

had received from the system, months ago His trembling fingers

fumbled with the tiny keypad and the phone's miniature screen lit

up with: BmtIqV^¥. Clan fumed and tried to find the information he

needed. If Bozo here detects the gun in my pocket . . . "Authorization code?" the robot repeated.

There it was! Hoping that the code had not been changed over

the intervening months, Clan rattled off the numbers.

"Thank you," said the robot. It turned and trundled away. Clan

was only slightly shaken when he saw that the machine had an

identical face on the other side of its head.

"I've heard of two-faced women," he muttered to himself as he

resumed his hurried pace toward the tunnel. "But robots? That's

weird."

The tunnel had been started back in the days when Yamagata

Industries had first decided to make a major manufacturing center at

Alphonsus. Saito's father had decided to ram a tunnel through the

ringwall mountains, connecting the floor of Alphonsus with the

broad expanse of Mare Nubium. The lunar rock had turned out to

be much tougher than expected; the costs of digging the tunnel,

even with plasma torches, had risen too far. So the tunnel was never

finished. Instead, a cable-car system had been built over the moun-

EMPIRE BUILDERS 129 tains. It was more expensive to operate than a tunnel would have

been but far cheaper to construct. It was still in use.

But the tunnel was still there; incomplete, unused for nearly two

decades, but still there. So were the access shafts that had been

drilled upward to the face of the mountain. The first of those access

shafts opened into an emergency shelter where there were pressure

suits and spare oxygen bottles, in case the cable-car system overhead

broke down.

That was Dan's objective. Alphonsus City, like any settlement

built in the harsh airless environment of the Moon, was a tightly

sealed, closely controlled community. No one got into a cable car

or stepped through an airlock without being scrutinized. You could

walk for miles inside the main plaza or along the city's corridors, but

there were always video monitors watching. The monitors were

there for safety, but they could easily be used to find a fugitive.

Clan mused as he made his way toward the tunnel that there

had been amazingly few fugitives, to his knowledge. In a community

as large as Alphonsus City had grown to be, there were

bound to be some thieves or perverts or the occasional case of

murderous violence. But living and working on the Moon apparently

sorted out the unstable types very quickly. They killed

themselves, and often killed those unfortunate enough to be near

them when they screwed up.

He grinned to himself as he realized that most of the inhabitants

of Alphonsus were Japanese. Sure, there might have been a few with

larcenous souls among them, but by and large they worked hard,

obeyed the regulations, and lived frugally. He remembered the rare

thief that had been caught and brought to trial. Usually it was

white-collar stuff: a bartender stiffing his employer, a logistics clerk

jiggering the computer system so he could sell company equipment

on the black market.

There is a black market here, he knew. But it's usually so small

and harmless that it's not worth the trouble going after it.

As far back as he could remember, though, there had been no

real fugitives from justice at Alphonsus City. Or any other lunar

130 BEN BOVA

settlement. You can't go out and hide in the hills. Not on a world

where the only air and water is manufactured in the cities.

There had been a few disappearances, of course. That was to be

expected on a harshly unforgiving frontier world. But no fugitives.

Not until now.

The tunnel entrance was closed, but the electronic lock on the

metal hatch was easy enough to decipher. He had expected the

hinges to squeal painfully, since the door probably had not been

touched in years. But it opened smoothly, quietly. Are the robots

programmed to oil the hinges7 Clan wondered.

Ill }

The air inside smelled dusty, stale. He coughed. But it was air.

It was breathable, if you didn't mind the sensation of fine talcum

powder choking your throat. There was no light. Clan had forgotten

to bring a torch with him, and the dim light from the basement

quickly petered out in the depths of the tunnel. He felt his way along

the rough side of the tunnel, thankful that this was on the Moon and

there'd be no unpleasant critters slithering around in the darkness.

Wrong! A pair of tiny burning red eyes stared balefully at him

out of the shadows, shoulder high. Clan felt his heart clutch in his

chest, then realized that it was the indicator lights of an emergency

lamp, left there years ago by the construction gang, still powered

by its radioisotope system.

His fingers found the lamp's square shape in the darkness and

slid across gritty dust until they touched its activating switch. The

sudden light made Clan squint, but his eyes quickly adjusted.

It was easier going with the lamp. In a few minutes Clan found

the hatch to the access tunnel and started climbing up the ladder

toward the emergency shelter up on the surface. As far as he knew,

the access tunnel had never been used to rescue stranded cable-car

passengers. Never had to be. The cable system had worked fine ever

since it had been erected, except for a few minor glitches that

stranded cars for an hour or less--well within the air supplies the

cars themselves carried.

At the top of the access tunnel, the hatch leading into the shelter

had no security lock; a simple spin of a well-oiled wheel opened it

easily. Clan felt some puzzlement as he pushed the metal hatch back

EMPIRE BUILDERS 131 and climbed up into the shelter. The robots from

down below didn't

come up here for maintenance work. Would the Yamagata safety

people who maintain the cable cars take care of this hatch too?

The shelter reminded him of the old days, when construction

crews lived in "tempos": temporary shelters made of expended

spacecraft sections, thin aluminum cylinders that they buried under

a few feet of rubble scooped up from the regolith. Life in the tempos

had been spare and rugged, no place for a person of delicate sensibilities.

Or a keen sense of smeIl, for that matter. Tempos. He had

lived in them for nearly three years, and here he was back in one.

It was a curved-roof tempo, sure enough. Almost bare inside, Clan saw

in the light of his hand lamp, except for tall green cylinders

of oxygen, a phone console sitting on an otherwise empty desk, a

couple of shelves of emergency medical kits and rations--and a

quartet of space suits, standing stiffly in their racks like knightly

armor of old, complete with helmets on shelves above the empty

torsos.

The first suit he picked had only a quarter of its normal supply

of oxygen in its tanks. Annoyed, Clan went to the next suit. Its tanks

were dry.

"They maintain the damned hatches," he muttered, "but not the

suits. That's brilliant."

The other two suits were almost empty, as well. Fuming now, Clan went

to the oxygen cylinders to start refiiling one of the suits.

They too were low; each of them was missing from half to three-quarters

of its normal capacity.

This is crazy, he said to himself.

It was laborious work even in the low gravity. It took more

than an hour for Clan to fill the backpack tank of one of the pressure

suits. Then he waited, worriedly, for two hours more, watching the

suit's gauges to make certain that the tank did not leak.

No leaks, he decided with relief. But then, how did the tanks lose

oxy? And the standby cylinders, too7

His wait had accomplished another purpose: the sun should

have set by now. Checking his wristwatch computer, he found that

it was indeed nighttime outside. It would be more difficult for them

132 BEN BOVA

to spot him out in the open. Not impossible, by any means. But the

cover of darkness gave him a bit more of an edge.

If I don't break my damned neck out there, he groused.

Very carefully he stepped into the leggings of the suit he had

selected and pulled on the thickly insulated boots. Then he wriggled

into the hard-shell torso and wormed his arms through the sleeves.

Stomping around the cramped shelter, he tested the suit's flexibility.

Then he backed into the backpack, still hooked to its rack, and felt

its latches click against his suit's fittings. It had been a long time

since he'd carried a fully loaded backpack and pressure suit. Even in

the Moon's gentle gravity it felt like a ton of dead weight on his

shoulders and back. The damned pistol still in the pocket of his

coveralls jabbed against his thigh annoyingly.

Clan pulled on the suit's gloves and sealed them to the wrist

cuffs. He flexed his fingers, thinking, They haven't made much of an

improvement on these things. Feels as stiff as rigor morris, and the

damned suit's not even pressurized yet.

Finally he slid the helmet over his head and sealed it to his collar

ring. He pulled the visor down and locked it, then clumped over to

the only oxygen cylinder that still had some gas in it. Fitting its

extension hose to the port on his suit, he overpressurized his suit

until it bulged out like a balloon, making it awkward to move his

arms or legs.

Then he waited, watching alternately the watch and the pressure

gauge on the instrument cluster on the suit's left wrist. With nobody

here to check him out, this was the only way to test that the suit

was properly sealed and there were no pinhole leaks anywhere.

There are old astronauts and there are bold astronauts, Clan

remembered the old saying, but there are no old, bold astronauts.

Haste is the enemy of safety, he knew.

At last, satisfied that the suit was tight, he let most of the

overpressurizing oxygen hiss out of the port and stepped slowly,

like some monster from a horror video, to the airlock of the shelter.

It took several minutes for the lock to cycle. Then the indicator

light turned red and Clan slid the outer hatch open. The smooth

gentle slope of Mt. Yeager confronted him. Downslope he could see

EMPIRE BUILDERS 133 the humped mass of rubble that covered Alphonsus City's main

plaza. Directly overhead ran the cable-car line.

His wristwatch tingled against his skin. Glancing at the watch

on his suit cuff, Clan realized what the programmed wristwatch was

telling him. This was the exact moment of his birth, fifty years ago,

precisely.

"Happy birthday," Clan muttered as he stepped out onto the

glassy, pitted slope of Mt. Yeager.

FOUR HOURS LATER he was still climbing the tallest mountain of

the Alphonsus ringwall. Sandpapered by eons of micrometeorite

infall, most of the Moon's mountains looked tired and old. They

slumped, rounded and softly curved, their slopes usually very gentle.

But the sandpapering had made their slopes very smooth, as

well, almost glassy. Traction was not easy.

Clan was puffing with exertion. Malik was right, he thought. I've

let myself get out of shape. Fat and fifty, that's me. He stopped and

looked downslope toward the floor of A1phonsus. Even though the

sun was down, there was seldom true darkness at this latitude. A

gibbous Earth hung in the black, star-flecked sky, fat and gleaming,

blue seas and white clouds, glowing with life and warmth. Even the

nightside of Earth glittered with lights of cities and highways.

There was enough light to see the little pockmarks of mini-craters

in the stony ground. Enough light to spot a lone man

walking--if you knew where to look. Clan doubted that the space

station all the way out at the L1 point could pick him up visually,

or even in the infrared. And he knew that the satellites orbiting the

Moon at closer altitudes were not equipped for such detailed surveillance

work.

I'll be okay, he told himself. Unless they pop a surveillance team

into an OTV just to look for me. Or maybe send out a cable car full

of guys with telescopes. Better get a move on.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 135

To where?

That had been the first question he had asked himself when he

had realized, back on Tetiaroa, that Malik intended to jail him.

Where can you go to hide from the Global Economic Council? As

one of the richest men in the Earth/Moon system, Clan had always

kept a few special hideaways for himself, and a few false identities

so he could travel undetected and undisturbed. But with all his assets

confiscated, he was down to the few emergency things he had

tucked away in safe deposit vaults in various cities on Earth.

For more than ten years he had played this seemingly pointless

game. At times he himself had thought that he was being para-noid--or

at least childish. But deep in his gut he had known that

power-hungry men like Malik would topple him if they got the

chance. Now they had done it, and he was running for his life.

To where? The question popped up again to confront him as he

slogged upslope, following the cable-car line overhead as a rough

guide. His immediate goal was another one of those "temporary"

shelters that had been emplaced along the cable line. He worried

that the next tempo would be largely gutted of its supplies, as the

first one had been. Or that Kate Williams' team of goons would

have figured out where was going and be there waiting for him.

He pushed on.

Fifty years old, he thought. Some double-damned birthday this

is. Some guys retire by the time they're fifty. Or chuck their careers

and start out on something new.

He grinned to himself. That's what you're doing, Daniel old pal.

Change of life. Time to start a new career. You're going from being

a billionaire to being a penniless fugitive from the law. How's that

for progress?

Well, he answered himself, maybe this time around I'll figure out

what I want to be when I grow up.

Feeling strangely cheerful, Clan trudged on up the slick, almost

slippery face of the mountain. He stumbled here and there; once he

slid on his rump for nearly thirty yards, stopped only by the rim of

a new-looking crater. Sitting there, helmet visor fogged with his

ragged breath, peering down into the shadowed depths of the

136 BEN BOVA

crater, he realized that sizable meteoroids still struck the Moon with

some regularity.

That would be the icing on the cake, to get killed by a meteoroid.

God's sniper. He laughed and clambered laboriously to his

booted feet once again. At least, he told himself, you can make

yourself a moving target.

I panicked, he admitted. I panicked and ran. But what alternative

did I have? Once Scarlett's goons had me in their grip they weren't

going to let me go. Whether Malik sent me to Tetiaroa or Devil's

Island, I'd be tucked away someplace where I'd never get out. I had

to run. Or end up in the penalback colonYthe atMoon.Aristarchus.That

Shouldn't have come to

was my

big

mistake. You can get around on Earth. Twelve billion people down

there; not even the GEC can keep track of all of 'em. I could have

faded into the background while I figured out some way to fight

back. Now I'm stuck up here. My next big accomplishment will be

to find some air to breathe once this backpack runs dry.

And every step I take moves me farther from the launchpad

where spacecraft take off for Earth.

He spotted the tempo, a rounded hump of rubble that looked at

first like an abandoned slag heap. But there was an airlock on one

side of it, and an antenna poking up from its top.

And a parade of bootprints in front of the airlock, Clan saw. In

the undisturbed airlessness of the Moon it was impossible to tell

how fresh the prints were. They could have been left by Armstrong

and Aldrin, if the Apollo II crew had landed at this spot. Dozens

of prints, overlapping, exposing the bright sandy-looking under-layer

of the regolith. In a few millions years' time they would be

darkened by solar radiation, just as the undisturbed top layer was.

The prints appeared out of nowhere, seemingly. Then Clan

realized that people came this far in a cable car, got down from the

car by ladder, and walked to the tempo's airlock. How recently? He

studied the prints for a few swift moments. There seemed to be just

as many heading out as heading in, but he could not be certain.

Shaking his head inside the helmet, Clan decided to push on. I'm

EMPIRE BUILDERS 137

not walking into any trap they've set up for me, he told himself. I'd

rather run out of oxygen first.

Nearly three hours later he was wondering when he would run

out of oxygen. The tempos had been placed an hour's walk apart.

That was the theory. It had taken Clan considerably more than an

hour to reach the next one, and it too had plenty of bootprints

around its airlock hatch. So he went on.

Trudging up the mountainside, Clan eyed the poles that held the

cable. There were sensors atop each pole, he knew. The scientists

used them to study the electric fields set up by the incoming solar

wind, and the Moon's faint magnetic field. Have they put cameras

up there? Are they watching me? He pictured Kate Williams laughing

her head off, watching him stumbling along, knowing exactly

where he was every moment of his supposed escape.

"Bust your guts laughing," he muttered. Then he remembered

his suit radio. He clicked it on and tuned to each frequency it could

reach. No calls to him demanding his surrender. No security traffic

at all. Nothing but the usual bored chatter between workers and the

regular Alphonsus news and entertainment stations.

Clan stayed with the classical-music station. They were playing

Sibelius' Valse Triste. He wished it were something more energetic

and less gloomy.

The suit smelled funny. Maybe the oxygen's contaminated, he

thought. Or whoever was in this shell before me left a powerful

body odor in it. Or maybe I'm starting to crack up. Whatever, the

next shelter is it. I'm going in no matter what.

He had reached a ridge of flat ground, something of a shelf that

jutted out from the shoulder of the mountain. The crest seemed

within reach, but there in the middle of the ridge sat the unmistakable

humped pile of bulldozed rubble that marked another tempo.

Clan clumped tiredly over to it. Sure enough, there were plenty

of bootprints all around the airlock hatch.

"What the hell," he said to himself.

He slid the hatch back and stepped in. The airlock cycled automatically

and most of the stiffness of his suit wilted away as the air

138

BEN BOVA

pressure built up to normal. The light panel turned green and Clan

slid the inner hatch open.

A huge, shaggy-maned, red-bearded man was standing at the

hatch, massive fists planted on his hips, a fierce scowl on his flushed

face.

"Who the hell are you?" Clan blurted.

The man snarled back, "And just who the fook are you?"

CLAN STARED AT the big, red-bearded stranger. Beyond his giant

bulk, the shelter looked as if it had been turned into a home. He saw

two pairs of double bunks, a desk with a computer atop it, and rough

shelves stacked with canned foods all the way up the curved

ceiling.

"I asked you a question," the big man said. "Who are you?

What're you doing here?"

"I asked you first," said Clan, taking a booted step further into

the shelter.

The man looked like anything but a GEC enforcer. Or a

Yamagata employee, for that matter. His coveralls were frayed and

faded, even patched at the knees, stained with oil and dirt. His wild

hair hadn't seen a scissors in months, and his beard looked as if it

could be home to an entire biota of its own. He's sure not one of my people, Clan told himself.

"Now, look," the man growled, "I've asked you twice. I won't

ask a third time. Who the fook are ya?"

Grinning, Clan slid his helmet visor up. He had been in his share

of fights on the Moon. This big goon was in his coveralls, while Clan

was still encased in his pressure suit and helmet. If it came to a fight

it would be no contest, despite the stranger's size.

"You're trespassing on Yamagata Industries' territory," Clan

140 BEN BOVA

said. "And from the looks of it, you're stealing equipment and

supplies, to boot."

The man roared and made a grab for Clan. Inside his cumbersome

suit, Clan made no attempt to evade him. He jabbed with a stiff

left, ready to follow it with an overhand right. But the giant let the

left bounce off his chin with no apparent effect, and before Clan

could throw his haymaker, he grabbed Clan by the armpits and lifted

him off his feet, suit and all.

Suddenly Clan was dangling in midair, feet pedaling uselessly,

his arms flailing, while the giant roared in his face and shook him like

a terrier breaking a rat's back. Clan rattled around inside his suit,

banging his head inside the helmet. He could not breathe. He tasted

blood in his mouth. His whole world was shaking and roaring. He

saw stars flashing and everything started to go gray.

"That's enough, I said! You don't wanna kill him until we find

out who he is and what he's doing here."

The giant let Clan fall to the floor with a thunderous thump. Pain

shot through him. Cripes, he's broken every bone in my body, Clan

thought.

"Lemme talk to him."

Clan looked up through bleary eyes and slowly focused on the

wrinkled, shriveled face of an ancient black man. He was tiny, the

smallest and skinniest man Clan had ever seen. And old, far older

than anyone Clan had seen on the Moon. Like the giant, the black

man's coveralls were tattered and grimy.

The scrawny little man squatted beside Dan's prostrate form,

bent his face close to Dan's, and said in a voice like sandpaper, "You

gotta excuse my big friend. He's got a real short fuse."

Clan nearly gagged at the man's breath. Every part of his body

hurt.

"We don't get a whole lot of visitors here," rasped the old man. Clan nodded weakly.

"Now I'd 'preciate it if you'd kindly tell us just who the hell you

are."

Slowly, pain£ully, Clan propped himself up on one elbow, still

breathing hard.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 141

"If you don't talk to me, Big George here'll go back to kickin'

the shit outta you."

Grinning weakly, Clan managed to say, "No . . . thanks."

"Then who are you?" the old man asked sharply.

"Whatchya doin' out here?"

"Give me a minute..."

"To think up a story," growled Big George.

The old man held up a hand. "Let him catch his breath, Georgie."

He finally managed to say, "I'm Clan Randolph. I'm on the run

from the GEC--"

"Clan Randolph!" blurted Big George. "Not fooking likely! I

worked for Clan Randolph. He's one of the richest bastards in the

fooking universe."

"I was," Clan said, pulling himself up to a sitting position.

"Double-damned GEC stole everything I own."

"We ain't heard nuthin' about that," said the old man.

"Just happened today. I took off before they could grab me and

send me back Earthside."

"And you just happened to drop into our shelter," Big George

said, his bearded face full of suspicion.

"That's right."

The old man rose to his feet. "Help him up, Georgie."

Before Clan could react Big George leaned down, grabbed him

again, and lifted him upright.

"Get that suit off him. We can use it," said the old man. His

voice sounded an old-time diesel rig grinding its gears.

"I've told you my name," Clan said, as he lifted his helmet off.

"What about yours?"

The old man cast him a sour look. "This is Big George," he said,

pointing with his thumb. "They call me Pops Tucker."

"They? Who?"

"None of your fooking business," George snarled. "Now peel

off that suit or I'll take it off for ya."

Clan started to open up the seals on his cuffs. He heard the

chugging of air blowers and thought that the square anodized blue

case sitting in the far corner of the shelter looked like an air regener-

142 BEN BOVA

ator from an OTV. They obviously don't work for Yamagata, he

thought, and they sure don't work for me. They've turned this

tempo into living quarters--for more than two people, if the other

bunks mean anything. And the little guy said "they" call him Pops

Tucker. Who the hell are "they"?

Lifting the hard-shell torso of his suit over his head, Clan told

them, "I'm going to be pretty goddamned stiff and sore, thanks to

you."

Tucker frowned at him, but said, "George, find some liniment

and aspirin in the medical supplies." To Clan he added sarcastically,

for'Tm sorry we don't have diathermy equipment or a whirlpool bathyou, Mr. Billionaire."

"Don't worry about it," Clan replied. "My own stuff is probably

being used right now by a redheaded lawyer who was a spy for the

GEC.'

When he finally had removed the last part of his suit, Tucker

motioned for Clan to come with him to the table they had set up at

the far end of the shelter.

"Our dining room," he said. "You must be hungry."

"Now that you mention it," said Clan, sitting down gingerly.

Tucker took the slim plastic chair on Dan's right. "Before we eat,

tell us what happened to you."

"Yeah," George said, straddling the chair on Dan's left. He

leaned his buffalo-sized forearms on the table; it groaned and

sagged. "Prove to us that you really are Clan Randolph."

Clan felt the pistol in his pocket pressing against his thigh. :

Whoever these guys were, they weren't security types. Professional

security men would have searched him thoroughly. He felt a little

better, knowing that these two men were more like babes in the

woods than anything else. The pistol gave him an edge, even

against Big George.

"Well?" Tucker prompted.

Clan started to tell his story, getting angrier inside with each

sentence. Kate Williams, Nobo Yamagata, even Jane Scanwell had

betrayed him. Now Malik's people were taking over the empire he

had worked all his life to build up. Now he was broke, alone,

EMPIRE BUILDERS 143

friendless, seemingly at the mercy of two crazy men. And burning

with helpless rage. He didn't know which was making him more

furious: his hatred for Malik for his frustration at being unable to do

a thing about it.

"You mean you expect those other bigwigs to work with the

gov'ment on this greenhouse cliff?" Tucker asked incredulously.

Clan sighed heavily. His back felt like a board that was on fire.

"I don't know what the hell they're going to do. If they can't

convince the Council that they'll cooperate voluntarily, Malik'll sure

as damnation take them over, just like he's taken my company."

His wizened chin barely clearing the tabletop, Tucker looked

across at Big George. "Whattaya think, GeorgieT"

"I never saw Randolph when I worked for 'im," George replied.

"But this bloke tells a good story, at least."

"When did you work for Astro?" Clan asked. "What kind of job

did you have?"

George scratched at his shaggy beard. "Two years ago. Came

up here to maintain the surface skimmers. For the big helium-three

project, you know."

"Right. We were hiring teleoperators then. And technicians to

maintain the skimmers. They're pretty complex pieces of equipment.''

"Yeah. Well, to me they weren't anything but big bulldozers

with some fancy toys built onto their backs."

The skimmers scooped in the top few centimeters of the lunar

regolith, separated the dirt into basic elements and fed the ores to

solar-cell manufacturing plants, all completely automated. They separated

out the helium-three, turned the silicon into solar cells, and

deposit the cells back on the ground as they moved along.

"Damned expensive toys," Clan said.

Big George actually smiled at Clan. Or he seemed to; it was hard

to tell what was going on inside that beard.

"We used to call 'em cows. Grazed on the regolith and shat solar

cells."

Laughing, Clan added, "All automatic, tooor under remote

control by teleoperators back inside the city."

144 BEN BOVA

George's smile turned into a scowl. "That's what they fooking

told you, maybe, but it's not the way it looking worked."

"What do you meanT"

"Fooking skimmers needed maintenance all the time. Otherwise

they'd be down more often than they'd be working. Bosses had us

out on the surface every fooking day, fixing the bastards."

"Fixing whatT" Clan asked.

"Dust! You ever try working on the surface? Fooking dust gets

into everything."

"I've worked on the surface," Clan snapped. "I was working up

here when you were in diapers, for God's sake. We designed those

skimmers with electrostatic dust screens--"

"That aren't worth a cow flop," George said. "I'm telling you,

they had us out on the surface every fooking day, just about."

"But that's against safety regulations. The radiation buildup

could be dangerous."

"Tell me about it. I complained, but my supervisor said it was

either go out on the surface or get fired. I tried to go over his head.

No way. I tried to get the other technicians to refuse to go outside

bring the problem to a boil, so to speak."

"And?"

"And they fired me."

"I never heard anything about this."

"I suppose not. You're too high above us working blokes to be

bothered with such petty problems."

"Who fired you? What was his name?"

"Hers. And what difference does it make? What're you going to

do about it?"

Clan started to reply, then realized George was right. There

wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

"So what happened thenT" he asked quietly.

"Well," George said, "Astro guarantees your return fare Earth-side,

even if you're fired. Part of the pension fund. That's one good

thing about the company, I've got to admit."

"So how come you're still hereT"

"I took it out in cash and hung around for a while. Figured I

EMPIRE BUILDERS 145

could get another job. I had a girlfriend at Alphonsus that I didn't

want to leave and she couldn't go back Earthside because she was

making five times what she'd get back home."

Clan waited for him to say more, but George lapsed into silence.

"You gotta understand," Tucker said in his rasping voice, "that

there's a whole underground community here. People like George

who just sort of faded into the background--"

"Now, wait a minute," Clan said. "People don't just fade into the

background up here. Everybody's accounted for. Computers keep

track of every person who arrives and every one who departs. And

in between, too."

Tucker smiled widely, showing teeth that looked artificial to Clan

and creasing his wrinkled face even more deeply than usual.

Pointing to the desk a few feet away, he said, "There's a computer.

You find George Ambrose in it. Or Freeman Tucker. I can

name a hundred more, too."

"A hundred?"

"More," George said.

"How in the name of hell can you live in a closed society like

A1phonsus? I mean, it's a self-contained community, ecologically

and economically."

Tucker gave him a nasty smile. "Almost self-contained. Alrost

completely closed. We live on the almost."

"How?"

"That's none of your business, not yet. Right now, we gotta

figure out what to do with you."

Clan glanced at Big George. The shaggy giant was watching

him the way a lion stares at a gazelle.

"Way I see it," Tucker said, in his harshly grating voice, "there's

three possibilities."

"Three?"

Ticking his fingers, "One: you're a spy from management, sent

here to root us out. Two: you're some nut case who thinks it'd be

fun to be in the counterculture. Three: you're telling the truth and

you're really who you claim you are."

146

BEN BOVA

George held up three of his fingers. "So you got one chance out

of three of staying alive."

Clan mulled it over for a moment, then leaned back in his

chair--painfully--and tried to look nonchalant. "One out of three

is a good batting average, in baseball."

THE WEATHER FORECAST had been for partly sunny skies with

a forty percent chance of afternoon showers. But it had started

raining in Miami Beach about eleven in the morning, a steady, cold

rain driven by a stinging wind from the Atlantic. The ocean looked

gray and angry, as if displeased with what it saw ashore.

The mayor of Miami Beach sat beneath the protective canopy,

of course. It had been intended to shield the VIPs from the sunshine,

but some thoughtful soul had attached rain flaps of clear plastic on

three sides of the bright blue canopy. Now, as rain lashed against

the flaps and wind buffeted the entire stage so hard the mayor feared

it would blow away, the governor droned on endlessly with his

prepared speech.

"... with the foresight and courage that have always marked the

truly courageous pioneers and innovators who have made Florida

the great state that it is," the governor thundered into the microphone,

trying vainly to outhowl the wind.

The crowd had dwindled to almost nothing. Many of the folding

chairs that had been carefully arranged out in front of the

wooden stage had been blown over. Only a handful of people

remained out in the wet, beneath big, swaying beach umbrellas that

the mayor's public-relations people had frantically scrounged from

every shop they could find along Collins Avenue.

148

BEN BOVA

The TV crews were at their posts, thank goodness, swaddled in

slickers and plastic tarpaulins. Doesn't really matter how many

people are in the live audience, the mayor thought, as long as this

ceremony gets onto the evening newscasts. As long as the cameramen

don't show all those empty seats.

At last the governor finished, to a spattering of applause, and

the master of ceremonies--a nationally recognized talk-show

host--introduced the mayor as "the man who has been the guiding

light behind this project from its very inception to this moment of

its dedication."

The mayor's ears were finely attuned to measuring crowd reaction,

and he calculated that the applause for him--sparse as the

audience had become--was slightly more than the governor got.

That boded well for next year's election campaign, even though the

mayor had more of his dependents out there than the governor had.

"Today," the mayor said, after thanking the emcee for his glowing

introduction, "we dedicate more than a structure of concrete and

steel. We dedicate ourselves to the proposition that Miami Beach

will remain a viable community despite the worst that Nature can

hurl against us."

Behind him, behind the stage and its billowing canopy, rose a

wall of gray concrete that stretched the length of what had once

been a beautiful beach. Now the beach was completely gone, replaced

by a seawall twenty feet high, gray and grim and resolute.

It protected the line of hotels and condominium high-rise buildings

that stood shoulder to shoulder along the former beachfront, towers

of glass and steel and developers' dreams.

Florida's seaside resorts and retirement communities had been

devastated by the gradual rise in sea level and the increasing violence

of storms powered by the rising greenhouse effect. Many

cities and towns had lost their beaches, their seafront palaces, even

their marinas and canals to the encroaching ocean. Causeways had

been inundated or even washed away entirely. Whole towns had

gone bankrupt. Mass migrations northward and inland had already

begun.

The Miami Beach Seawall Project was the answer to the prob-

EMPIRE BUILDERS 149

lem, the gauntlet thrown down in the face of Nature by a combination

of desperate private developers, frantic Florida bankers, and

frenzied local and state politicians. Using federal, state and even

private funding, they had built a seawall that would protect Florida's

showcase resort city from the rising sea and the raging storms.

In truth, the mayor had been a driving force behind the project.

Scientists from Washington had said that no seawall could stand

against the full might and fury of a mammoth hurricane. Yet other

scientists (especially those from Florida universities) maintained that

a wall could be built that was strong enough to do the job.

Now it was completed, and the mayor stood basking in the

glow, figuratively, of his mighty accomplishment. It had cost billions,

as the media and the mayor's political enemies pointed out

repeatedly. But it would save the hundreds of billions already sunk

into the city's buildings, streets and infrastructure.

"Now Miami Beach is safe," the mayor proclaimed, straining his

voice against the growing bluster of the wind. "Now we no longer

have to fear rising ocean levels or damaging storms."

Behind him, waves crashed against the seawall, thundering

harder and harder against its concrete face. Driven by an ever-fiercer

wind, the ocean seemed to be smashing itself against this new

challenge. The seawall held, for the time being. But an especially

powerful gust of wind ripped away the canopy that protected the

VIPs up on their makeshift stage.

Screams, shouts and a horrible groaning of timbers. The plastic

canopy, suddenly torn loose, flapped wildly and knocked the mayor

and several other VIPs off the stage, twelve feet down onto solid

concrete. Then the entire stage shifted and tilted and came crashing

down.

The mayor, his wife, four others onstage and the three closest

TV camerapersons were killed. The governor escaped with only a

few broken bones. In the tumult and confusion, no one noticed that

the ocean waves were already lapping over the top of the seawall,

sending dark gray fingers of water down its other side and onto the

protected ground behind it.

150

BEN BOVA

And this was not a hurricane, not even a tropical storm. Merely

a few gusts of wind.

Clan Randolph knew nothing of the tragedy in Florida. He had

finally been allowed to share a meager meal of frozen fish and rice

from packages that bore the heron symbol of Yamagata Industries.

The microwave oven in which Pops Tucker heated the food was not

original equipment for a temporary shelter, Clan knew. It had been

brought in from somewhere else.

Big George talked expansively during the meal of his younger

days growing up in the opal mines of Australia.

"After living in Coober Pedy most o' my life, I thought these

underground cities on the Moon would be downright luxurious.

And they were."

Tucker stayed silent throughout dinner. But every time Clan

glanced at him, the sour old man seemed to be watching him, eying

him carefully, craftily. Like a judge sizing up a convicted man before

sentencing. Or like a salesman trying to figure out how much he can

charge for a used piece of merchandise.

Clan said nothing to the wrinkled, gnomish little man. He wondered

if the pistol in his thigh pocket made a big enough bulge to

be recognized. He realized that it was only a matter of time before

the GEC put a price on his head. That's what Tucker's trying to

figure out: how much am I going to be worth to him.

Clan and Big George talked for a couple of hours after dinner,

with Tucker making rare contributions to their conversation.

George bragged about the work he had done on the Moon's surface,

braving the dangers of radiation and the billion-to-one chance of a

meteoroid hit. Despite himself, Clan began talking about his days on

the early construction jobs in orbit, and the first rugged mining

operations on the Moon. After a while, George went silent and Clan

found himself narrating story after story about those pioneering

times. He did not even have to embellish the truth to keep the big

Aussie spellbound.

"I'm going' to sleep," Tucker said at last. He made it sound

EMPIRE BUILDERS 151

cranky, accusative. "If you guys are gonna keep spinning yams at

each other, do it quietly, okay?"

George shook his shaggy mane as if awakening from a trance.

"Yeah, it's getting late. Time to sleep."

"You can have the upper bunk, over George," Tucker said to Clan ,

pointing. "And I'm a very light sleeper, so don't try anything

funny."

Clan gave him a laugh. "What do you think I'm going to do, run

away and hide?"

Tucker snorted disdainfully. "That's how you got here, ain't it?"

Clan acknowledged his point with a shrug. They took turns in

the toilet, then climbed into their respective bunks without removing

their coveralls. Dan's body still ached from George's pounding,

but he fell asleep almost immediately, exhausted physically and

emotionally. If he dreamed, he did not remember it the next

morning.

Rafaelo Gaetano sat on the flagstoned patio in the warm evening

breeze and gazed up at the sliver of a moon dancing in and out of

the clouds. Then he looked down into the streets and sighed. At

least the stench of the city did not reach up this far to the hillside

villa.

Reggio di Calabria had been a beautiful city once. Down at the

toe of the Italian boot, across the strait from Sicily's Messina,

Reggio's waterfront had once been described as "the most beautiful

kilometer in Italy" by no less than the poet D'Annunzio.

Now the city was bursting to overflowing with people driven

off their parched farms by the drought. The streets were choked

with garbage. Homeless people fought the rats every night. The

waterfront was awash in filthy water half the time. In daylight you

could see the high-tide marks on the buildings, creeping higher all

the time. Drought and flood. Gaetano wondered how they could

both be happening at the same time. Perhaps this greenhouse business

was real, after all.

"Escaped, you say? How could the man escape? Where can he

run to, up there?"

152 BEN BOVA

Gaetano returned his attention to the fat, wheezing old man

sitting across the patio table from him. Don Marcello Arcangelico

had been at death's door ever since Rafaelo had been a boy. But the

old man refused to cross death's threshold. Beneath his pasty, sag

ging skin was a heart pacemaker, an artificial hip, a transplanted

kidney and plastic tubing in place of worn-out arteries. The man was

a tribute to modern medical science and his own indomitable will to

continue living at any cost.

In the evening shadows, with only the lights from the house and

a few flickering fireflies, it was difficult to read the expression on

lilt

able.D°n Marcello's fleshy face. But the tone of his voice was unmistak-He was not pleased.

Gaetano reflected swiftly that it did not matter to Don Marcello

that he was a Council member of the GEC, one of the most powerful

men in what was in effect the government of the world. Govern

ments did not impress Don Marcello. He saw them merely as

impediments to business, as greedy bureaucrats with their hands out

for bribes or, worse, honest do-gooders who wanted to rid the

world of businessmen such as himself.

"So?" the Don asked impatiently. "How could he escape? Where

has he gone?"

With great care to keep a tone of respect in his voice, Gaetano

replied, "I don't know how he escaped. He was in his own headquar

ters, however. There must have been many men there who are loyal

to him. He must have had considerable help."

"Yes, yes," Don Marcello muttered. Personal loyalty to one's

leader was a concept he could understand and agree with, even

when the loyalty was to an enemy.

"As to where he's gone," Gaetano went on, "what does it

matter7 He can't show his face in any of the cities on the Moon. He

can't get off the Moon: all the launching facilities are under tight

control. He is probably already dead out on the surface someplace."

"And if he's not?"

Gaetano shrugged elaborately. "What difference7 He can't go

anywhere that matters. He can't do anything to interfere with us. As

far as our plans are concerned, he's as good as dead."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 153

Don Marcello was silent for several moments. Gaetano could

hear his heavy, labored breathing in the darkness· "And what does

the Russian think of this?" he asked at last.

"Malik? He is concerned· With him, Clan Randolph is a personal

affair. A vendetta."

"Vendetta," Don Marcello mumbled. "What would a Russian

barbarian know of a vendetta?"

Gaetano wisely chose not to reply.

"Well?" the old man snapped. "Is he doing nythmg.

·

a

'

?"

"Who?"

"The Russian, you cucumber!"

Through clenched teeth Gaetano answered, "Malik ordered that

all the satellites in orbit around the Moon be used to scan the surface

for signs of Randolph."

"Satellites.? Machines. What about a search with people?"

"Don Marcello," Gaetano said as politely as he could, "the

Moon is not like Earth. They don't send out search parties with

dogs. There's no air on the surface. No water."

The old man considered this for several moments, mumbling

wheezily to himself. Then, "If they do not find his body it means

that he is not dead. If he is not dead he can still be a threat to us."

"I don't see how. He's been stripped of his power. All his wealth

has been confiscated. Even if he is alive, he's hiding like a rat

someplace almost half a million kilometers away from us."

"He is dangerous, I tell you."

And so is Carthage, Gaetano thought to himself. But he knew

that Don MarceIlo's kind of stubborn ruthlessness was what had

made Rome a great empire and what made their family enterprise

an international power·

"What of the Russian?" Don Marcello asked. "Does he suspect.?"

Gaetano shook his head. "Not a thing. He thinks this plan to

confiscate the Big Seven space corporations is all his own idea."

Again silence, except for the old man's labored attempts to

breathe. Down the hillside, Gaetano could see the distant lights of

cars passing on the highway.

"The scientists actually believe," Gaetano said in a hushed voice,

154 Il lit IIOVA

"that the sea levels will rise so high that cities like Reggio will be

completely flooded. Messina, Palermo, even Naples will be underwater."

"Bah!"

"They say it will really happen."

"Even if it does," said Don Marcello, "it only means more power

and money for us. People will want new homes. They'll come

running up here to the hills, willing to pay anything for a shack to

live in. And in the meantime we'll be skimming the cream off the Big

Seven--almost legally!" He laughed, a coughing, painful, ugly gar-

Gaetano nodded in the gathering darkness. Don Marcello Ar-cangelico

saw the world in very simple terms. What was good for

him was good for his family. The rest of the world, the rest of the

universe, he did not care about.

What a name for him, Arcangelico. Then Gaetano remembered

that Lucifer had been an archangel.

"NOW WE SEE if you're really who you say you are," Pops Tucker

said in his sour, grouchy manner.

It was rooming. Not sunrise; that would not happen out on the

worn old mountains of the Alphonsus ringwall for another three

hundred and thirty hours. But inside the shelter where Clan had slept

with Big George and Pops Tucker, the digital clock on the comm

console said 0745 hours. The overhead fluorescents had switched on

automatically. Morning.

Clan sat on the edge of his bunk, feeling grungy, unwashed, still

stiff and sore from the rattling George had given him. In the

darkness, before falling asleep, he had tucked his gun under the thin

mattress of his bunk. It was safer there than bulging in his pocket,

he reasoned. Tucker eyed him suspiciously. George was in the

lavatory; they could hear him gargling ferociously, sputtering like

a drowning man.

"If you really are Clan Randolph," the old man said, "and what

you told us last night was the truth, you can be a big help to us."

"How7"

"You'll see."

George came out of the lay wearing only his skivvies. He looks

like an ad for bodybuilding, Clan thought. More muscles than a

squad of weight lifters.

156 BFN BOVA

Over a breakfast of coffee and thin, flavorless wafers, Tucker

outlined his plan.

"If you're really the head of Astro Manufacturing, you oughtta

be able to access Astro's logistics inventory programs pretty easy."

Clan sipped at the hot, bitter brew in his plastic cup. "What

makes you think I'd have anything to do with inventory programs?

I hire people to deal with that for me; I don't handle it myself."

"You used to hire people," George reminded him.

"That's right," Clan admitted. "I used to."

Tucker was undeterred. "Those gov'ment assholes took over

your office yesterday, right7 I'll bet they haven't touched the company's

inventory programs. Not yet. They'll be busy with personnel

files and organization charts and crap like that. They don't know

from the real stuff. They're just paper-pushers, not real workers."

With a shake of his head, Clan insisted, "The first thing they did,

most likely, was erase my access codes to all the company programs."

"Your personal access codes, maybe. What about the emergency

codes, though?"

"Probably not. But what makes you think I carry them around

in my head?"

"You've got 'em," Tucker said firmly. "If you're really Clan

Randolph, you either got 'em or you know how to get 'em."

Clan put his cup down on the table. Tucker had a crafty look on

his wizened face. Big George was munching on one of the wafers,

but he too had his eyes on Clan.

Heads you win, tails I lose, Clan thought as he stared back at

Tucker. If I can't access the inventory programs you throw me out

the airlock. If I can, you get what you want and maybe then you toss

me out. I'll have to get that damned gun when they've both got

their backs turned.

"WellT' Tucker prompted.

Clan gave him a crooked grin. "Let's see what's in my wristwatch."

He slipped it off his wrist. It was easier to work the tiny

keyboard that way. Clan knew that the emergency access codes to

EMPIRE BUILDERS 17

the logistics programs were not stored in the wrist unit's minuscule

computer, but the gadget did hold the phone numbers of every

department head at Alphonsus and Caracas. This early in the morning

hardly any of them would be at their offices, but their phones

would be linked to the company's central mainframe.

It was almost ridiculously easy. While Tucker and George

watched, Clan used the name of the head of the logistics department

to get the mainframe to produce a string of access codes.

"You were right," he muttered as he watched the numbers

scrolling past on the wrist unit's tiny screen. "Don't even need the

damned emergency codes; the idiot program's about as secure as a

virgin in the men's locker room." Clan frowned, thinking that he

would have to beef up the system when...

Then he remembered that it was no longer his system, or his

company.

Tucker borrowed his wristwatch and went to the desktop computer,

began tapping in the access codes.

George smiled happily. "Now we'll be able to find out what

your blokes are moving from one location to another."

"What good will that do you7"

"Can't steal what you can't find," George said.

"Steal7"

"Right. How do you think we live out here? Charity from the

Big Seven?"

Tucker looked up from the screen, its bluish glow casting a

ghastly light on his wrinkled face. "There's a shipment of spare parts

for the skimmers going' out to the base camp on the outslope."

"Crew?" George asked.

"None indicated. Just a cargo run."

"Sounds good. When?"

Tucker glanced back at the screen." 'Safternoon. Leaves the city

at sixteen hundred."

George rolled his eyes ceilingward as he did a swift mental

calculation. "Ought to be here by sixteen-twenty, sixteen-twenty-five

at the latest."

"You're going to hijack a cargo trolley?" Clan asked.

158

BEN BOVA

Tucker made a disdainful grunt. "Nothing so grand, Randolph.

We're not big thieves; we're just small ones. All we're going to do

is pilfer a little."

Jane Scanwell had spent the night in the transfer station at the L1

liberation point, thirty-six thousand miles above the lunar surface.

She had left Alphonsus within an hour of Dan's escape and now,

after a sleepless night, was sitting uneasily in the passenger compartment

of a regularly scheduled shuttle heading for Earth orbit.

Weightlessness still bothered her. Although she was strapped

into her seat, her innards still felt as if she were falling endlessly and

her head was throbbing. The passenger compartment was very

much like the interior of an airliner; the flight attendants even

walked almost normally along the central aisle, thanks to Velcro

slippers. Still, Jane fought down the queasiness in her stomach, the

feeling of stuffiness in her sinuses.

And her roiling emotions. Damn ClanI she said to herself for the

hundredth time that hour. And damn me for caring about his foolish,

arrogant hide. Running away! What a stupid trick to pull. Where's

he going to run to, on the Moon? He'll just get himself killed, that's

all he's going to accomplish.

Well, what can you do about it? she asked herself. Is there any

way you can help him?

She was surprised at her own question. Help him? He's a fugitive

from justice. How can I even dream of trying to help him? And

when did he ever ask for my help? He ran away from me. He always

runs away from me. We could have stayed on Tetiaroa together. But

he didn't even give me the chance to tell him that I'd resign my

Council position if he'd quit Astro and retire peacefully.

Now it's too late, she realized. Now he's a fugitive in hiding.

Maybe he's already dead.

Good riddance! He's been nothing but heartache and pain to me

ever since I met him. Time to forget Clan Randolph and get on with

my life. No tears. No regrets. If he's not dead already he will be soon

and there's nothing I can do about it. Not a damned thing.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 159

She refused to cry. But suddenly her guts churned with acid and

she grabbed for the retch bag in the seatback in front of her.

Katherine Williams sat in Dan's swivel chair and studied the data on

his desktop screen. The takeover was proceeding smoothly. Each

department and section of the company was functioning as it

should--somewhat raggedly, perhaps, in a few cases, but that was

to be expected when there had been such an abrupt change in

management. Now the computer system was patiently, remorselessly,

thoroughly rooting Clan Randolph's name and all his various

access codes from every branch of Astro Manufacturing. Within a

few hours, as far as the computer programs were concerned, Clan

Randolph will cease to exist. It will be as if he never had existed,

Kate thought.

But where is he7 she wondered as she leaned back in his chair.

It was utterly comfortable: its midnight black covering was something

like butter-soft leather, but warm to the touch and gently

yielding, so that it conformed to the contours of her body as if the

chair had been custom built for her alone.

Kate smiled to herself. Not a bad idea, actually. Instead of going

back to San Francisco, why not stay here and run Astro for the GEC?

I can bring Kimberly up here; she'd be better off away from her old

haunts, once she's out of the rehab center. We'd both be better off

up here on the Moon: Kimberly away from her drug culture and me

a quarter-million miles away from Rare.

aetano was not a bad lover, once they got down to the

pleasure of lovemaking. It was the damned silly games he liked to

play beforehand. He really didn't like women, Kate realized. No, it's

not that, exactly. He's afraid of women. He's got to put himself in

a position of absolute power before he can get it up.

What would Gaetano do if I told him I wanted to stay here and

run Astro's operations for the GEC7 And bring Kimberly up here

with me7 That would just about break his hold over me. Would he

care7 He can always find some other woman to dominate.

She shook her head, frowning. No, he wouldn't want to give up

his power over me. Not unless I could give him something in return.

160 BEN BOVA

Something he wants more than his feeling that he can control me.

Something . . .

The answer was displaying itself to her in the desktop screen. Clan Randolph! If I could deliver Clan to him, Rare would let me have

Astro as my reward. That would work.

She broke into a happy smile as she leaned forward across the

desk to reach the computer keyboard. I'll have Kim here safe and

Astro Manufacturing. Terrific! All I've got to do is find Clan Randolph.

She began pecking at the keyboard with single-minded intensity,

telling herself that it wouldn't matter if Clan was dead or alive.

All she had to do was find him. Or his body.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Clan asked dubiously.

"I've done it before," Big George's voice replied in his helmet

earphones. "It's not as crazy as it looks."

It looked pretty crazy to Clan. He and George were climbinup

one of the slim concrete pillars that held the cable-car line, clambering

in their space suits slowly up the steel ladder rungs imbedded

in the pole like a pair of ungainly oversized bear cubs struggling up

a tree.

Pops Tucker had remained in the shelter, too old and frail for the

athletics that George was contemplating.

"It's simple," George said. "We wait at the top of the pole. The

fooking trolley comes by. We jump down onto its roof, then climb

down and enter it through the airlock. Nothing to it, practically."

The pillar looked about ten meters high to Clan, from the

ground. Halfway up, climbing laboriously in the awkward pressure

suit, it seemed more like a hundred meters high. He leaned over to

see the ground from inside his helmet. Make it two hundred meters,

he said to himself.

"The main thing is the timing," George was explaining. "When

I say to jump, jump. Don't want to miss the fooking bus. Even in

this gravity, a ten-meter fall can break your bones."

Dan's back still hurt sullenly. At last they reached the top of the

pillar. He clambered up beside George and the two of them hung

EMPIRE BUILDERS 161

there like high-tech monkeys. Suddenly a new thought popped into

his head.

"Hey, once we're inside the trolley, how the hell do we get out

again? We can't wait until it gets to the end of the line, there'll be

people waiting for it there."

He could not see George's face behind the heavily tinted visor

of his helmet. But he heard the big man chuckle. "We stop the

bugger, that's what we do. Stop her and use the emergency escape

line to get back to the surface."

"Then they know somebody's been aboard it."

"Sure they know."

Inside his helmet, sweating from the exertion of the climb, Clan

frowned with puzzlement. "But I've never heard of a trolley being

hijacked."

"Doesn't happen very often," George's voice replied. "We don't

do this every day, y'know."

"But I would have been informed about it," Clan insisted. "My

security people would have reported it up the chain of command

to me."

"Maybe," said George. "Maybe not."

"I don't understand--"

"Hold it! Here she comes."

Clan had to turn his entire upper torso to look in the direction

of the cable, hanging tautly a few feet below them. It was still night

on the Moon, but there was enough Earthlight for him to make out

the bullet shape of the trolley whizzing along the cable toward

them. Cripes, it's coming fast. If we miss . . .

"Jump!" George yelled.

Clan jumped. He seemed to hang in emptiness forever. Then he

landed with a bone-rattling thud on the trolley's roof. His boots

scraped and slid on the slick hard surface and he felt himself going

over sideways in the dreamy slow motion of the Moon's low

gravity. He reached out for something to grab hold of but there was

nothing, not even thin air, nothing but vacuum. He was falling over

the side, slipping like a man in a nightmare toward the ground

rushing by so far below.

162 BEN BOVA

Something grabbed him hard and yanked him back onto the flat

surface of the trolley's roof. Clan lay on his belly, gasping.

George's voice in his earphones sounded amused. "I forgot to

tell you--grab one of the handholds on the roof when you land.

Otherwise you'll fall off."

"Thanks ..." Clan puffed, "for the ... advice."

"C'mon, no time to waste."

I'm too old for this, Clan said to himself. But, taking a deep

breath, he slowly got to all fours. George was already clambering

down the side of the moving trolley to work its airlock hatch. Clan

got shakily to his feet. The car was moving along at a good fifty

knots or more, he estimated, but there was no real sensation of

movement. No wind, certainly, and the car seemed steady as a rock

beneath his feet. A little vibration, but nothing much. If he didn't

look at the ground hurtling past it would be hard to tell they were

moving at all.

"C'mon," George called. "In we go."

Clan lowered himself down from the lip of the roof and swung

into the open airlock. Within minutes he and George were inside the

main cab of the trolley. It was stuffed with crated mechanical parts

and boxes of electronics equipment.

George whistled happily. "A fooking cornucopia!" He went to

the display screen built into the front bulkhead. "Can you work

this?"

Clumping in his boots, Clan walked up beside him and pecked

at the keyboard mounted on the wall. The car's manifest appeared

on the screen.

"Fair dinkum, mate. Now let's see what we want to take."

To Dan's surprise, George selected only a half-dozen small

electronics items from the cargo.

"Is that all?" he blurted, when George indicated they would stop

the car and get off now. "I damn near broke my neck just for this?

George must have nodded inside his helmet, though Clan could

not see it. "Enough," he said. "If we get too greedy it'll upset

people."

"Upset who?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 163 Stacking the half-dozen boxes he had selected beside the airlock's

inner hatch, George answered, "The people in your security

section who look the other way when we sfreal from you, that's

"BUT WE HAVE the legal authority to take over your entire

company," said Vasily Malik, his face somber, almost grim.

"The authority perhaps," answered Nobuhiko Yamagata,

equally serious, "but I doubt that you have the power."

Jane Scanwell sat with Malik on the settee. Across the low

coffee table from them sat Nobuhiko and the Japanese consul--a

government official low enough to offer no real threat to the GEC

Council members, but high enough to make it plain that the Japanese

government was vitally interested in the fate of Yamagata

Industries.

Beyond the windows of Nobo's hotel room rose the spires and

rooftops of New San Francisco, still rebuilding after the mammoth

earthquake of six years earlier. At least the city has insisted on

keeping the view of the bay clear, thought Jane. That's one benefit

of the quake. But it had taken seventeen thousand deaths to overcome

the greed of builders who had raised constantly higher towers

in the old days.

Malik glanced at the Japanese consul, an undistinguished-looking

man of middle years dressed in a conservatively dark business

suit, his face as expressionless as a blank mask.

For three weeks he had been pressing for a personal meeting

with the new head of Yamagata Industries. Finally Nobuhiko had

EMPIRE BUILDERS 165

agreed to meet him in San Francisco: a neutral ground between

Japan and the GEC's Paris headquarters. They were in one of the

company suites in the rebuilt Yamagata Hotel. Nobo was wearing

a casual knit shirt and shorts, fit more for a tennis match than a duel

against the powers of the GEC. Both Malik and Jane were in

business clothes: her pants suit was a shade of light blue that

complemented her auburn hair beautifully; Malik wore a summer-weight

suit of pearl gray.

"Are you saying," the Russian asked Nobo, "that the Japanese

government would resist a GEC order of confiscation?"

"Yes, that is precisely what I am saying," Nobuhiko replied.

"That would be ... unfortunate."

Nobo leaned forward earnestly across the bare coffee table. "I

cannot speak for the government of Japan officially, but I assure you

that Tokyo will take a very dim view of any attempt by the GEC

to take over Yamagata Industries the way you have taken over

Astro Manufacturing and several others of the Big Seven."

Jane offered, "We're only talking about Yamagata's space facilities,

not your terrestrial operations."

"I understand that."

"Your government would oppose that?"

"To the point of exercising its option to withdraw from the Global Economic Council."

"That would be an extreme move," Malik said uneasily.

"And if Japan withdraws," Nobuhiko pressed his advantage,

"China and all the Little Tigers of the Pacific Rim will undoubtedly

withdraw also. Perhaps Australia and New Zealand, as well. Who

knows how far the movement might spread?"

"That must not happen," said Malik.

"Don't you understand?" Jane pleaded. "We must have control

of the space facilities. In the next ten years or so---"

"The greenhouse cliff. I know," Nobo said.

"Then you must understand why all the space facilities have to

be under a unified control."

"Control is not the same thing as confiscation."

"Astro was confiscated because it broke the law," Malik insisted.

166 BEN BOVA

"And Rockledge7 Arianespace? What pretexts did you use to

take themT"

Malik stiffened. "We are here to discuss the fate of Yamagata

Industries, not the GEC."

"The two seem inextricably intertwined," Nobo said, the faintest

of smiles playing at the corners of his mouth.

"In the face of a global catastrophe, you refuse to cooperate with

the GEC."

Nobo raised a finger. "Not so. Yamagata Industries will cooperate

fully with the GEC. We understand the gravity of the greenhouse

problem, the severity of the challenge that faces the world.

Japan is very sensitive to this issue; after all, the rise in sea level will

be especially disastrous for Japan. We will certainly cooperatebut

we will not be coerced."

Jane glanced at Malik's grim face, then turned back to Nobuhiko.

"You will cooperate voluntarily7"

"That is what Clan Randolph advised us to do, just before he

disappeared."

"Randolph." Malik growled the name.

"He called us together, you know, the day he disappeared; all

seven of us."

"I know," said Jane, her voice low. "I was in his office."

Nobo looked away from her. "I was . . . unable to attend the

teleconference. But Clan urged us to cooperate fully with the GEC's

effort to avert the greenhouse cliff. Even if the GEC expropriates all

our profits. He said we are facing a wartime situation, and we must

act accordingly."

"WartimeT" Malik snapped.

"Dan's position was that we must make the same sacrifices we

would if we were at war, if we are to beat this greenhouse cliff.

Yamagata Industries intends to do so."

"I see," Malik said stiffly, the way a man accepts a situation he

hates. "That is good news, I suppose."

"On the other hand," Nobo went on, "if the GEC continues with

its efforts to take over Yamagata's space facilities, we will fight you

in the World Court."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 167

"But that could take years!" Jane said.

Nobo acknowledged her assessment with a single nod of his

head.

"And in the meantime the greenhouse cliff will draw even

closer," said Malik.

"That is true."

They all fell silent for several moments. The two Council members

clearly saw the offer that Nobuhiko was making: stop the effort

to confiscate Yamagata's space facilities and the corporation will

cooperate fully with the GEC's effort to avert the greenhouse cliff.

Otherwise, the entire GEC itself might be torn apart and the greenhouse

warming will devastate the planet.

"Complete control," Malik muttered at last. "We must have

total control of all space facilities. That is imperative."

"I am willing to grant you total control of all Yamagata space

facilities--provided," Nobo raised both his hands, "that you recognize

legally that such control is voluntarily granted by Yamagata

and can be withdrawn whenever Yamagata desires."

Malik slapped his thighs angrily. "Impossible! How can we set

long-range operations in motion when you can pull out at any

moment?"

"How can you expect me to give you control of my space

facilities with no time limit? You could keep them forever!"

Jane leaned toward Nobo. "How about a time limit written into

the agreement, then? Say, ten years?"

"Twenty," said Malik.

"Five," said Nobo.

They glared at each other over the coffee table.

"Five years," suggested Jane, "with an automatic renewal for

another five, unless one party wants to end the agreement."

"We need ten years at least," Malik insisted. "Even that will not

be enough. How can we convert the entire planet's energy and

transport systems in ten years? It can't be done! All we can hope for

is to make a significant start on the problem."

Nobo said to Jane, "I believe a five-and-five agreement will be

workable."

168 BEN BOVA

Malik leveled an accusatory finger at him. "I know what you are

after! With the whole world looking to you and your other space

industrialists to provide fusion fuels and solar power, you intend to

gouge incredible profits out of this opportunity!"

Nobuhiko forced a smile. "I presume that if I allow you to

control all of Yamagata's space operations, that control will include

a limit on our profit margins. In fact, I thought that was the real

reason behind your insistence on control."

"The operations must be done at cost," Malik said, not taken

aback for a moment by Nobo's placating tone.

"It will be necessary for us to vastly enlarge our facilities in

space," Nobo countered. "How will the GEC provide capital for

such expansion?"

"Cost plus a percentage for expansion," Jane suggested.

"But no profits," said Malik.

Nobo leaned back in the settee, forcing the consul to move

slightly, the first indication since their meeting began that the man

was actually alive.

"The GEC will provide any additional capital needed?." he asked.

"Yes," Jane said before Malik could open his mouth.

"All salary levels will be maintained? We have a rather liberal

policy of bonuses and salary reviews, you know."

"You will continue to operate the facilities as you see fit," Jane

said. "The Council will take the responsibility for management."

"Including price-setting," Malik added.

"Five years, with renewal option."

Malik hesitated, then said, "Over a total of twenty years."

"Three renewal options, then," said Jane.

Nobuhiko closed his eyes for a moment, as if communing with

spirits. When he opened them again he said, "Very well. I will sign

such an agreement."

"And you will get the others in the Big Seven to sign similar

agreements?"

"Those you haven't already seized," Nobo said.

"Excellent."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 169

All four of them rose and shook hands across the coffee table.

Not one of them smiled.

In Paris it was two in the morning. Rafaelo Gaetano sat on the sofa

in his living room, swathed in a burgundy red silk robe, his bare feet

up on the pillows, his eyes fixed on the video screen. Transmission

quality of the picture was good, considering that the camera was

about the width of a human hair and set into the ceiling of the hotel

room in San Francisco. The sound was weak, though; he had to

strain his ears to understand what they were saying.

When the four stood up and shook hands, Gaetano fished the

remote control from the pocket of his robe and clicked off the TV.

Unconsciously he bit his lower lip as he thought, We wanted

total control of Yamagata and the others, but Malik's made this

half-assed deal with the Jap. Five years. That ought to give us

enough time to put our own people in charge. By the time the

renewal comes up, we could have Yamagata Industries and the

others in our pocket, if we play our cards right.

He nodded to himself, satisfied that his report to Don Marcello

would be acceptable. At least, he thought it would be.

Clan Randolph had learned a lot in three weeks. There was an

underground community on the Moon--an illegal, unacknowledged

subculture that lived by theft, barter and bribery. And now

he was part of it.

He was walking through the main plaza of A1phonsus City,

heading toward the grand entryway of the brand-new Yamagata

Hotel, grinning to himself that he could get away with it. Of course,

he had changed considerably. He had not shaved, and although his

three-week beard was depressingly gray rather than the youthful

sandy blond he would have preferred, it effectively kept his face

from being recognized by the men and women walking along the

plaza. And he was thinner, tauter. Three weeks of living as an

outlaw had burned off some fat.

The people in the plaza were almost entirely Japanese, of course.

Still, Clan felt a pang of surprise. And he felt annoyed with himself

170 BEN BOVA

that he was surprised. He had known that Alphonsus was basically

a Yamagata facility; his own Astro operations merely leased space

from Sai's corporation. But he had surrounded himself with his own

people so much that he had forgotten, down in his gut where it

counted, that his Americans were a small minority of the men and

women who lived and worked in Alphonsus.

I insulated myself too much, he thought as he walked along the

pedestrian thoroughfare. How easy it is to separate yourself from

the real world. Big-shot Clan Randolph, sitting in your office and

giving orders, watching your flunkies jump, ignoring the world

around you because it was so much easier to let yourself think you

knew what was going on. So much more pleasant to tell yourself

you were in charge, to watch people hop when you gave an order.

You took up swimming while the rest of 'em were working to steal

it all.

No wonder Malik was able to take my company away from me.

It was my own damned stupid fault.

The main plaza was an immense domed structure, big enough

to hold six football fields. But the city was all underground, buried

deep below the plaza level. The area up here was devoted to green

trees and flowering shrubbery, an open-air theater with a gracefully

curved acoustical shell, small shops and restaurants and pleasant

winding walks through the greenery. A few fliers were gliding high

up above on rented plastic wings and their own muscle power. Soft

music wafted through the air over the hum and hubbub of the

crowds on the thoroughfares. To Clan it all seemed like a giant

shopping mall, the kind he had known in Houston that had created

an environment just as artificial as this vast dome on the Moon.

A pair of young Japanese whizzed past him on a skateboard.

Probably a married couple, from the looks of them. Maybe not: she's

holding him awfully tight. They shouldn't be in the pedestrian lane, Clan grumbled to himself. Sure enough, they were stopped by a

robot traffic monitor only a few hundred feet up ahead, the spinning

light on its head glaring red. The young man looked abashed as the

robot recited its programmed lecture on traffic safety and a printed

summons chugged out of the slot on its side.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 171

Clan grinned at them as he sauntered past. He noticed that both

the man and his lady friend had earphones clamped to their heads.

God knows what kind of brain-numbing music they were pumping

into their skulls. The traffic robots were equipped with radio overrides,

so their lectures and instructions were piped right into the

earphones. The long arm of the law.

Just be careful that the long arm of the law doesn't tap you on

the shoulder, he warned himself. He was carrying a fake ID that

Pops Tucker had cooked up for him, based on data from Astro's

personnel file that the grumpy old man had hacked into. It would

not bear close scrutiny, but a simple robot might be fooled by it. The

secret was not to be stopped and asked for identification. Accordingly, Clan walked with the flow of pedestrian traffic, as innocuous

and unremarkable as the shrubbery planted along the thoroughfare.

The coveralls he wore were old and faded from their original sky

blue, but clean and not too frayed. The ID badge clipped to his

breast pocket identified him as R. Jones. His shoulder patch claimed

he worked in Astro's logistics department. He had left his pistol

back in the tempo shelter he shared with Tucker and Big George;

hidden it behind his bunk. He still did not trust his two new

acquaintances enough to show the gun to them.

He sauntered through the entryway of the hotel, past the built-in

X-ray detectors and security cameras and the two burly Japanese

doormen in their bright new uniforms. Anybody could come into

the hotel's lobby area; there were restaurants and shops open to the

public. It would be a different matter to try to get into one of the

residence suites.

The lobby was gorgeous, floored with basalt from Mare

Nubium polished to a mirror finish. Like all lunar facilities, the hotel's

various floors were deeper underground than the main plaza's level.

There were no staircases on the Moon; too easy for newcomers

unaccustomed to the lower gravity to trip themselves. Clan descended

a wide rampway, walking slowly like the rest of the crowd

to admire the sheets of water sliding noiselessly down tilted panes

of glass on either side of the central rampway, into spacious fish

ponds at the bottom level. Freely flowing water was still a rare sight

172 BEN BOVA

on the Moon, even though aquaculture provided much more protein

for the lunar diet than agriculture could. Tourists tossed bread

and other goodies to the beautifully colored fish. Clan wondered if

they realized that they would be eating those same fish in another

day or two.

Clan felt strangely happy. For the first time in years, in decades

really, he felt free. No obligations, except to his stomach. And his

groin. No responsibilities, except to avoid getting caught. At the

age of fifty he was starting a new life, almost as if he were a kid

again.

So half the world's going to be flooded out in ten years or so.

Not a damned thing I can do about it. I would've tried to help, but

they stopped me. Not my responsibility anymore. I wanted to help,

but Malik saw to it that I won't be able to. Tough luck, world. I

could've saved you a lot of trouble. But they won't let me. Malik.

And Jane even she turned against me. We could have had a great

life together, the two of us. But it was never meant to be.

He shrugged as he walked, trying to accept it all philosophically.

But inwardly he seethed. The more he thought about it, the less he

liked his thoughts. Malik. And Jane. Nobuhiko turning his back on

him. And Kate Williams. The traitor. The damned smiling, long-legged,

redheaded, sexy-looking traitor.

I'd like to wring her neck, he told himself. But he knew that was

not what he really wanted to do. With an angry huff he realized that

what he really wanted was to get her in bed.

Or anybody, come to think of it. The one problem with this new

life-style is getting laid. It's a lot easier when you're filthy rich.

Katherine Williams was speaking to Rafaelo Gaetano from her office

in Astro Manufacturing's complex in A1phonsus. In the three weeks

since she had spearheaded the GEC's takeover, Kate had come to

think of Clan Randolph's former office as her own.

It had not changed much, physically. The pictures on the walls

were still mostly photographs of rocket launches and space facilities

that Randolph had built. Kate had replaced one especially pointless

engineering sketch with a print of colorful flowers in a vase. She

EMPIRE BUILDERS 173

kept a small photograph of her sister and herself in the top desk

drawer, where no one could see it. It had been taken when they were

teenagers, arms around each other's waists, smiles full of milk-white

teeth, no marks of pain or disappointment or responsibility on either

of their happy pretty faces.

"He's not dead," she was saying to aetano. "I'm certain of that,

Rare."

It took two and a half seconds for her words to reach Earth and

his response to return. She was smoothing her hair when he replied:

"How can you be so sure7 He hasn't shown up for three weeks.

He can't live out in the open that long."

"He's not out on the surface," Kate said firmly. "He's somewhere

here, around Alphonsus, using an assumed identity."

Gaetano seemed annoyed by the transmission lag. He glowered

into the screen.

"You're guessing," he said at last.

Kate shook her head. "Nobody's found his body. But I've found

something that's maybe more interesting than his corpse." She

stopped, smiling, knowing that he would be impatient to hear what

she had to say.

"So7 What is itT"

"People are living in the emergency shelters that are scattered

around up on the surface. People who aren't registered on the

personnel files of any corporation up here."

Gaetano's frown deepened even further when her words

reached him. "People7 What peopleT"

Kate waved an uncertain hand. "The lunar version of the homeless,

Rafe. People who have no IDs, no jobs, no permanent abode.

I'm digging into this; there's apparently an entire underground

community here at Alphonsus. I'll bet the same situation holds at all

the other lunar facilities, as well."

"I thought everybody lives underground up there."

"I mean underground like---well, like crooks. Black market. Illegal

aliens, sort of. They must be criminals, Rafe. They can't hold

down regular jobs, or they'd be on the personnel files and have

regular living quarters assigned to them."

174 BEN BOVA

His scowl turned thoughtful. "You mean there's a whole nest of

illegals at Alphonsus?"

"Yes. And Copernicus, and the other communities, too. Just like

any city on Earth, Rare."

"And you think Randolph is in with these burns?"

"He must be."

Gaetano ran a finger across his moustache. "Then you'd better

find him. Don't even think about coming back until you do."

Kate tried to look upset at the thought that she was not to

return to Earth until she had rooted Clan Randolph out of his hiding

place' She kept herself fr°m smiling until several sec°nds after the iphone link had been ended.

RANDOLPH JONESDAN'S assumed persona--was a lowly

computer programmer in Astro Corporation's logistics department.

In other words, a high-tech clerk. The actual Randolph Jones was

enjoying two days of fun and games with some of the women that

Big George played with over in the mining facility out on the plain

of Mare Nubium.

Horny though he might be, Clan had not been able to bring

himself to bed one of Big George's playmates. No wonder the

company's group insurance rates keep going up, he thought the first

time George had taken him out to the camp. They looked sleazy and

dirty, not at all the kind that Clan felt comfortable with, even after

several rounds of locally brewed "rocket juice."

One of the whores had plunked herself on Dan's knee and

whispered into his ear, "Even if you're too old to cut the mustard,

honey, you can still lick the jar." Then she shrieked with wicked

laughter. For the rest of that evening Clan was glad that his beard

was coming in gray.

Now, after an hour's walk through the Yamagata Hotel shops,

ogling jeweled baubles and pricey clothes and handsome women

that he could no longer afford, Clan headed for work as Randolph

Jones at Astro Manufacturing's logistics office. The women bothered

him. It was fine to feel free of responsibilities, to live from day

176

BEN BOVA

to day, almost like a teenager. No worries. No cares. But no women,

either. I've got to do something about that, he told himself.

Astro's logistics office was two levels below the main plaza,

connected to the big enclosed garage where the surface skimmers

and tractors were housed and maintained. The personnel computer

accepted R. Jones' ID badge without a quiver, simply checking the

retinal pattern coded onto the badge against Dan's eyes. It was not

programmed to check the pattern on the badge against R. Jones'

pattern in the personnel file. Clan realized that this was a hole in

Astro's security procedures that you could drive a tractor through.

But who would have thought that the company needed tight security

procedures at a lunar base? Besides, every piece of equipment

and item of supplies was constantly monitored by the logistics

computer, wasn't it?

The past three weeks had taught Clan how fallacious that assumption

was.

"Hey, man, you're not Randy Jones."

Clan clipped his badge back onto his pocket as he surveyed the

man accosting him. He was another maintenance tech, a black

American somewhere in his early thirties, tall and gangly in blue

coveralls that were just as faded as Dan's own. His face looked more

curious than suspicious.

"Randy's taking a couple of days off. He asked me to fill in for

him so he wouldn't lose any pay."

"Yeah?"

Clan sidled closer and lowered his voice. "He's with a couple of

girlfriends."

The black man huffed. "Sounds like him. Tryin' to live up to his

name."

Glancing at the man's ID badge, Clan said, "Listen, Bob--you're

not going to give me away, are you? Randy and I are splitting the

pay, and I sure could use the money."

Robert Thomas obviously did not like the situation. But he said, "I won't give Randy away; he's a friend. A screwball, but a friend.

Just don't you fuck up on the job, man. Then we'll all be in the soup.

You know anything about tractor maintenance?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 177

Clan said, "Randy told me his JOB was running the inventory

program."

Thomas smiled. "Okay. I guess you really do know the old

motherhumper. Yeah, you handle the inventory while the rest of us

do the real work."

Letting out a breath that he had not realized he had been

holding in, Clan followed Bob Thomas up the power ladder to the

big, echoing garage where the tractors and skimmers were kept.

Men and women were already at work, welding sparks sputtering,

the clang of metal on metal ringing across the concrete floor of the

domed chamber.

'I'll see you at lunch break," Thomas said to Clan, then he

headed for his workstation across the wide floor.

He's going to be a problem, Clan told himself as he swung onto

the power ladder that carried him up to the cubbyhole office on the

catwalk overhead where the logistics computer was housed.

Jeff Robertson leaned back in his squeaky old desk chair and smiled

politely at his two visitors. His desk was cluttered with memorabilia:

a small forest of framed photographs of family and old friends; a

massive silver-plated drill bit from his first oil well, that took up one

whole side of the desktop; several model airplanes; and a miniature

mock-up of a fusion power reactor that looked almost puny next to

the drill bit.

Through the window behind Robertson's desk, Jane Scanwell

looked out at the soaring glass and steel towers of Houston, but the

allegedly blue Texas sky was lost in a gray haze of smog.

'I can see your problem," Robertson said, his voice a thin tenor,

"but I don't understand why you're bringing it to me."

To Rafaelo Gaetano, sitting beside Jane in front of the desk,

Robertson looked like a canny old cowboy, or perhaps the flinty

sheriff: of some frontier Western town, hard-bitten and quick on the

trigger. The old man was whipcord lean, his face like tanned leather

stretched over an ancient skull, a strong eagle's nose jutting out

from it, his hair white and wispy. His eyes bulged, hyperthyroid

almost. But they were bright blue and keen as a prairie scout's.

178

BEN BOVA

Robertson was wearing a comfortable old shirt of sagebrush

lavender with a string tie hanging loosely from its collar. Gaetano

had refused to take off his dark suit jacket, even though Robertson

had remarked that the office might be a bit warm for them. To Jane,

in a tailored silk blouse of cream white and a knee-length navy blue

skirt, the room felt almost frigid. Texans and their air-conditioning;

her years in Europe had made her forget how profligate her fellow

Texans could be.

"You are the chief executive officer of the world's largest energy

corporation," Gaetano answered smoothly. "Who else would the

Council turn to, except you7"

"Aw hell," Robertson said, "I'm just an old man who got kicked

upstairs."

His smile belied his words. His voice did quaver slightly, and

Gaetano knew that this man had spent nearly seven decades in

building Southwest Energy Corporation into the multinational giant

it now was.

Jane said, "I don't think anybody could ever get away with

kicking you anywhere, Jeff."

Robertson's smile flashed wider. "Miz President, I would never

argue with you. Hell, even if I hadn't voted for you, you're much

too purty to argue with."

Jane made herself smile back at the old man. She had known Jeff

Robertson since the days when his oil money had helped lubricate

Morgan Scanwell's first campaign for governor. A hundred years

ago, Jane thought, trying to keep the pain from showing. A thousand

years ago.

"The simple fact of the matter," Gaetano said, leaning forward

in his chair slightly, anxious to get down to business, "is that you

are the most respected man in the world energy industry."

Robertson gave a modest shrug. "I been working in the oil patch

longer'n anybody who's still around and kickin', I reckon."

"You have seen the GEC report on the greenhouse cliff?"

"Yep. Read the executive summary, at least. Got my science

people going over the details for me."

"That report is Top Secret!" Gaetano said. "It shouldn't be

EMPIRE BUILDERS 179

revealed to anyone! If the public finds out about the greenhouse cliff

there could be mass hysteria and panic."

"Relax," said Robertson. "My people know how to keep their

mouths shut. Nobody's gonna go 'round scaring the hoi polloi."

"It's all right, Rafe," Jane said soothingly. "We can trust Jeff."

"Well then," said Gaetano, more calmly, "you know the catastrophe

that is about to strike us,"

"I know what your report claims will happen."

"It's real, Jeff," said Jane. "This isn't a matter of scientists making

guesses. The facts are inescapable."

Robertson studied her for a silent moment, his pop eyes narrowing.

"Real, huh? Then what can we do about it?"

"That is exactly why we are here," Gaetano said. "To get your

help."

The old man leveled a finger at him. "Now look. I know what

you've done to the Big Seven space corporations. Don't think

you're going to take over Southwest that way. Or any of the energy

corporations. That's out of the question."

Jane realized that his down-home accent had vanished. Ga-etano's

nostrils flared with suppressed anger.

"No one wants to take over the energy corporations," Jane said

quickly. "Least of all Southwest."

"Good."

"But we do need your cooperation."

Robertson did not reply.

"It is urgent," said Gaetano, "more than urgent--it is imperative

that we begin to move transportation and industry off fossil fuels."

"Hell, I know that! Knew it twenty-five years ago. Why do you

think I turned Southwest Oil into Southwest Energy? When we had

movie stars running around the country scaring everybody to death

over nuclear, I was backing fusion as hard as I could."

"But now we've got to start phasing the auto industry into

electric cars," Jane said. "And quickly."

Robertson snorted disdainfully and leaned his skinny arms on

his desk. "That won't be easy. You're talking maybe a hundred

180 BEN BOVA

billion dollars of tooling and redesign. More. To say nothing of the

advertising and public relations campaigns they'll have to start."

"Yamagata has promised his cooperation in Japan," said Gaetano.

"In three years there will be no more petrol-powered automobiles

built by the Japanese."

"You expect Detroit to go along with that?"

"It is imperative."

With a shake of his head, the old man replied, "Don'tcha see? If

the Japs go to electric cars, Detroit will see it as an opportunity to

grab the import market back from them. It'll be easier to sell gas-powered

cars; that's what the public really wants. Muscle cars. Not

those little electric putt-putts."

"That's why we need your help, Jeff," said Jane. "You've got to

be a leader on this."

"Janie, dear: you know and I know that by the time this thing

strikes, I'll be dead and gone."

"But there are twelve billion other human beings who'll be hit

by this disaster!" Jane insisted. "You've got to help us, even if it's the

last thing you do!"

"Convert the whole global energy industry from fossil fuels to

nuclear? In ten years?"

"Nuclear and solar," said Jane. "The Big Seven are all under GEC

control now. They'll produce the fuel for fusion plants and build

solar panels at maximum output. We're already developing plans to

double their capacity within the next five years, and then double it

again."

"But that won't do you much good if nobody down here on the

ground wants to buy 'em, huh?"

"Exactly right."

"I don't know if it can be done, Janie. Especially in the time you

say we've got to do it."

"We've got to try."

"The alternative," said Gaetano coldly, "is for the GEC to take

over the energy corporations and run them for the duration of this

emergency.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 181

Robertson glowered at him. '¥'ou try that and there won't be

any GEC. We'll tear it apart."

"This is no time for threats," Jane snapped, "from either of you.

There's no room for anything but cooperation. Period."

The two men stared at each other for a long, wordless moment.

Finally Robertson turned back to Jane and said, "You're right,

honey. We got no choice. This problem is bigger than all of us put

together."

Then he turned back to Gaetano. "It's even bigger than the

Mafia, isn't it?"

Gaetano's head snapped back as if he'd been slapped. "Wh...

why do ask me that?" he sputtered.

"I didn't get this old by being a fool," Robertson said. "I know

the crooks are crawling all over this mess, like a bunch of roaches

nibbling away in the dark."

"Are you accusing me "

"I'm not accusing anybody. I'm just telling you that if you want

the world's largest corporations to cooperate with the GEC, you

better keep the goddanged Mafia off our backs."

"There is no such thing as the Mafia," Gaetano snapped.

"Mafia, Cosa Nostra, the international crime syndicate-call it

whatever you want to. We both know it exists and the people in

it are licking their chops for the chance to skim the cream off this

disaster. You just make sure they keep out of our way. Because if

you don't we'll blow you to hell and gone. We won't go to the

police or the lawyers or the courts. We'll use whatever kind of force

it takes to get rid of you cockroaches. Understand that?"

Trembling visibly, Gaetano rose to his feet. "You insult me

because I am Italian. I assure you, sir, that if there actually were such

a thing as the Mafia, it would not interfere with the work you will

be doing."

"Like hell."

Jane said, "Jeff, you're talking to a member of the Global Economic

Council."

Robertson huffed, swiveled back and forth slightly in his desk

chair, then got up and put on a smile. "Well, maybe I got carried

182 BEN BOVA

away. Sorry 'bout that. I apologize. Nothing personal, son." The old

man stuck his hand out over the desk.

Gaetano took one step forward and clasped Robertson's proffered

hand.

"No offense meant," said Robertson, thinking, He'll be carrying

my message back to his goombah pals in Sicily, all right.

"None taken," Gaetano said, thinking, He won't live to see the

end of this. That is for certain.

Kate Williams rubbed her bleary eyes. She had been staring into the

computer's display screen for hours, patiently, doggedly going

through the logistics inventories for the past month, item by item.

Leaning back in the comfortable swivel chair, she closed her

eyes yet still saw columns of numbers parading past.

They're clever, she said to herself. Damned clever. Must be a

whole network of people stealing and covering it up. And they're

getting all the help they need from Astro's own employees. Those

renegade people out there couldn't exist without Astro employees

covering up their pilfering. They're smart enough to keep it small,

keep it down at a low level so nothing disturbing shows up to alert

management. No wonder Clan never found out about it. His own

company is honeycombed with people who've helping these fugitives

to survive.

And now Dan's one of them. Now he's part of it, I know he is.

Kate opened her eyes and sat upright once again. The digital

clock on the desk said 1:47 A.M.

"Phone," she called in a tired but clear voice, "get me Kiberly'

Williams in San Francisco."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the phone, in a neutral voice. It had been

a sexy female voice when Kate had taken over the office from Clan;

she had immediately changed that.

"No answer," said the phone a moment later.

Kate felt a tingle of alarm. "What time is it thereT"

"The correct time in San Francisco is sixteen forty-eight and

eleven seconds."

Almost five in the afternoon, Kate thought. She could still be in

EMPIRE BUILDERS 183 school. Or the clinic. Or maybe just out enjoying the day. Nothing

to worry about. I'll call later. She's okay. It's perfectly normal for a

person to be out in the afternoon.

But why wouldn't she be carrying her phone with her7 Kate

asked herself. What's she doing that she won't answer my call?

She tasted blood in her mouth and realized she was biting her

lips. With a groaning sigh she unclenched her teeth and reached for

the computer keyboard again. Personnel files. Kate made a mental

note to tell maintenance to install a voice activation circuit in the

computer; Clan may have enjoyed fiddling with the damned keyboard,

but she didn't.

Still, she flicked her fingers across the keys quite adroitly, determined to check every person who had left Astro's employment in

the past year against the manifests of each departing flight. She

wanted to know who was still roaming around Alphonsus, unemployed,

undocumented, outside the system. Clan Randolph would

be among those drifters, she knew.

Rubbing her weary eyes again, she thought, If only Clan would

steal something big enough to be noticed right away by the logistics

program. I can't keep track of all these minor pilferings. If only

he'd try to grab something big.

"I DON'T LIKE it," growled Pops Tucker. "Sounds too damn risky

to me."

"We can do it," Clan insisted.

Big George was sitting at the other end of the shelter, by the

airlock, resealing a knee joint on the pressure suit he had just

repaired.

"What do you think of it, Georgie?" called Tucker.

The oversized Aussie looked up from his work. The work light

behind his shoulder cast its high-intensity beam on the suit legging,

leaving his shaggy-maned face in shadow.

"It does sound risky," he said.

Tucker nodded with satisfaction across the table at Clan.

"On t'other hand," George went on, "having our own looking

hopper would make life a helluva lot easier around here."

Clan grinned back at the wizened older man. "See?. George is

for it."

"I didn't say that," George replied.

"You didn't say you're against it," Clan challenged.

"No. Not exactly."

Tucker gave Clan one of his patented sour frowns. "Now look,

Mr. Big Shot: we get along here by keeping a low profile. As far as

the corporations are concerned, we're not worth the trouble of

EMPIRE BUILDERS 185

rooting us out. But if we start stealing big, then Yamagata and Astro

and the others will come down on us and we'll all end up over in

the penal colony."

"They won't even know it's gone," Clan said. "I can jigger the

logistics program so that it looks as if the hopper was routinely

retired from service and scrapped."

Tucker looked utterly unconvinced.

"I can do it from here," Clan added. "I've already hacked into the

program so we can work it from your desktop here."

"And how do we hide a rocket vehicle big enough to carry a

five-ton payload?" Tucker snapped, his grating voice almost a snarl.

"You don't have to hide something that nobody's going to be

looking for," Clan said. "It's not unusual for a hopper to be parked

alongside a shelter. Survey parties, maintenance crews--they all use

hoppers all the time."

"And the propellants?"

Clan grinned across the table at the older man. "I can make a deal

with a couple of people in Yamagata's logistics center. We send

them some of the designer drugs your friends in the pharmaceutical

lab cook up and they divert enough propellant to us to keep the

hopper running."

"You think you'e pretty damn smart, don'tcha?" Tucker

growled.

In truth, Clan did not feel comfortable making a drug deal. Most

narcotics had been legalized when he had been a kid, but the

designer drugs that the lab people made illicitly out of their employers'

chemical supplies were usually untested and always more potent

than the stuff available legally. On the Moon, a man or woman

stoned or even a bit high was a potential killer.

Yet he shrugged and answered, "I think we can do better than we are."

"Just what the hell do you want out of this? What's pushing you,

Randolph?"

"I want to get back to Earth," Clan heard himself say. He had not

known that until the words formed in his mouth. "I want to fight

186 BEN BOVA

the bastards who stole my company and make them give me back

what's rightfully mine."

"Fat chance."

"Maybe no chance at all. But I've got to try."

"Even if it means dealing drugs?"

"Come on, Pops, you've bartered your share of them. We're not

talking about the hard stuff. It's perfectly legal for people to use

recreational drugs. They're not addictive."

"Oh no? Those lab guys brew some pretty potent shit, you

knolAr."

"Not as potent as that rocket juice booze they make out at the

Nubium camp. That stuff'Il dissolve your

liver."

From the other end of the shelter George said, "You're talking

about a lot more than the little bit o' trading we've been doing."

"It's time you guys started thinking bigger. I'll never get back

Earthside on the minor little pilfering you've been doing." Grinning, Clan added, "If you're going to steal, steal big! Steal big enough so

you can afford a good lawyer."

George did not laugh.

Tucker stared at Clan for several long moments, his wrinkled old

face a mixture of disgust and pity, his red-rimmed eyes wary, almost

feral.

"I wish I could get back to Earth too," he said at last, his voice

so low Clan could barely hear him. "I got grandchildren I never seen.

They think I'm dead. My own kids think I'm dead."

"Help me and I'll help you," Clan said. *

Tucker made a derisive snort. "It ain't that easy, Mr. Big Shot.

I'll never get back to Earth. Body's all shot to hell. I'd collapse and

die of heart failure if I tried to stand up to a full g."

"But we could--"

"You could nothing!" the old man snapped angrily. "You think

you're so friggin' smart. Do this, do that, and snap, crackle and pop

you're back on top of the world. Lemme tell you, Big Shot, it ain't

gonna happen."

Clan stared back at the bitter old man.

"Know how I got here? Playin' with their computers, just like

EMPIRE BUILUERS 187

you want to do. I was an expert at it. I made a friggin' fortune for

myself, workin' for Astro by day and piling up a fortune in bank

accounts all over the world just with a few touches on my keyboard

at night."

"They caught you.?"

"I caught myself. Couldn't keep my big stupid mouth shut. I was

so-o smart! Got a couple drinks into me one night and told a pal

what I was doin'. Two days later a squad of Yamagata security pigs

lifted me outta my desk chair and threw me in a detention cell. Japs!

Your friggin' Astro security people let the Japs pick me up."

Clan said, "Yamagata's responsible for law enforcement all

through A1phonsus. What you did wasn't just an internal Astro

matter."

With a sour face, Tucker went on, "They sent me to the penal

colony for five years. I got out in two, good behavior and all that

crap, but by then I couldn't make the trip back to Earth. Too weak.

Muscles shot to hell; heart too."

"So.?"

"So they put me on an enforced exercise program. Worse than

the penal colony. Like being' in boot camp. Instructor was some

fanatic from Uganda; he thought Afro-Americans were nothin' but

shit. Gave me hell every minute. And they were chargin' me for the

service! By the time I woulda got back Earthside I'd not only be

broke and have a prison record, I'd owe the friggin' Yamagata

Corporation a year's friggin' salary!"

"You bugged out.?"

"Damn right. That African bastard was tough but he wasn't

smart. I faked a heart attack and snuck out of the hospital they put

me in. Been on my own ever since. Met up with Big George a few

years ago and we been livin' in these shelters, going' from one to

another every few months."

George put down the suit legging nd came up to the table.

Sitting down massively, he said, "You know, Pops, I been thinking

that if we had a hopper we could make the move from one shelter

to another a lot easier."

"We've been doing all right without a hopper."

188 BEN BOVA

"We could do better with one," Clan said.

"Like how?"

"We could extend your range of operations. Instead of just

going as far as the mining camp on the other side of the ringwall,

we could start trading with Copernicus."

"A hopper can't get that far!"

"Unrefueled it can't," Clan said. "But suppose I could get my

friends at Yamagata to deposit propellant supplies for us along the

route to Copernicus?"

"You're crazy," Tucker muttered.

Big George looked thoughtful, though. "Let me ask you something,

Clan."

"Sure."

"What do we gain by all this? I can see the risks we'll be taking,

but what do we sn3 to gain?"

"Money."

"Money?" Tucker snapped. "What the hell can we do with

money? We live on barter, we've got no use for cash or credits."

"Money," Clan repeated. "Until now you guys have just been

living hand to mouth, just eking out your survival. But now we're

going to start making money. We're going to pile up crgdits in

banking accounts."

"Why?"

"To buy what each of us wants. Freedom. With money you can

buy lawyers. You can buy media reporters. You can buy your way

out of this rat's nest and come back into normal society and begin

to live like real human beings again."

Ever since her meeting in Houston with Jeff Robertson, Jane had

been troubled by the Texas energy tycoon's angry remarks about

the Mafia.

For more than a week she did nothing about it. But each time

she saw Rafaelo Gaetano, whether it was in a meeting or a cocktail

party or just in passing in the GEC offices, the question nagged at

her. Is Rafe really part of the international crime syndicate? And

what did Jeff mean by what he said? Is he really worried that the

EMPIRE BUILDERS 189

Mafia might in some way try to hinder our global conversion plan?

No matter how she tried to forget the matter or ignore the

persistent questions that percolated through her mind, she could not

drive the matter out of her consciousness. One night she even

dreamed that Clan was alive, not on the Moon but in Sicily, running

a vastly complex criminal organization instead of his own Astro

Corporation.

When she awoke that morning, troubled and bleary-eyed, she

made her decision. She phoned Jeff Robertson. From her apartment,

not her office at GEC headquarters.

For several heartbeats the phone's screen remained blank. Jane

sat at the little curved rosewood desk in the room she used as an

office and realized that it was only a little past four in the morning

in Houston.

Finally the screen brightened and Robertson's puffy-eyed face

appeared, grinning curiously.

"You know I'm an early riser, Jane honey," he said amiably, "but

this is kinda ridiculous, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry, Jeff," she blurted.

"If the phone had said it was anybody but you I'd have cussed

'em out and gone back to sleep."

"I just couldn't put off calling you any longer."

"It's about what I told your Italian friend, huh?"

"Yes. How did you--"

"I was wonderin' how long it'd take you to gnaw on that bone."

"Are you really serious?" Jane asked. "Is there an actual threat

from some international crime syndicate?"

"You bet there is."

"It's hard to see how criminals could get in the way of the GEC."

"That's part of what makes 'em successful," Robertson said.

"The victim doesn't even know he's being infected. Real parasites."

"What should we do?"

"First thing you oughtta do is hop on over here so we can talk

in private, one on one. I got a lot to show you but I don't trust

phone links."

Jane immediately thought that Rafe would find it suspicious if

190 BFN BOVA

she suddenly took off for Houston. She said, "I could take a long

weekend, a sort of minivacation."

"At you; home in Horseshoe Bay?"

"Yes."

"Got room for a weekend guest?"

"For you, Jeff, anytime."

I'll have to bring the wife. She don't trust me too far."

Jane laughed. "Of course. Bring Helen along with you."

"I was getting frantic, that's why!" Kate Williams nearly shouted at

the phone screen.

Her sister's face stared out at her, eyes smoldering with sullen

distrust. Kimberly Williams was four years younger than her sister.

Even with her flaming red hair cropped militarily short, she looked

enough like Kate so that a stranger would quickly realize they were

sisters; but Kim looked used, worn, pale and sick. Except for her

eyes. They were fiery, tawny, defiant, the eyes of a caged leopard.

"You didn't have to call the fuckin' police," Kim said.

"I hadn't heard from you in a week," Kate replied, her inner

anger building. "You hadn't shown up in the clinic for ten days."

In the two and a half seconds it took for Kim's reply to come

to her, Kate studied her sister's face. No bruises. Eyes look clear, not

dilated.

"I was with one of their damned doctors! It was his idea to take

a week off and go have some fun!"

Kate pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm herself, trying to

avoid the explosion that so often erupted when she and Kim talked

to one another.

"I'm clean," Kim added, less belligerently. "The doctor wouldn't

let me get started again."

"That--that's good," said Kate.

Again the transmission lag. Then Kim's pale, angry face softened.

"He didn't want me stoned." She almost giggled. "I had to be

awake and alert to please him."

Christ, Kate thought, there's always the damned 'body tax.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 191

You'd think by now a man and a woman could work together or be

friends without sex.

"Listen, Kim," she heard herself saying. "How'd you like to

come up here for a while?"

"To the Moon? Leave the clinic?"

"I can arrange for your treatment to continue here. I'm going

to be staying here for a while. Why don't you come up and stay

with meT"

She waited for her words to register on her sister's face.

"You really mean it, Kate? You want me to stay with you?"

"I love you, Kimberly. I know I haven't been the best big sister

in the world to you, but I want us to be together now."

Kate had not expected the reaction she got. Kimberly broke into

tears. The two sisters cried together, separated by a quarter-million

miles but feeling closer' than they had in years.

It was an hour later, all the details of Kim's trip to Alphonsus

carefully worked into the computer, when Kate signed the authorization

for scrapping a long list of defunct equipment. Computers

notwithstanding, such orders had to be signed; the legal department

insisted on a personal signature of authorization.

Kate signed the thin plastic sheet--paper being nonexistent on

the Moon--with only a cursory glance at the list of equipment to

be scrapped. She noticed that it included a full-sized rocket hopper,

but she paid no real attention to that. She was thinking, instead, that

it would be good for Kim to be away from her doctor friend. And

with Kim at A1phonsus, Kate herself would not have to pay court

to Rafaelo Gaetano anymore.

It had been a long time since Clan had piloted a hopper. Inside his

pressure suit he felt a thin sheen of nervous cold sweat as the Astro

technician walked him around the ungainly vehicle.

The hopper looked worn and battered. Maybe it really is ready

for the scrap pile, Clan thought as he walked around it. Sitting on

six splayfooted aluminum legs, it was little more than an open-grillwork

platform with a T-shaped control console up front where

two space-suited people could stand, and a trio of bulky cargo

192 BEN BOVA

containers, their gold anodized finishes pitted and faded. Underneath

there were six sin. all rocket nozzles, looking black and hard-used,

evenly spaced around a long flat propellant tank. The craft's

minimal electronics were built into the forward console. Spare oxygen

bottles were strapped against the first cargo container.

"You read the manualT" The tech's voice in Dan's helmet earphones

sounded dubious. The young man knew that what he was

doing was illegal, and the wreck of a "scrapped" hopper anywhere

near Astro's launch facility would swiftly be pinned to him.

"You saw me go through it, right on your own screen," Clan

i

said.

"Pretty damned fast, if you ask me."

"I'm a speed reader. Besides, I can pull up the manual on the

control panel screen, can't I7"

"Helluva time to be reading the manual, when you're spinning

into the ground."

"I was flying these rigs before you were born," Clan snapped.

"Yeah, sure. You came up here with Armstrong and Aldrin,

didn't you?"

Clan laughed. "No, H. G. Wells."

The two space-suited men walked slowly around the hopper,

"

checking it out by eye. It looked old and weary to Clan, but the

computer said all its systems were fully functional.

"Come on," the technician chivvied, "I ain't got all day for this."

He's scared somebody will see us and realize that this clunker

is supposed to be heading for the recyclers, Clan knew.

"Okay," he said, drawing in a deep breath. "Guess she won't

look any better than she does now."

He climbed up the two-rung ladder while the tech quickly went

to his little tractor and wordlessly started back toward the launching

facility, about a kilometer away.

Clan plugged his suit radio into the console and asked for

clearance to take off. Hoppers were always flitting around the lunar

cities; the only need for traffic control was when they were located

near a launch facility.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 193

"Stand by, hopper," said a man's voice. "Got a tour boat about

to leave."

Clan turned entirely around so he could watch the passenger

spacecraft lift off, more than a kilometer away. The launch was not

a spectacular display, as it would have been on Earth. No thunder

of rocket engines. No slow majestic rise of the booster out of clouds

of exhaust and steam. The big bulbous spacecraft merely seemed to

flick itself off the Moon's surface like a flea jumping: one instant it

was sitting on the launchpad, the next it was gone, flung into the

dark sky so quickly that Clan lost sight of it in the restricted view

from inside his helmet. A small dust storm swirled lazily around the

pad in the wake of the launching, the thin clouds slowly sinking back

to the ground in the gentle lunar gravity.

"Okay hopper, you are clear to take off."

Clan reached for the pistol-grip control bar, feeling both a little

scared and a little exhil/rated.

"Hopper taking off," he said into his helmet mike.

The craft shuddered as he thumbed the ignition switch, then

rose slowly off the ground. Cautiously, Clan turned it toward the

tempo shelter he had been living in, and started gaining altitude to

clear the first level of the ringwall. He grinned to himself. It had been a long time, but n. ow he remembered that back in the old days flying

one of the hoppers had always reminded him of flying on a magic

carpet.

"I'm heading back to Earth," he muttered to himself. Then he

added, grinning, "Even the longest journey is started with a single

theft."

"BUT I THOUGHT that when drugs were decriminalized," said

Jane, "organized crime went pretty much out of business."

Jeff Robertson gave her a pitying smile. "For a former President

of the United States, you're still awfully naive, Janie girl."

He was the only man in the world whom Jane would allow to

call her "girl." She smiled at Robertson as they sat on the glassed-in

patio of her Texas home. The spacious house was on a hillside

overlooking the large, man-made LBJ Lake. Outside it was a fierce

summer day, the kind that allows Texans to say they don't have to

be afraid of hell. Jane kept the air-conditioning comfortable but not

frigid. If Robertson wanted it cooler, he had yet to ask.

The old man was dressed up in a floral cowboy shirt and stiffly

new jeans tucked into his fancy tooled boots. Jane was in an "at

home" outfit: loose-fitting slacks of light tan topped with a short-sleeved

pale yellow blouse. A frosted pitcher of margaritas sat on

the low table between them, next to a plate of coarse salt. Robertson

held his wide-rimmed glass in both hands; Jane's was on the end

table next to her chair.

"Oh, I know they're still into prostitution and smuggling and

things like that," she said. "But we cleaned them out of the international

banking industry years ago, and--"

Robertson shook his head. With his pop eyes and jutting beak

he sometimes reminded Jane of a turtle.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 195

He took a sip of his margarita, then said, "Look, honey: when

most of the states in the Union legalized betting to the extent that

they started state lotteries, did that drive the Mafia out of gambling?''

Without waiting for her to answer, he went on, "Hell no. When

you legalized drugs, it didn't drive the crooks out of the narcotics

business, either. Cut their profit margins, yes. But they still sell

drugs: they sell the kind you can buy legally for cheaper than the

legal price, and they sell the kind you can't buy because they're too

dangerous to use."

"How can they undercut the government's price?"

"They steal the stuff and then resell it!"

"Oh."

"They're still into banking; more respectable now, smarter than

they used to be, almost legitimate. But they siphon billions off into

their own pockets every year. The bankers just take it as part of the

cost of doing business and pass on the expense to their customers."

"That wasn't going on when I was President," Jane murmured.

"Course not." Robertson's tone of voice was not quite condescending,

but close enough.

"You're telling me that the Mafia is now a worldwide organization.''

"Yep. Just like the corporations, the crooks have gone international.

The Mafia, the Yakuza gangs in Japan, the old Latin American

drug cartel--they've all linked up worldwide. Wouldn't be surprised

if they've wormed their way into the Big Seven, up on the Moon."

Jane felt angry, confused, puzzled. "But how? What do they do?

How are they making their money?"

"Skimming, mostly," said Robertson. He leaned forward to refill

his glass, then twirled it in his hand to find a part of the rim that was

still salted. He half-drained the glass, then smacked his lips noisily.

"Best margaritas this side of Albuquerque."

"You were telling me about skimming," Jane said gently.

"Yeah." Robertson leaned back in his chair and half-closed his

eyes. He looked as if he were going to sleep. "Your company takes

196 BEN BOVA

in ten dollars, let's say. But somehow only nine-fifty gets onto the

books. The rest winds up in some crook's pocket."

"But how can they do that?"

"Lotsa ways, honey. They bribe one of your employees. Maybe

with real money. Maybe with women, or drugs or something else

the poor sucker thinks he wants bad enough to take the chance.

Oftentimes the sucker himself comes to them for a loan--"

"They're still loan-sharkingT"

The old man's eyes sprang wide open. "Long as banks want

collateral there'll be loan sharks. Pretty often a guy'll get in over his

head gambling; even legalized gambling can break your back,

he

the sharks and"--Robertson banged his

y'know.

Then

goes

to

hand down on the arm of his chair so hard that Jane jumped--

"they've got him. At the kinds of interest rates they charge, the poor

slob never gets out from under. He owes them. He either does what

they tell him or they break him in half."

"So he starts to work for them."

"Yep. It's almost all white-collar stuff now. More money stolen

with a computer than with a gun, any day. But there's always the

threat of violence. And not just to the sucker himself; they threaten

his family, too."

"That's sickening."

Robertson finished off his margarita and put the empty glass

down on the table between them. "You haven't hardly touched

yours.

Jane said, "How do we keep them out of the conversion program,

Jeff? It's going to be tough enough to make this thing work

without having the Mafia leaching money out of it, making everything

more expensive."

"And it won't be just money skimming, come to think of it," he

said. "You better be damned alert and watch who you contract out

the work to."

"What do you mean?"

"You've seen your share of recycling outfits that just dump the

garbage in the dark of night instead of actually recycling it, haven't

you?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 197

"I've prosecuted enough of them."

"Well, suppose you have an organization that's got the job of

replacing gasoline cars and diesel trucks with your new electric

buggies. Suppose the buggies somehow get mysteriously hijacked

and later on they show up halfway across the world, selling for ten

times the price the GEC has set?"

"I don't see how an,body could get away with that."

Robertson shrugged his frail shoulders. "Maybe I picked a poor

example. But things like that can happen. You better keep a sharp

eye out."

Jane picked up her drink and took a sip of it without taking her

eyes off Robertson. At last she asked, "Jeff--will you keep a sharp

eye out for me?"

He cocked his head slightly to one side, as if he hadn't quite

heard her.

"You know so much more about this than I do. Will you be my

eyes and ears? I'll give you complete authority to go anywhere, see

anything. You'll report directly to me and no one else."

"I'm an old man, Janie. I can't go flittin' around the world the

way I used to."

"Then I'll see to it that you have access to all the program's files.

If you see anything suspicious you can alert me."

Frowning, "Hell, I'll be spending twenty-nine hours a day in

front of a damned computer screen."

"I need your help!" Jane pleaded.

His frown melted. "Well ... I guess I ought to put my mouth

where my money is."

"You'll do it?"

"I'll do some of it. Nobody'fl be able to keep track of everything;

this danged project of yours is gonna be just too big for any one

person to watch over. That's what they're counting on. That's one

of the advantages they have."

"But you'll help."

"On one condition." He raised a bony finger. "This is just

between you and me. Nobody else in the loop. Nobody/I don't want

198 BEN BOVA

that Gaetano guy knowing about this. I'd be dead in half an hour

once he found out."

Jane frowned at him. "Do you actually think . . ." Her voice

trailed off.

"Sure as God made little green apples, honey," said Jeff Robert-son.

"He's one of 'em."

Zach Freiberg squinted in the unaccustomed glare of the studio

lights.

"If you think this is bad," said the elderly man who would

interview him, "you should have been around before the Iow-light-

[[

level cameras were available. Damned lighting would melt your

makeup!"

Zach knew his interviewer was trying to put him at ease. Televi

sion was new and unnerving to the scientist, even this little local

public-access show. He knew that if Clan Randolph were still run

ning Astro, he could have stayed in his lab in Pasadena; Clan himself

would have handled the P.R. And been much better at it.

"I'm a planetary geochemist, not a TV personality," he had told

::

the eager young woman who had phoned him.

Rumors of the greenhouse cliff had leaked out, of course. No

matter how tight a lid the authorities in Paris tried to maintain on

the story, their very own extraordinary actions against Astro and

the others of the Big Seven had started the rumor mills running.

Her bright eyes glittering like a snake's, she had answered, "But

you're the man who discovered this greenhouse cliff, aren't you? I

got your name from a source in the GEC's office in Manhattan."

With a mixture of flattery and cajolery she enticed Zach to the

TV studio in the old, mn-down area of Studio City where he now

sat in a fake leather chair up on a carpeted platform, blinking at the

lights that all seemed aimed straight into his eyes. Out among the

cameras positioned on the studio floor sat a TV monitor screen that

showed Zach's own face, looking flustered and unhappy.

"This is going to be taped, you know," said his interviewer as

a pair of technicians clipped nearly invisible microphones to their

lapels and wormed a wireless receiver into the man's left ear. Ignor-

EMPIRE BUILDERS 199

ing them, he went on, "It won't matter if you hesitate or fluff an

answer; we can start over. So don't worry about a thing."

Zach ran a nervous hand through his wiry red hair. Don't worry'

about a thing, he repeated silently. The whole world in danger of

annihilation and he tells me not to worry.

"In five!" called a voice from the dimness out on the floor of the

studio.

"Wet your lips," someone hissed at Zach.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip just as the interviewer

began, "Good evening. I'm Herman George and this is 'Newsmakers,'

the program that takes you behind the headlines to meet the

people who move and shake our society. Tonight we are fortunate

to have Dr. Zachary Freiberg ..."

It was like testifying in court, Zach thought. The interviewer

began by asking his name, his profession, and a few friendly questions

about what a planetary geochemist actually does.

Then, "The whole world has been in a stir over rumors that a

'greenhouse cliff' is going to cause tremendous and sudden changes

in our weather a few years from now. Yet the Global Economic

Council has strongly denied that any such phenomenon exists. Are

they lying to us, or is the 'greenhouse cliff' a mere figment of some

environmentalist's overworked imagination?"

"It's real," said Zach. "The greenhouse cliff is as real as today's

weather."

The older man smiled. "I've always thought the weather in

Southern California is a bit unreal." Before Zach could respond, he

asked, "Tell me, just what on Earth is a greenhouse cliffT"

Zach launched into an explanation, trying to keep it as simple

as possible. Out of the corner of his eye he saw on the monitor

screen news clips of hurricanes striking cities, floods washing away

villages, farmlands withering under a parching sun. Somebody in the

studio had done her homework.

"And all this will happen quite suddenly?" the interviewer prodded.

"That's why it's called a cliff," said Zach. "In ten years, give or

take a couple, the world's climate is going to change suddenly and

200 BEN BOVA

very radically." Before the next question could be asked, he added,

"Unless we do something about it."

"Something? What can we do?"

"Stop adding to the greenhouse!" Zach replied with some emotion.

"Stop burning fossil fuels. Stop polluting the seas where the

algae live. Stop tearing down the rain forests."

"How can we stop burning fossil fuels? Our factories, our furnaces,

our automobiles--"

"The GEC will be initiating a program to convert the whole

world away from fossil fuels and into nuclear and solar."

"They've made no announcement of this."

"They will."

"Nuclear and solar energy, eh? Nuclear cars?"

"Electric cars," Zach snapped. "But their electricity will be provided

by safe, clean fusion power plants. Solar energy can make

individual homes self-sufficient."

On and on it went, for what seemed like hours. Without realizing

it, Zach became quite passionate talking about what had to be

done.

"We have the technology to accomplish this? he insisted. "We

have the brains and the muscle. We can beat this disaster if we all

work together, everyone, all around the world."

"That's a very tall order," said his interviewer.

"It's the greatest challenge the human race has ever confronted."

Zach did not notice that the camera now was focused directly on his

animated, earnest face. "This isn't a war against another nation; it's

not even a war against nature. It's a battle against ourselves, against

laziness and greed and the thoughtlessness that's fouled our planet's

air and water so terribly. It's a battle we've got to win, because if

we don't, at least half the world's population will die. Probably

more."

He was drenched with perspiration by the time the interview

ended and the hot lights winked off.

"Wonderful!" said the interviewer, reaching over to pat his back.

"You did a magnificent job."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 201

Surprised but pleased, Zach mumbled his thanks and headed

home.

The next morning, thinking it over after a good night's sleep,

Zach concluded that on balance he had indeed done a good job.

Until Vasily Malik phoned.

"I have just seen a videotape of the interview you conducted

last night."

Zach did not notice that the Russian was grim, unsmiling.

"How'd you like it?" he asked eagerly.

"My dear Dr. Frieberg, you are a phenomenon on television. A

true spellbinder. Just the man to show the public how urgent this

problem is."

Smiling boyishly, Zach started to say, "Well, thanks--"

"Which is exactly why you will not give any further interviews

to anyone, under any circumstances. Is that clear?"

"What? What are you talking about?" ,' With great patience, Malik said,

"We are working very hard to

control news leaks, Dr. Freiberg. We must avoid premature disclosure

of the greenhouse catastrophe. We must avoid public panic at

all costs! Why do you think we have said nothing, officially? Why

do you think we have denied all the rumors of the greenhouse cliff?"

"Now look, you can't muzzle me. I'm an American citizen. I've

got a right to speak freely."

Coldly, "You are an employee of the GEC, Dr. Freiberg. If you

do not promise to cooperate with me, you will be transferred to

Antarctica. And your family with you. Do I make myself clear?"

Zach glared at the phone screen for several angry moments,

thinking, The bastard knows I'm not allowed to quit my job for the

duration of this emergency. He can push me anyplace he likes.

"Do you understand me, Dr. Freiberg?" Malik insisted.

Nodding glumly, "I understand you. No more interviews."

"It is all for the best," Malik tried to assure him.

"Yeah, sure," Zach muttered, wishing that Clan Randolph were

around to defend him.

202 BEN BOVA

It took almost a month for Kate Williams to get her sister to

Alphonsus. Gaetano had been immediately suspicious, of course,

when the clinic that was guiding Kimberly through drug rehabilitation

reported to him that she had decided to leave San Francisco. He

had phoned Kate and told her that he would not permit Kim to join

her on the Moon.

Kate had expected this showdown. She was prepared for it. Still,

she was glad that Gaetano was a quarter-million miles away, and

that they saw each other only on the telephone picture screens. If

they had met in person he would have easily seen her tension, her

trembling, her fear.

"Rafe," she said,

in Clan Randolph's former chair, holding

sitting

herself together with conscious effort, "I want Kimberly here with

me. I've done a lot of dirty work for you and bringing Kim here is

my reward."

He raised an eyebrow. "Your work for me is not finished." Then

he added, smirking, "Especially the dirty part."

Kate tried to keep her face from showing any emotion. "I've

delivered Astro to you. Now you want me to find Clan Randolph.

Okay, I'll do that. If I have Kimberly here with me."

She waited until he heard her words and began to shake his

head. Then she said, "There's something else I want, too. Once I've

located Clan for you, I want to continue running Astro Manufacturing.''

That shook him. Both brows went toward his scalp. "You? Run

the whole corporation?"

"That's what I want in return for finding Clan."

"That's impossible!"

They argued back and forth for nearly two weeks. But in the end

Gaetano agreed to let her run Astro if she located Clan Randolph--dead

or alive--and if she promised that she would continue to share

his bed whenever she came to Earth. Kate readily consented to his

terms, knowing that Gaetano would have to come to the Moon. She

had no intention of leaving, not ever, not once she had Kim safely

by her side.

It took another two weeks for all the arrangements to be made

EMPIRE BUILDERS 203

so that Kim could leave California legally and have her medical

records transferred to the hospital at Alphonsus. Kate spent the time

actually running Astro; implementing the orders that were coming

from GEC headquarters to develop a plan for doubling the production

of fusion fuel and expanding the manufacturing capacity for

solar panels.

She spent her nights, though, tediously creating a computer

program designed to spot discrepancies in Astro's logistics system.

And Yamagata's. The renegades who were living off Astro and

Yamagata kept a low profile, pilfering such small amounts of goods

that the company accountants were willing to write the losses off.

"They're down in the noise," the chief accountant told her. "It'd

cost more to root them out than they're stealing from us, so why

bother about itT'

Kate smiled at him and nodded and wondered if he was on the

take. Maybe the renegades paid him off7 But with what7 They didn't

steal enough to make a dent in the man's salary and bonuses. She

dismissed the idea.

Instead, she slaved each night to perfect the computer program

that would automatically highlight any discrepancy between what

went into the logistics system and what came out. Down to a single

bottle of aspirin or a cubic meter of oxygen.

Clan Randolph is among those renegades, she knew. He's one of

the people stealing from his own company. And he won't be content

with small-time pilfering; his ego will drive him to do bigger

and better things. I want to track everything that's being stolen.

Sooner or later I'll find a pattern. Sooner or later Clan will try to grab

something big enough that he'll leave his signature on the theft.

Then I'll get him.

And it better be sooner, rather than later, she told herself. Rare

is not a patient man. Neither in bed nor out of it.

Rafaelo Gaetano had other things to worry about. He thought of

Kate often enough, and he did not like the idea of relinquishing her

sister, who was his major hold over her. But now she wanted

something else, something much bigger: she wanted Astro Corpora

204

BEN BOVA

tion for her own. That gave him a bigger, more powerful control of

the beautiful redhead.

Gaetano smiled to himself as he sat in his Paris office. Steepling

his fingers, he leaned far back in his chair and gazed out his window

at the gleaming white dome of Sacre Coeur, up on Montmartre's

hill, and waited for the phone call he expected.

So Kate wants her sister to join her on the Moon. From the

videos I've seen of her, she's a good-looking redhead, too. Skinny,

almost scrawny, but that's from her drug addiction. Once she's on

the Moon, Kate will fill her out. Maybe I'll go up there too, for a

vacation, perhaps. Two redheads in the same bed are better than

one. Sisters, too. That should be interesting.

The phone chirped.

Gaetano leaned forward in his chair, stretched out his arm, and

picked up the handset. "Yes7" he said in English.

A man's voice replied, "I just heard that there has been an

airplane crash in Texas. A friend of President Scanwell was killed. A

man named Jeffrey Robertson.'

"Ah," said Gaetano. "Too bad. Make certain that President

Scanwell receives the news."

"I believe she already has," said the voice.

"I see," Gaetano said. "Thank you."

As he put the phone down he saw Jane Scanwell standing in his

doorway, her face stricken with grief. And hatred.

CLAN WAS HUMMING to himself as he stood at the controls of

the hopper. It had been a good trip: he had carried a full load of

pilfered electronic simulation equipment, erotic videotapes and the

homebrew liquor everyone called "rocket juice" all the way out to

the Fra Mauro complex, halfway to Copernicus. The construction

team building the new mining and refining center there had paid

handsomely.

Not in cash, of course. In electronic credits, which Clan immediately

relayed to Pops Tucker back at their shelter, and Tucker

deposited in one of the safe banks they had picked. They had three,

all Earthside: one on the Cayman Islands, one in Liechtenstein, and

one in New Jerusalem. Each bank had a reputation for discretion,

solidity and compliant GEC inspectors. Tucker sent the credit information

directly Earthward by a small communications laser that

George had assembled for them. They spoke directly to a specific

commsat in Earth orbit, bypassing all lunar communications nets.

Clan knew from his own early experiences that the most deadly

hazard on the Moon is boredom, especially in a new, raw camp

without any real facilities for entertainment. A guy could do crazy

things in his empty off-duty hours; he'd known men who just

walked off in their pressure suits and never came back. More often

there'd be a fight over one of the women--or over one of the men.

2O6 BEN BOVA

The fights could be brutal, or worse still, they could create smoldering

grudges that ended in outright murder.

Rocket juice helped pass the idle hours, although it could also

aggravate the tensions and confrontations. So did drugs. Clan

thought that the simulation equipment would be the most help to

the construction workers. There were enough electronics whizzes

among them to jigger the equipment into virtual reality rigs, where

a person could put on a simulator helmet and escape into a private

fantasy world for hours on end.

That's why the construction camp supervisors looked the other

way when Clan landed with his load of goodies. They knew better

than the administrators who worked in safe, comfortable offices

back at Alphonsus that their crews needed diversion and entertainment

almost as much as they needed oxygen and water.

Clan Randolph, benefactor of the working man, he said to himself.

And woman, he added, grinning. One of the construction

workers had been especially grateful for his appearance. A rangy

brunette with the kind of sculptured face he remembered from his

years in Caracas, she had shown Clan to a private little shelter just

large enough for two. It had been the best hour Clan had spent since

Tetiaroa.

He grimaced inside his helmet at the memory of that tropical

atoll and Jane and Malik and how they had all conspired to strip him

of everything he had built. "I'll get it all back," he muttered to

himself. "I'll get it back if I have to tear down everything between

here and Paris."

His dark mood ended almost at once, though, because the

beeper on his control panel began flashing its red light. The propellant

tanks were sitting down there on the dusty, pockmarked

Nubium plain, precisely where the Japanese guy he was dealing with

at Yamagata had said he would leave them. Their minitransponder

was sending out its weak little signal; you had to be practically on

top of the tanks before you would know they were there.

Clan nudged his pistol-grip joystick forward and the hopper

descended, flat as a carpet, no nosing down as a plane would in

Earth's atmosphere. It was night once again on this side of the

EMPIRE BUILDERS 207

Moon; Clan only operated the hopper at night, less chance of being

spotted by a legitimate vehicle or one of the satellites in orbit. He

strained his eyes for sight of the tanks and finally saw them, sitting

gray and round like a trio of natural boulders on the darker basaltic

floor of the mare.

It took the better part of an hour to refill the hopper's tanks. Clan

almost forgot to disconnect the transponder beacon; at the last

minute he unclipped it, shut it off, and carried it back aboard the

hopper. Then he took off again on the final leg of his trip back to

the shelter where George and Pops Tucker were waiting for him.

Clan was bone-weary when he finally opened the inner hatch of

the airlock and stepped into the shelter's familiar confines.

Even before he could slide open his helmet visor he realized that

he had stepped into a trap. George and Tucker were nowhere in

sight. Instead there was a quartet of strangers in dark gray coveralls

holding pistols leveled at him.

"You're under arrest, Randolph," said one of the men. Clan

recognized him as the burrheaded jock he had shot back in his office

the first time they had tried to take him in. "And this time you're

not getting away."

To her credit, Kate Williams did not gloat. In fact, she seemed more

than serious: she seemed wrathful.

"Drugs!" she nearly screamed at Clan. "You've been peddling

drugs to my people here!"

They had brought Clan to his former office, where Kate now

stood behind his old desk, shaking with fury.

"Recreational stuff," he said, taken aback by her rage. "Nothing

harmful."

"How the hell would you know what's harmful and what isn'tT"

Kate snarled. "Did you try any of the junk yourself7"

Clan blinked with surprise. Of course he hadn't. Alcohol was his

drug of choice.

"So you've turned into a dirty drug dealer," Kate snarled. "Look

at you! You even smell filthy?

"I've been in a space suit for damned near fourteen hours," Clan

208

BEN BOVA

said defensively. But he knew it was more than that. He hadn't cut

his hair or beard in weeks. His coveralls were shabby and unwashed.

"The great Clan Randolph, a drug dealer. Smuggler. Thief.

You're never going to get out of jail."

Clan just sat there, knowing that she was right. He felt utterly

exhausted, spiritually as well as physically. There was only one way

Kate could have found him, he thought. George or Pops must have

turned him in. Waited until I was out by myself and they ran to the

authorities. Saved their own skins, probably. The sons of bitches will

probably access the money we've banked!

He felt totally alone in the world, alone in the universe. Betrayed

by everyone he had known.

Including this furious redhead standing behind his desk in his office. Anger surged through Clan.

"You've stolen everything I've worked to build up," he said to

her through gritted teeth. "You've got a fucking lot of nerve to call

me a thief."

"You're the one who's broken the law," she snapped. She turned

slightly, and said in a softer voice, "I could see why you ran away, Clan . But selling drugs--that's unforgivable."

"Taking a man's life away from him is okay, though."

"You won't be executed, you know that. Even though you

deserve it and the law allows it, we won't kill you."

"You already have."

That one look at Gaetano's face was all that Jane had needed. She

knew instantly that he was guilty. No amount of evidence, no

witnesses, no judge or jury could convince her otherwise. Gaetano

had murdered Jeff Robertson. Or caused his murder. It was all the

same as far as she was concerned.

The accident report came in a few days afterward. Jeff had been

flying his own plane from Houston to Dallas, something he did

almost every week. According to the coroner, he suffered a massive

heart attack. He must have lost control of the plane and it crashed,

killing him. What was left of the body had been cremated, as

EMPIRE BUILDERS

209

specified in the old man's will. No chance to go back and check for

poison, or the kind of drug that could trigger a heart attack.

As far as the world was concerned, the eighty-eightyear-old

man had died of natural causes. The global energy industry

mourned his passing with impressive pomp. There was even a TV

special about his life.

Jane knew it was murder. She did not know what to do about

it. There was no one in the GEC she could trust, no one she was

certain was not in league with Gaetano. Not even Vasily Malik. Yet

she was determined to avenge her old friend's death. The burning

acid of vengeance was a new emotion to Jane. Even when her

husband had died and she had blamed Clan for it, she had not felt

this flaming hot hatred that now seared every nerve in her body.

It was weeks later, at a conference with Yamagata Industries'

chief executives in Tokyo, that she saw a way.

She knew Nobuhiko Yamagata only slightly. Through her staff

secretary she invited the young man to an informal lunch. Through

his staff secretary he accepted. Jane suggested her hotel; Nobo's

representative came back with the suggestion that they meet at the

Yamagata Building, where they could dine in privacy and get to

know each other better. Jane, who had hoped for precisely that,

readily agreed.

They met in a small, luxurious dining room done in deep rich

woods and decorated with exquisitely delicate silk paintings. Jane

was relieved to see that Nobuhiko had provided a Western-style

table and chairs, although the kimono-clad women waiting on them

brought bamboo trays of sashimi and sake in thimble-sized cups.

After expressing renewed regret at his father's demise, and

being politely reminded that his father was cryonically sleeping

rather than truly dead, Jane turned their conversation toward business.

"It must be an immense challenge to take over the entire

¥amagata complex at a time of such enormous changes."

His lean face utterly serious, Nobo replied, "Yes. There are

many problems, many challenges. But I think the work is going well,

don't you?"

210 BEN BOVA

"Extraordinarily well," Jane said.

"We have had some difficulties with your GEC administrators,"

Nobo said, surprisingly blunt for a Japanese. "They seem more

interested in paperwork than in performance."

Jane smiled, wondering if the "we" Nobuhiko used was meant

to be royal. "If there is any way I can help . . ."

He smiled back. "I think we are educating them sufficiently."

When he smiled his eyes lighted up like a boy's, Jane noticed.

"Have you had any problems," she asked slowly, "with the

criminal element?"

"Criminal element?"

"What is the Japanese version of the Mafia called? The aKuza.

Nobo shook his head, frowning slightly. "Not the same thing at

all. And, no, we have had no trouble from organized crime. None

that I have been made aware of, at least."

Jane took a sip of sake. Then, "This immense program of ours,

this movement to convert the world away from fossil fuels--it's like

a big fat tethered cow to the criminals. They will try to milk it as

hard as they can."

"Perhaps in the United States that is true. Even in Europe. Not

in Japan."

"Not in your space facilities?"

He smiled again. "What can they steal in space? Or even on the

Moon?"

"There are criminals on the Moon. Fugitives from justice."

"Ah. You are speaking of Clan Randolph."

Inwardly Jane flared with anger. This was not the course she had

wanted this conversation to take.

Nobuhiko took her silence for agreement. "I wish I could have

helped Clan. I was angry with him over something that does not

seem so important now. I suppose I was upset at the time; my father

had just been put away."

"Isn't there some way Clan can be pardoned? He should be back

in charge of Astro, if you want to get the best out of that corpora

EMPIRE BUILDERS 211 tion. In fact, if you put him in charge of all space operations you

would be getting far more than is now possible."

"In charge of all of them--including YamagataT'

Looking slightly sheepish, Nobo said, "Clan is the best manager

in the business. He should be in charge of all the space operations,

including Yamagata's. Then you would see results!"

"He wouldn't work for the GEC.'

"He advised us to," Nobo pointed out. "He pleaded with us to

cooperate with you."

"So that we wouldn't have to take over your corporations, as we

did Astro."

"So that we can make this tremendous conversion in energy and

transport within ten years," Nobuhiko countered firmly.

Jane sighed. "Welt, maybe it would have been good to put Clan

in charge. But he's a fugitive now. A criminal. We don't even know

if he's dead or alive."

Shaking his head, Nobo said, "A great loss. A great tragedy."

On impulse, Jane blurted, "The Mafia murdered a friend of mine,

a man who was just starting to investigate how deeply they've

wormed into the GEC."

Nobo's eyes narrowed. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. Completely serious. I've come here to ask for your help."

"What can I do?"

"That's just it. I don't know yet. But I need an ally, someone

with your strength and your resources. Can I rely on you? Will you

help me?"

The young man was silent for several moments. Then he answered,

"I would be honored to help you in any way I can. But,

frankly, it would be much wiser to find Clan Randolph, pardon him,

and set him onto this problem. If anyone in the Earth/Moon system

could tangle with the Mafia successfully, it would be Clan."

Once they led Clan away to a detention cell, Kate felt as if the room

needed fumigating. But as she stood behind the broad gleaming

desk, staring at the closed door to the outer office, she began to

realize that maybe it was she who needed cleansing.

212 BEN BOVA

I ruined his life, she said to herself. I drove him to this.

But then she shook her head viciously. He didn't have to deal

drugs. There's no excuse for that. He deserves whatever he gets.

She looked around the office with new eyes. My office! It's mine

now. And Kim's on her way here. She'll be arriving in a few hours.

I've got Astro and I've got Kim. Now all I have to do is get Rafe

off my back and I can start to really live!

A few hours later Kate stood eagerly at the reception area,

under the pads where the spacecraft landed. She had watched on the

video monitor as Kim's ship settled down gently on its pad and the

access tunnel snaked out and connected to its airlock.

Now the first passengers were coming through the tunnel. And

there was Kim! Thinner than Kate had expected, pale and thin, like

someone who had been sick for a long time. But her flaming hair,

cropped so short, was thick and luxuriant, her stride confident even

in the unaccustomed low lunar gravity, her face beaming with a

wide smile.

She was not smiling at Kate. She was not even looking at Kate.

She was smiling at the tall, darkly handsome man walking beside

her.

Rafaelo Gaetano.

IT TOOK ALL her strength to keep from screaming.

Kate sat in the posh dining room of the new Yamagata Hotel,

where the giant video windows presented scenes of Hawaiian

beaches in the setting sun, and watched Gaetano charm Kimberly

out of her pants, almost literally.

"I have never seen anyoneman or woman--adapt to the

gravity here as easily as you have." Rafe was smiling at her. Strong

white teeth like a shark's, Kate thought.

Kimberly, her eyes still slightly shadowed, her cheeks sunken,

smiled back glowingly. "A friend of mine warned me about the

gravity. She loaned me her weighted boots--seeT"

And Kim held up one miniskirted leg to show the stylish lunar

softboot she was wearing. To Kate, her sister's leg looked bony,

knobby.

But Gaetano said, "You mustn't put temptation so close, little

one. A man's first instinct is to stroke a beautiful lady's leg."

Kim giggled. Kate fumed.

Halfway through their main course Kim suddenly excused herself.

Kate watched her hurrying to the ladies' room, wondering if

some lingering effect of her addiction were still in her blood. Was

she perspiring7 Were her hands shaking7

"A lovely young sister," Gaetano murmured across the elegant

table.

214

BEN BOVA

"Keep your hands off her," Kate hissed.

"Jealous'?."

"She's my sister, for god's sake. I don't want her getting involved

with the likes of you. She's had enough problems in her life."

Gaetano's smile turned nasty. "Yes, I know all about it. Kimberly

Williams," he recited. "Parents divorced when she was ten. While

her older sister Katherine went to law school, Kimberly stayed with

her mother in San Jose and became involved in the drug culture at

the public school. By the time she was fifteen she was heavily

addicted to narcotics. Arrested for prostitution and--"

"Stop it!" Kate snapped.

Gaetano shrugged as if it did not matter to him one way or the

other. He reached for his wineglass.

"What made you come up hereT" Kate asked in an urgent

whisper. On the same ship as Kim, she added silently.

Gaetano sipped at his wine, red and dark as blood, then put the

tulip-shaped glass down on the tablecloth and brushed at his moustache.

"Why, I came here to see you, Kate. I grew lonely for you. I miss

the little games we used to play."

"And you just happened to meet my sister."

"A charming coincidence," he lied. "She's worked very hard to

break her addiction, but I'm afraid that it would be ridiculously easy

to turn her onto narcotics once again."

"I'll kill you!"

He laughed. "Katherine, it's so much easier to make love instead

of war."

She glared at him.

Turning serious, Gaetano hunched across the table toward her.

"You have control of Astro. You thought that if you could get your

sister here with you, you would be free of me." He waved an

extended index finger back and forth in front of her eyes. "Not so.

You will never be rid of me. Not until I decide that I want to be rid

of you. Do you understandT"

Kate said nothing.

"Do you realize how easy it would be to get your sister stoned

EMPIRE BUILDERS 215

to the point where she would think it fun to come into bed with us7"

Kate could feel her teeth clenching so hard she feared they

would shatter.

"Don't be angry, dear one. You have your new position as head

of Astro. You can have your sister, too. All I want is for you to

follow my orders. In your office and in your bedroom."

"You'll leave Kim alone?'

"Of course! What would I want from her, if you are obedientT"

Kate lowered her eyes.

"The Russian thinks you still are working for him," Gaetano

said, switching to business. "That is good. Let him continue to

believe so. As long as you do what I tell you to."

Looking up, Kate saw that Kimberly was threading her way

through the other tables toward them. She looks okay, Kate told

herself. God, she actually looks happy.

"All right," she whispered urgently to Gaetano. "I'll follow

orders like a good little slave. Just keep away from my sister."

"Of course," Gaetano assured her. Kate did not feel assured.

For days, Nobuhiko Yamagata pondered the meaning of Jane Scan-well's

surprising statements at their luncheon together. Organized

crime fastening its tentacles to the global conversion program7

Murdering a friend of hers whom she had asked to investigate the

situation for her7

Unsettling thoughts. The GEC's mad scramble to avert the

greenhouse cliff was an awesome undertaking in itself; to have it

undermined by the international crime syndicateif such a thing

actually existed--was more than dangerous. It could be fatal for half

the human race.

Nobo decided that he needed more information. He explained

the problem to his chief of security, a tiny, bandy-legged, potbellied

man whose little remaining hair was as gray as a rainy day.

The man had been Nobo's own bodyguard when he was a lad,

personally selected by his father. He was a master of the martial arts,

pot belly and all. More importantly now, he was a brilliant organizer

and administrator.

216 BEN BOVA

The security chief listened to his master's apprehensions, then

proceeded to arrange a meeting between Nobo and the head of one

of the great Yakuza families. At first Nobo thought it unseemly to

sit in the same room with a crime lord, but the security chief

explained that the Yakuza had their own sense of honor and the

head man would try his best to be cooperative, as long as he did not

feel he was risking his own interests.

"He is well known to the police," the security chief told Nobo,

"and has assisted them on investigations of certain violent crimes.

In his own world he is a man of high rank and honor. It is no shame

upon you or this house to meet with him."

Still, Nobuhiko hesitated. Until the security chief added, "He

was a good friend to your father."

So the meeting was arranged, at the family home above Kyoto.

Both men wore Western business suits: Nobo's charcoal gray, the

Yakuza lord's an off-white raw silk.

His name was Toshiro Kakuta: small but very solidly built, head

as bald and blunt as a bullet, eyes unreadable but alert. The older

man bowed to Nobuhiko, somewhat stiffly. Nobo wondered if the

stiffness was from age or the fact that this man did not often bow

to others.

Returning the bow, Nobo gestured to the low lacquered table

already set with a tea service. No third person would enter this

room until their talk was finished. Kakuta slowly, almost painfully,

sank to his knees and then sat cross-legged. Arthritis, Nobo decided.

They sipped tea and spoke pleasantly for quite some time about

the lovely view of the forest through the room's big picture window.

That led to a discussion of the weather, and then how warm

the season had been, and finally to the matter of the greenhouse and

the GEC's global effort.

"I have been told," Nobo said, glad to be on the subject at last,

"that in other parts of the world, organized crime syndicates are

stealing money and resources from this vital program."

Kakuta bowed his head ever so slightly. "I have been informed

of the same. A terrible thing to do."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 217

"I have not heard of any such interference with this necessary

work in Japan."

Lifting his chin again, he said, "No. We recognize how crucial

this work is. There is nothing to be gained by robbing one's own

lqest."

"I am pleased to hear you say it," Nobo said, wondering how

much of the man's words were true.

"If I may explain . . ."

"Please do."

"In any large organization it is not always possible to completely

control the actions of every individual member. There may

well be the misguided soul, here and there, who makes some profit

from your great work. I deal harshly with such foolishness when I

learn of it, but I am not omniscient."

It was Nobo's turn to bow his head slightly. "I understand."

"I am grateful that you have the same wisdom as your father."

A heartbeat's pause, then Kakuta added, "And at a much younger

age."

Nobo kept himself from reacting to that. "Can you tell me," he

asked, "is there truly an international crime cartel? A syndicate of

global proportions?"

Kakuta remained silent for so long that Nobo began to think he

would not answer. Finally the older man said, "That is a difficult

question. There have been loose alliances from one region of the

Earth to another, from time to time. Some of our own groups here

in Japan have formed links with families in the United States, for

example."

"But no actual organization, on a permanent basis.'?"

"Not yet."

Despite himself, Nobo felt his brows rise. "Not yet?"

"Within the past year there has been great pressure brought to

bear to form such a continuing global organization, with permanent

hierarchy and structure."

"Where does this pressure come from?"

Kakuta swung his head a few centimeters from one side to the

other. "That is a question that I cannot answer."

218 BEN BOVA

"You mean you will not answer."

Kakuta said nothing.

"Can you tell me this much, at least," Nobo asked. "Does this

pressure involve the Mafia?"

"The Mafia is already an international organization. It includes

most of Europe and all of North America."

"So I have been told."

"But they do not operate in Japan, and as long as I am alive they

will not."

"I see. I understand and I am indebted to you for sharing your

wisdom with me."

"It is a pleasure. May you have ten thousand years of happiness.''

"And you the same."

Kakuta burst into a full-bellied laugh, startling Nobuhiko. "Ten

thousand years for me? Oh no, not in my business!" He rocked back

and forth with laughter and slapped his thighs.

Nobo smiled back at him and thought, I will send President

Scanwell a team to guard her--without her knowing it. She may

have a GEC security team, but they might easily be infiltrated. The

best security is the least visible.

Augustus Greenwell tramped through the sodden woods, grateful

that his Barbour coat was truly waterproof. It had rained again last

night; it had rained every night for the past six, cold, driving acid

rain that was killing the woods and poisoning his lake. He had

complained to the Environmental Protection Agencies, state and

federal, to the idiots in the Weather Service who kept nattering

about unseasonable cyclonic disturbances, to both his senators and

even to the President's science adviser.

Still it rained, even on the weekends when he wanted to go

hunting in his own private woods.

Slogging through the muddy underbrush, heavy laser rifle on

his shoulder, he admitted to himself that the rumors about the

damnable greenhouse must be right after all. The weather is changing.

This greenhouse collapse or whatever they were calling it

EMPIRE BUILDERS 219

probably is real, rather than just another attempt by still yet another

government agency to tell him how to run his business.

Convert all our models to electric! Ridiculous! It'll bankrupt

us. Chrysler's gone, Ford's tottering on the brink and now they

want me to start making plans to convert to nothing but electric

cars. And keep it secret until some leech in Paris says it's okay to

announce the news! It's a ploy by those rotten Japs, that's what

it is. They're way ahead of us on electric cars and now they've

got the GEC to order us to stop making gasoline-powered cars.

Ordered us! Ordered me!

And the damnable banks are going along with them. No loans

for gasoline cars. Not even for methane or synfuel models. All fossil

fuels are out, starting with the production runs two years up the line.

Greenwell spent several minutes swearing in nearly infinite

detail about the GEC, the banks, and his Japanese competitors. He

had a choice vocabulary of curses, which he carefully refrained from

using unless he was absolutely alone. Now he trotted out his richly

profane litany from beginning to end, turning the air blue as he

sloshed through puddles of acid rain.

A crow cawed from high in the bare branches of a dead spruce.

It was the only bird Greenwell had seen all morning. He scowled at

it. The grouse and duck and other game birds were all gone. Dead

or fled. That's gratitude for you; after the years I spent making this

a sanctuary for them, not allowing anybody else to shoot them.

Hydrogen. The thought made him angry all over again. We

could modify our existing engines to bum hydrogen. The stuff gives

good performance, and in some ways it's even safer than gasoline.

But those foreigners from the GEC had stared at him as if he were

insane when he offered to convert to hydrogen cars rather than

electrics.

"HydrogenT" they had exclaimed.

"Too dangerous?'

"The Hindenberg!"

When Greenwell had pointed out to them that Germany's

Daimler-Benz Corporation had been running hydrogen-fueled buses

for half a century without mishap, they just shook their heads.

220 BEN BOVA

"The decision has been made, Mr. Greenwell. You will convert

to electric automobiles, just like everyone else."

"There is only one GEC program, and everyone must adhere

to it."

But if we can make a simple conversion to hydrogen instead of

having to go into electrics--Greenwell mulled the possibilities.

Hydrogen isn't a fossil fuel; when you bum it the exhaust is water.

And if a hydrogen car can give performance like a gasoline car, we

could run rings around the Japs and their dinky electric autos! But

those motherless maggots won't hear of it. Electric cars or nothing.

Damn them all to hell a thousand times over!

The crow cawed again, as if mocking him. Taking a deep breath

of relatively clean air, Greenwell put his rifle to his shoulder, aimed

the laser sight at the squawking crow, and pulled the trigger. The

camera built into the rifle's former firing chamber clicked, and Green-well

was satisfied that he could have killed the noisy black bird.

He had never killed a living creature in all his life. Above

everything else, August Greenwell prided himself on being a conservationist.

Clan sat in his windowless cell deep underground, staring blankly at

the electronic chess game his captors had given him. He had asked

for a cyberbook reader with some of the classic novels he had never

had the time to read, or a television set so he could at least see the

news and try the opera channel to see if he could learn to enjoy

something deeper than West Side Story.

All they gave him was this stupid little chess set that had only

eight levels of play programmed into it. Trouble was, the damned

machine beat him consistently on level two and higher.

Dan's cell was bleak. Bare concrete walls. One bunk, one toilet,

one sink and one table with a single chair. The ceiling was glareless

light panels that stayed on twenty-four hours a day. Monitoring

cameras watched him from behind those panels.

He sat hunched over the chess game wearing a prisoner's gray

coveralls. A team from the GEC was on its way from Paris to bring

him back Earthside, where he would stand trial for kidnapping,

EMPIRE BUILDERS 221 terrorism, drug dealing, grand larceny and anything else they could

think of. Clan did not look forward to the interrogation he knew

Malik would order. They'd want to get the names of the other

renegades living around Alphonsus. Clan was determined not to tell

them, but he did not know how long he could hold out against even

the legal interrogation techniques--to say nothing of the kind that

Malik would prefer using.

What difference does it make? he asked himself, sitting alone in

his bare, chilly cell. George and Tucker ratted me out, why should

I protect them?

He pushed away from the plastic table and got up slowly. The

cell always felt cold to him. Must be my imagination. Certainly can't

be damp down here; the only damned water around here is the stuff

they make in the factories.

Why hold out when they interrogate me? Clan knew the answer:

To screw Malik. Not to protect George or Tucker or any of those burns .

They weren't loyal to me, why should I be loyal to them? But

if Malik wants their names then I won't give them. The Russian

sonofabitch can turn me inside out and I won't tell him a double-damned

word.

I hope. Clan had no doubts about his ability to withstand psychological

pressure. But he also felt certain that Malik would quickly

resort to more physical methods. For the good of the world's

people, of course. All the heinous tortures in history had been done

for the purest of motives. Just like Torquemada working so hard to

save all those souls by ripping apart all those bodies.

If only I could get loose once I'm back on Earth, Clan thought

as he paced the five steps from one end of his cell to the other. I've

got half a dozen bankrolls stashed away down there. I could offer

a pretty hefty bribe for some help in breaking loose. Then I could

disappear and live a decent life under an assumed identity. Maybe

even some plastic surgery...

He stopped short. And do what? Spend the rest of my life sitting

on my ass in Argentina or Taiwan, hoping nobody spots me? While

Malik and the rest of them run the world straight into the greenhouse

cliff?

222 BEN BOVA

He reached out his right hand and touched the concrete wall

facing him. He pressed both hands against it, then leaned all his

weight on them. The wall did not budge. Who are you trying to kid?

he snarled silently at himself. You're going to spend the rest of your

life in a cell like this. Or worse. Malik's not going to let you go. And

nobody's going to help you. Not Jane or Nobo or Kate Williams or

anybody.

Straightening up, squaring his shoulders, Clan told himself,

Okay. Let's face reality. There's only one possibility. Sooner or later,

Malik's going to come within my reach. The damned smiling,

gloating sonofabitch is going to get close enough for me to grab

him by the throat. Then I'll kill him. It'll have to be quick. Smash his

double-damned windpipe before he realizes what's happening.

Drive the cartilage in his nose up into his brain. Snap his neck.

Quick.

Then they can put me on trial for a real murder instead of these

phonied-up charges.

Clan nodded, satisfied that he was right. It was a discussion he

had held with himself every day since they had tossed him into this

cell. He came to the same conclusion every time.

Now, as he did after each of those self-discussions, he got down

on the floor and started doing push-ups. His first day in captivity he

could do only ten. Now he was up to fifty. Next he would do sit-ups

to flatten his gut. Then he would jog around his cell until his legs

were too shaky to carry him.

He was on his seventy-third sit-up, sweating and grunting,

when he heard the beep-beep-boop of the door's electronic lock being

worked. Too early for dinner, he thought. They had taken his

wristwatch from him, but he had a fair judgment for time.

The door swung open and the huge shaggy form of Big George

pushed through. Behind him, like a tiny spacecraft eclipsed by a

massive asteroid, was Pops Tucker.

Clan almost laughed, sitting there on the floor. "So they got you

tOO."

"Not fooking likely," said George, in a near-whisper.

"Get up," Tucker said. "We're takin' you outta here."

EMPIRE BUILDERS

223

Clan scrambled to his feet. "You're what?"

"We're springin' you. Come on!"

Instantly suspicious, Clan growled, "What's going on? Am I

supposed to be shot while trying to escape? Is that it?"

Tucker curled a lip at him. "You don't trust us, huh?"

"Why should I?"

"Because we didn't give you away, in the first place," answered

Tucker, looking and sounding disgusted, "and we're risking our

goddamned asses to spring you, in the second place."

"We don't have much time," George said, glancing down the

corridor outside the cell.

Clan noticed that he was holding a pistol in one huge hand. It

looked like the same gun Clan himself had brought from his office.

"Where'd you get that?" He pointed at the gun.

George grinned from inside his wildly tangled beard. "Where

you left it, behind your bunk. Pops went over the shelter with a

detector array that first time you and me went out to meet the

trolley. Remember? Didn't find any electronic bugs but we found

this."

"And you left it there?"

"Sure, what'd we need it for?"

"We're wastin' time," Tucker said.

Clan made a decision. He started for the door. Outside, he saw

that the corridor was empty.

"How long will a man stay out when he's been hit with one of

these darts?" George asked as they started down the long narrow

blank-walled corridor.

"Depends on his size," Clan answered, hurrying to keep pace

with the big man. "Ten, twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour."

"Then we gotta run like hell," Tucker puffed, already jogging to

stay with them.

"Here we go!" George scooped up the frail old man and bolted

ahead like a football runningback. Clan raced after him.

A few minutes later they were in the sublevel where Alphonsus'

life support machinery chugged away. George set Tucker down on

his feet again, and the sour-faced old man slipped on a pair of dark

222

BEN BOVA

He reached out his right hand and touched the concrete wall

facing him. He pressed both hands against it, then leaned all his

weight on them. The wall did not budge. Who are you trying to kid?

he snarled silently at himself. You're going to spend the rest of your

life in a cell like this. Or worse. Malik's not going to let you go. And

nobody's going to help you. Not Jane or Nobo or Kate Williams or

anybody.

Straightening up, squaring his shoulders, Clan told himself,

Okay. Let's face reality. There's only one possibility. Sooner or later,

Malik's going to come within my reach. The damned smiling,

gloating sonofabitch is going to get close enough for me to grab

him by the throat. Then I'll kill him. It'll have to be quick. Smash his

double-damned windpipe before he realizes what's happening.

Drive the cartilage in his nose up into his brain. Snap his neck.

Quick.

Then they can put me on trial for a real murder instead of these

phonied-up charges.

Clan nodded, satisfied that he was right. It was a discussion he

had held with himself every day since they had tossed him into this

cell. He came to the same conclusion every time.

Now, as he did after each of those self-discussions, he got down

on the floor and started doing push-ups. His first day in captivity he

could do only ten. Now he was up to fifty. Next he would do sit-ups

to flatten his gut. Then he would jog around his cell until his legs

were too shaky to carry him.

He was on his seventy-third sit-up, sweating and grunting,

when he heard the beep-beep-boop of the door's electronic lock being

worked. Too early for dinner, he thought. They had taken his

wristwatch from him, but he had a fair judgment for time.

The door swung open and the huge shaggy form of Big George

pushed through. Behind him, like a tiny spacecraft eclipsed by a

massive asteroid, was Pops Tucker.

Clan almost laughed, sitting there on the floor. "So they got you

tOO."

"Not fooking likely," said George, in a near-whisper.

"Get up," Tucker said. "We're takin' you outta here."

EMPIRE BUILDERS

223

Clan scrambled to his feet. "You're what?"

"We're springin' you. Come on!"

Instantly suspicious, Clan growled, "What's going on? Am I

supposed to be shot while trying to escape? Is that it?"

Tucker curled a lip at him. "You don't trust us, huh?"

"Why should I?"

"Because we didn't give you away, in the first place," answered

Tucker, looking and sounding disgusted, "and we're risking our

goddamned asses to spring you, in the second place."

"We don't have much time," George said, glancing down the

corridor outside the cell.

Clan noticed that he was holding a pistol in one huge hand. It

looked like the same gun Clan himself had brought from his office.

"Where'd you get that?" He pointed at the gun.

George grinned from inside his wildly tangled beard. "Where

you left it, behind your bunk. Pops went over the shelter with a

detector array that first time you and me went out to meet the

trolley. Remember? Didn't find any electronic bugs but we found

this."

"And you left it there?"

"Sure, what'd we need it for?"

"We're wastin' time," Tucker said.

Clan made a decision. He started for the door. Outside, he saw

that the corridor was empty.

"How long will a man stay out when he's been hit with one of

these darts?" George asked as they started down the long narrow

blank-walled corridor.

"Depends on his size," Clan answered, hurrying to keep pace

with the big man. "Ten, twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour."

"Then we gotta run like hell," Tucker puffed, already jogging to

stay with them.

"Here we go!" George scooped up the frail old man and bolted

ahead like a football runningback. Clan raced after him.

A few minutes later they were in the sublevel where A1phonsus'

life support machinery chugged away. George set Tucker down on

his feet again, and the sour-faced old man slipped on a pair of dark

224 BEN BOVA

goggles. He bent over even more than usual, seemingly studying

the floor.

"EMERGENCY!" blared the overhead speakers. "EMERGENCY!

A PRISONER HAS ESCAPED FROM THE DETENTION

CENTER. HE HAS AT LEAST TWO ACCOMPLICES. THEY ARE

ARMED. USE EXTREME CAUTION!"

"Why the look are they piping that down hereT' George complained.

"Nobody here but the maintenance robots."

'There might be a few human technicians around," Clan suggested.

"Or they're tryin' to scare us," said Tucker.

Clan shook his head. "More likely they just put the announcement

on the whole damned comm system. I'll bet it even went out

to the tourists up in Yamagata's new hotel."

"All right," said Tucker, returning his attention to the floor.

"Now we sprayed a dye that's only visible in the infrared--that's

where we walk. Georgie bent the camera supports enough along our

path so we can sneak under 'em and they won't see us."

"Had to shoot the two guys at the monitor screens in the

detention center," George said, somewhat ruefully. "One of 'em was

a girl. Cute, too."

"Hell, you think Hogface Martha is cute," Tucker growled.

George laughed.

They walked slowly along the path that only Tucker could see. Clan

wondered how long they had before a maintenance robot

crossed their path or a live security team was dispatched to scour

the area. I won't be able to fool a roboL he realized. I don't have the

current codes.

Then they passed a familiar alcove. The metal rungs of a ladder

were set into the wall, leading up.

"Hey, wait," he called to the others.

"What?"

"Let's go up this way," he said.

"Are you crazy?" Tucker snarled. "That's not the way to the

outside. That goes up to--"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 225

"My office," Clan said. "Last place they'd think of looking

for us."

"You are crazy."

"Like a fox. Come on." And he started up the ladder.

There are two possibilities, Clan reasoned as he climbed. One:

George and the old man are working for Malik and I'm supposed

to be shot while trying to escape. Maybe there's a goon squad up

at that shelter at the top of the vertical shaft waiting to kill me. It'd

be just like MaIik to have George and Pops snuffed too; clean up the

whole mess and leave no witnesses.

Two: the pair of them are really on my side and risking their

asses to free me. But there could still be a squad waiting for us at

the shelter. If Kate Williams is still running the show around here

she's too smart to let me get away with the same escape route twice.

He glanced down in the dimly lit shaft and saw that George was

following below him. Probably Tucker's behind him, too small to

see behind Georgie's bulk.

Sure enough, he heard the old man's voice echoing sourly off

the shaft's wails, "This is the dumbest damn thing I've seen since

Harry Kline decided he could breathe vacuum."

Grinning, Clan hissed a shhh down at him.

THEY CAME OUT into the service corridor that ran behind the

offices. Clan knew the area by heart and led them, tiptoeing like a

trio of naughty schoolboys, to a closet where the janitorial staff kept

its equipment.

Most of the closet was occupied by a pair of janitors: squat,

sturdy robots whose once-gleaming metal skins were now scuffed

and scratched from wear. The closet walls were lined with shelves

containing cleaning solvents, dust absorbers, and maintenance

equipment for the robots.

"As long as nobody comes in to refill the robots' tanks we're

okay," Clan said as they quietly closed the door. He added silently,

And as long as nobody happens to be looking at the monitoring

cameras watching the corridor.

It was utterly dark with the door shut. Clan heard a dull thud and

an "Ouch!" from Big George.

"Watch it," he whispered.

"Now you tell me. Thanks a fooking lot."

"What do we do now?" Tucker hissed.

"We wait. Anybody got a wristwatch?"

A brief glimmer of fluorescence. "It's seventeen thirty-eight."

"Too early. People'll still be in their offices. We sit here and wait.

The robots are programmed to go out at ten P.M. We'll wait till then."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 227

Clan hunkered down on what little floor space was available,

arms clasped around his knees. He heard Tucker grumbling and

George huffing as he strained to squeeze himself into a semicomfort-able

spot.

In the darkness Clan pictured Kate Williams working in his

office, at his desk. I'd like to bust right in there and grab the

traitorous bitch, he seethed to himself. Slap her flat on the double-damned

desk and show her who the boss really is.

Then he grinned to himself, remembering Tamara's warning that

Kate would cut his balls off. Tamara. I wonder where she is? What's

she doing now? Kate wouldn't keep her as an assistant; the kid was

too loyal to me.

"I still think this is crazy," Tucker grumbled, his whispering

voice grating angrily. '/Ve're sitting ducks here."

"They won't expect us to be here," Clan countered. "They've

probably got goon squads combing the lower levels and searching

outside for us. This is the best place to be, for now."

"For how long?" George asked.

"Till I get a chance to pop into my office and check the computer

files. There's a few things I want to know."

Tucker mumbled something too low to understand.

"Pops, how long will it take you to hack a permanent access for

me into Astro's files?"

"Once we're into them? Ten seconds."

Clan chuckled softly. Nothing wrong with Tucker's self-image.

"Might as well get some sleep while we're waiting," he said.

"Sure," Tucker groused. "Let 'em take us while we're snoring."

"You're the one who snores," George whispered.

"That's right. You never snore, do you? I never heard so goddamned

much noise in my life."

"Cut the chatter," Clan hissed. He closed his eyes, wondering if

he would be able to sleep at all.

The two robots lit up abruptly and began to hum, snapping Clan

from a deep slumber. The door to the closet swung back and both

the stubby thickset machines trundled out into the corridor on

nearly noiseless little wheels. The door swung shut again.

228 BEN BOVA

"Fooking pile of junk near ran over my foot," George muttered.

"It's twenty-two hundred," Tucker said before Clan could ask

the time.

Wordlessly, Clan pushed the door open a crack and squinted up

and down the corridor. No one in sight. The monitor camera, up

near the ceiling more than twenty meters away, showed a single

baleful red eye.

We'll have to chance it, Clan said to himself. They can't be

watching every monitor screen all the time. Even if they've programmed

the system to sound an alarm whenever the cameras see

somebody in the corridors, they can't possibly check out everybody.

I hope.

"George, you wait here," he said. "They're looking for three

men, not two. Pops, we're going to walk slowly, like a pair of

maintenance men. Keep your head down and try to look natural."

"You'd look a helluva lot more like a janitor without that beard,"

Tucker muttered.

"Yeah. I know."

Beard and all, the two of them stepped out into the corridor and

walked to the back door to Dan's office, with the video camera

staring at them. Maintenance personnel go into the offices to check

that the robots haven't screwed up, Clan told himself. There's nothing

unusual enough to alert security. Again he added, I hope.

Kate had changed the security code on the door's electronic

lock, but it took Tucker a scant few seconds to press a palm-sized

analyzer against the lock and then tap out the new code, while Clan

stood between him and the camera.

The lights went on in the office automatically as they stepped

in. Clan took in the familiar surroundings with a single glance. His

pictures had all been replaced by paintings, mostly Impressionists,

very high-quality reproductions. Scarlett's got good taste, he admitted

to himself.

Swiftly he went to his desk and flicked on the computer. His

chair felt odd to him, slightly uncomfortable, as if its shape had

subtly changed. He knew that all his old access codes to the company's

files had been erased. What would Kate Williams use? He

EMPIRE BUILDERS 229

tried her first name, then her last, then both together. No go. On a

whim he typed in "Scarlett."

The screen lit up, ready for his next command.

"I'll be damned," Clan muttered. Then he went to work.

It took more than an hour for Clan to scroll through the basic

information he wanted. Tucker fidgeted at the edge of his awareness,

becoming more nervous each second. At one point Clan told

him to bring George from the closet.

"And relax," Clan said to the wizened little man. "If they haven't

come down on us by now, then they don't know we're here."

The company records told him a story as bad as he had feared

he would find. Worse, in some ways. Astro was being micromanaged

by bureaucrats from the GEC who had no understanding

of how to run a working company. Production was faltering while

the GEC put major emphasis on paperwork. Every move had to be

okayed by the new management. Filling out the proper forms had

become more important than getting the job done.

There were plans to vastly increase the company's production

of helium-three. Plans to double the production of solar panels.

Plans to triple the tonnage of silicon and aluminum shipped to the

factories in orbit.

Or rather, there were memorandums and reports and impact

statements about such plans. Plans to make plans. Committees to

study the proposed plans. Other committees to study the committees'

recommendations.

Clan pushed his chair back from the desk with a disgusted snort.

Christ, what a putrefying mess. At this rate the whole damned

world could be underwater and the only way anybody'll be saved

is if they stack their double-damned reports on top of one another

and climb up to the top of the pile.

"It's almost midnight? Tucker whispered hoarsely. "How

long--"

"I'm just about finished," said Clan. "Here, make me an access

that nobody else can find. I want complete access to all the files in

the system."

The dour little man perched on Dan's chair, his frail legs clan

230 BEN BOVA

gling off the floor, his fingers flying over the keyboard like a concert

pianist's. Big George sprawled dozing on one of the couches across

the office.

It took more than ten seconds. Nearly ten minutes. Finally

Tucker gestured to the glowing screen. "It's done. You can pop into

the system any time you want. What code name do you want?" Clan thought a moment. "Freedom."

Tucker hiked his brows, but tapped in the word. "Now can we

go?" he asked sourly, shutting down the computer.

"Wait," said Clan. "One more thing."

He went back to the desk, booted up the machine again and,

using "Freedom," asked the system to locate Tamara Duchamps.

The screen showed that she had been assigned to the transportation

department. Her job title was secretary to the manager of freight

exports. Got her stuck out at the mass driver, Clan realized, as far

away from comfort and safety as they could put her.

He shook his head. Kate's a real bitch, he thought. But then he

brightened. It ought to be a lot easier for me to see Tamara out there

at the Nubium facility than it would be if she were still here inside

A1phonsus.

"For god's sake!" Tucker hissed at him. "Let's get out of here!"

"Relax," Clan said. "This is the safest place in the city for us,

right now."

"Then why's my stomach feel like there's ten thousand frogs

jumpin' around in there?"

Clan crossed the thick carpeting and entered the lavatory. The

cabinet drawers under the sink were filled with Kate's things now:

perfumes and cosmetics and even some skimpy, frilly underwear

that made Clan grin appreciatively. "So that's what she wears underneath

it all," he muttered. No pills. Not even aspirin.

He was about to give up when he finally discovered his shaving

things crammed into the back of the bottom drawer. Even the

barber's scissors and electric razor were jumbled in there. Greatest

luxury in the world, Clan remembered, is having somebody else

shave you. Shaking his head at the memory of a particularly gor-

EMPIRE BUILDERS 231

geous Swede who took her tonsorial duties seriously even while

topless, Clan started the onerous chore of chopping off his beard.

Tucker was fidgeting nervously when he came out clean-shaven.

George was still snoring on the couch.

"How do I look?"

"Great. Now let's get out of here?

Eying the shaggy Aussie, Clan said, "Might be a good idea if we

cleaned him up, too."

Tucker looked as if he were about to have apoplexy.

Muhammed Shariff Sibuti rose from his knees and carefully rolled up

his prayer rug. He kept his office locked during the times of prayer.

Even though his staff were all faithful to Islam, he did not want

unbelievers such as Malik or, worse, the Catholic Gaetano to intrude

on his prayers.

God knows that we will need all the help and strength that only

He can provide, Sibuti said to himself as he carefully placed the

tasseled rug into the cabinet behind his desk. And all the patience,

too, he added as he sat in his desk chair once again.

He touched the button that unlocked his door, then with the

same long slim finger activated his phone. "I will see Minister Malik

now," he said, noticing that his finger was trembling.

It had been nearly two months since Malik had dropped his

bombshell about the greenhouse cliff, yet Sibuti still felt stunned,

shocked. Slowly, carefully the word was being passed on to leaders

in the various national governments and multinational corporations.

Sibuti imagined he could see the shock waves spreading from Paris

to the capitals of nations and the seats of the great industrial

empires.

"Minister Malik is here, sir," said his secretary's voice over the

phone.

"Send him in."

Malik had not changed a whit over the past weeks. Sibuti felt

as if he himself had aged a century, but Malik looked as youthful and

determined as ever, dashing even, in his military-style tunic of deep

blue. Sibuti felt very old in his ordinary gray business suit.

232 BEN BOVA

"You wanted to see me?" the Russian asked, taking one of the

chairs in front of Sibuti's desk without waiting to be invited.

The older man nodded, pressing his lips together. "Yes. I am

beginning to prepare the agenda for next week's Council meeting.

I think it is time that we began to discuss how we will break the

news of this impending catastrophe to the general public."

Malik's ice blue eyes flickered briefly. "It is too early to inform

the public at large."

"Too early7 But rumors are already beginning to spread. The

media--"

"The media can be controlled. And rumors always spread. What

of it?"

"Rumors can be very damaging, very dangerous," said Sibuti.

Malik shot him a glance filled with scorn. "Nothing but hot air."

"You think so! Let me tell you, sir, that rumors can be deadly.

Do you understand me? Deadly! When I was first appointed to the

Council, every year the mighty rivers of Bangladesh overflowed and

killed thousands on the coastal plains. Then we began to build the

big hydro dams up in the mountains."

"And controlled the flooding," Malik interrupted. "And provided

the electricity that has brought the standard of living in the

region up by several hundred percent."

"Yes. True. But the year that the third dam was being finished,

do you remember that? A rumor began to spread in the coastal cities

that the dams had failed. The rumor spread like wildfire."

Malik leaned forward, interested in the older man's story despite

himself.

"Anyone with a television could see that the dams were perfectly

all right," Sibuti went on, his thin voice rising. "But the people

did not trust reports by the news media, they did not even trust the

evidence of their own eyes. They reacted to the rumor! They fled in

terror from the cities in a mad dash to get to higher ground. They

emptied the stores, looted what they could not buy, burned what

they could not carry off with them, killed one another on the roads."

Somewhat subdued, Malik said, "I do remember something of

that."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 233

"The cities were abandoned in panic. Thousands were killed. By

panic. By a rumor. The national economy was crippled for several

years before things settled down to normal once again. That is what

rumors can do!"

Malik spread his hands. "But my dear Minister, your own story

proves how hard we must work to avoid panic. Imagine what would

happen if we suddenly announced that half the world might be

flooded out in the next ten years. It would be like Bangladesh

everywhere!"

Sibuti glared at the Russian, but his expression slowly softened

as Malik's point sank in. "Yes, I see. I understand. We are on the

horns of a dilemma. A very painful dilemma."

"We are making progress," Malik said. "The politicians whom

we have informed are dithering and flapping around like a pack of

geese, as usual. But the corporate leaders seem to be facing the

situation much more realistically."

"I see where the Americans have renewed their request to

develop hydrogen-fueled automobiles."

Malik frowned. "We must resist that request. Our program calls

for electric cars; we can't have the Americans pulling an end run

on us."

"End run?"

"I will speak with Jane Scanwell. She can handle the American

industrialists."

Still blinking with confusion about Malik's Americanism, Sibuti

asked, "What about Japan?"

"Yamagata is being very cooperative. Not only has he pledged

his corporation's assistance, he has even volunteered to form a

steering committee that will serve as liaison between the major

multinationals and our Council."

"Very good! But what of the Big Seven?"

Malik's eyes narrowed. "The confiscation of Astro Manufacturing

had its desired effect on them. They have all fallen neatly into

line and permitted us to install our own administrators to manage

them for the length of the emergency."

234 BEN BOVA

"That could be ten or twenty years," said Sibuti, the beginnings

of a smile on his thin lips.

"Or more," agreed Malik.

The older man rocked back in his desk chair for a few moments.

Then, hunching forward again, "I still believe we must face the very

urgent need to inform the public about this. It is imperative!"

"In time," Malik said placatingly. "In time. Look at what happened

when we informed the leaders of the environmental movement.''

"A disaster," Sibuti agreed.

Under a promise of secrecy, a dozen of the world's leading

environmentalists had been brought to Paris and briefed on the

greenhouse cliff. The GEC wanted their help in formulating plans for

recruiting environmentalists all over the world to help in the battle

against the impending catastrophe. What they got instead was

chaos. Suspicion and distrust. Three of the prominent European

"greens" flatly refused to believe the data before their eyes. Several

of the Americans expressed the opinion that the GEC could not

solve the problem, and one actually seemed to believe that a worldwide

flood would be a good thing! As if the world deserved such a

cataclysm!

"We must control this news very carefully," Malik was saying.

"Very tight control of the media is absolutely necessary."

"But you don't seem to understand," Sibuti countered, "that the

news is already leaking out. The politicians we have briefed, the

environmentalists--they will not keep our secret. Not for very

long, at any rate."

Nodding, Malik admitted, "I know. That is why our next move

must be to gain a firm control over the news media, worldwide.

Once that is accomplished, then we can begin to break the story to

the public in our own way, on our own terms."

Sibuti nodded back. "Ah. I see. Yes, that is the way to do it, I

suppose. It shouldn't be too difficult to gain control of the media in

most nations. Even in Great Britain the government can censor the

news whenever it feels the necessity."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 235

"It's the Americans who will be the problem, as usual," said

Malik. "Them and their quaint notions of freedom of the press."

"There are the international news networks, as well."

"Yes, but they can be handled the same way we got the cooperation

of the Big Seven. A little show of force and a plea for voluntary

cooperation--or else."

"A formidable task," said Sibuti.

"But it must be done."

"Yes. I agree. I shall place it high on our agenda for next week's

meeting."

"Good."

The Russian got to his feet. Sibuti rose too and extended his

hand. The two men left on a much friendlier note than they had

displayed earlier.

But as Malik strode back toward his own office, he thought, Let

the old fool prepare his agendas and chair his meetings, as long as

he stays out of my way. I've got it all almost within my grasp. Once

the news media are under control, then I'll have the power I need

to get this job underway.

Sibuti sank back into his desk chair once Malik left his office. His

thoughts were not on next week's agenda, but on his nephew in

Jakarta. His nephew owned a small construction company that was

bidding on a major project to construct a seawall meant to protect

the Indonesian capital against the rising sea level. Sibuti had discreetly

funneled much information to his nephew, helping him to

prepare his bid for the project.

Now my nephew wants me to put in a personal word for him.

All I have to do is call the contracting officer and suggest, ever so

mildly, that the Indonesian project should go to a local firm.

He stared at his phone console, its screen blank. The seawall will

be useless, he knew, if the greenhouse cliff raised sea levels more

than ten meters. Moreover, his nephew had complained that he was

being forced to pay an exorbitant "priority fee" to an outfit of thugs

who controlled the concrete business in Jakarta. Rumors were that

they were associated with some international crime syndicate.

Rumors again. Sibuti saw his own reflection scowling in the dark

236 BEN BOVA

phone screen. Do I want my nephew mixed up with such criminals?

Yet how can he remain in the construction business without access

to concrete? Does it really matter? Write off their excess "fees" as

a cost of doing business. Everyone else does.

But should I personally intervene? It is not proper. Yet--he is

my nephew.

Sibuti stared at the phone console for a long time, struggling

with his conscience. Finally he reached for the handset, thinking,

Blood is thicker than rules and regulations. After all, he is my

nephew. And everyone does it. If I don't help him, someone else will

help one of his relatives.

IT HAD ALMOST come to a fistfight, but finally Clan and Tucker

convinced Big George that his beard had to come off. Clan did the

honors, sitting George on the toilet in his lavatory and chopping

away for what seemed--even to Dan--like hours.

Tucker was almost climbing the walls when Clan straightened

up, his back popping with strain.

"Want me to shave the stubble for you, George?"

"I can do it myself," the big Australian muttered, sullen and

subdued.

Clan stepped back into the office. Tucker jabbed an impatient

finger at the pile of hair clippings on the floor. "You don't have to be

Sherlock goddam Holmes to figure what you guys have been doin'."

With a grin, Clan said, "That's what the cleaning robots are for.

They ought to be popping in here pretty soon; usually come into

this office around one a.M., unless Kate's reprogrammed them."

Tucker growled, "Like you were in here that late, to see what

time they arrived?"

"I burned some midnight oil in this office," Clan said, glancing

around. All of a sudden he hated the paintings on the walls, the

slightly odd feel of the desk chair. This has been stolen from me, he

said to himself. They've stolen this office, the furniture, the whole

company. Everything I have.

238 BEN BOVA

"Well, I hope you two are fooking satisfied."

Clan whirled to admire Big George's freshly shaved face. And

understood immediately why the oversized Aussie had grown the

beard in the first place. George had a baby's pink, smooth face;

wildly out of joint with his massive physique.

"How the hell old are you, George?" Clan asked.

"Twenty-three," mumbled the Aussie.

"Holy shit," said Tucker. "I must've been twenty-three once, but

it was so damned long ago I forget what it was like."

Laughing, Clan went back to his former desk.

what?" Tucker fairly screamed.

""I°u realized," Clan said, flicking on the computer again, "that

if I can get into the company's system I can also get into some of

the personal files I buried in here years ago. If nobod--aha! There

it is!" He looked up at his two friends, beaming. "Fellas, we may

have been fugitives when we came in here, but we're going to leave

like gentlemen."

Just to be on the cautious side, however, Clan told Tucker and

George to leave by the back door, the same way they had come in.

"I'm going out the front door, just like I owned the joint."

"Where do we meet up again?" Tucker asked.

"At the registration desk of the new Yamagata Hotel."

"What! Are you crazy'/."

"Like an owl. Give me half an hour. Then come to the registration

desk and ask for Roger Wilcox. That'll be me. I just pulled up

Roger's old file, transferred some of the money he had left in a bank

Earthside, and made him a reservation at the Yamagata. Topflight

suite; you'll enjoy it."

"He's looking nuts," said George.

"You got a better place to squat?" Clan snapped. "They'll have

all the tempos staked out by now, don't you think7 Certainly all the

airlocks will be under close surveillance."

Tucker shook his head wearily. "You're right, Georgie. He's

nuts. But he's right, too. By now we couldn't get out of the city

unless we had a platoon of U.S. Marines with us."

Clan flipped him a military salute. "See you in half an hour."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 239

There was a human clerk at the registration desk, even at half past

midnight, that's how posh a hotel the Yamagata was. He was

Japanese, of course, much too polite actually to ask where in the

world Mr. Roger Wilcox was coming from. There were no passenger

flights arriving at this time of the early morning. And Mr.

Wilcox had no luggage.

Yet his reservation was there in the computer, along with Wilcox's

credit data, absolutely authentic.

Clan saved the tired young man the embarrassment of asking.

"Damnedest thing," he said, trying to remember what a Texas

twang sounded like. "I been coming up here for years. Usually

stayed at the Astro habitat, you know, 'cause I'm on company

business. One of their biggest goddamned investors, and I like to

see what they're doing with my money, you better believe. But ever

since that GEC gang took over, you know, there's so many new

people over to Astro that they just don't have room for one of their

investors anymore. Can you imagine that! I spent the whole damned

day arguing with them, and half the night waiting for them to come

up with some decent accommodations for me and my two assistants.

Finally I told 'em, 'Fuck it! I'll got over to Yamagata's. They

know how to treat a visitor.'"

He asked where the nearest computer link was. Looking somewhat

dubious, the clerk pointed to the phone console at the end of

the registration desk. Clan went to it, tapped into the Astro accounting

system, and had ten thousand U.S. dollars transferred to the

hotel in the name of Roger Wilcox. Then he asked the clerk to give

him cash. "Ten one-thousand-dollar bills, please."

The clerk's expression went from dubious to curious. Hardly

anyone used cash on the Moon. But he read his own computer

screen carefully, saw that the money was in Mr. Wilcox's account,

then unlocked the cash drawer and counted out the money.

"I 'preciate your help very much, son," drawled Clan, handing

one of the bills back over the counter to the room clerk. He hesitated

a heartbeat, glanced over his shoulder as if afraid the manager was

240 BEN BOVA

watching, then snatched the thousand-dollar note. The young man

bow,,eMd nd smiled with pleasure.

friends will be along directly," Clan said, hoping he wasn't

overdoing the accent. "Please see that they get to my suite." He said

nothing about luggage, leaving the clerk to assume that his two

assistants would be carrying it.

Like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes he first stared at the Pacific,

TV reporter Harvey Yeats struck a pose and gazed out on the

glittering blue sea. The other two members of the news crew--cameraman

and audio woman--knew that Harvey was already

rehearsing how he wanted to look on the videotape they were here

to shoot.

Their two Eskimo guides paid attention not to Yeats' pose, but

to the shining new space-age parka that each of the news team wore,

light yet warm, stylish and brilliant of hue. They were not jealous

so much as covetous of those expensive, handsome parkas.

It was too warm to keep the hood up. Besides, Yeats knew, he

would look better on the tape with the hood down and his golden

hair catching the slanting rays of the sun that barely rose above the

horizon.

"Don't look like much," said the cameraman. "Just a stretch of

water and some of those flat ice floes out in the distance."

"Moron?' snapped Yeats. "Up here the ocean freezes over.

Open water at this time of the year is unheard of."

The cameraman shrugged. "Still don't look like much."

"It's the greenhouse effect. There's hardly any ice in the whole

Arctic Ocean."

"What was all that white stuff we flew over?" asked the audio

woman, grinning at the cameraman. They were both accustomed to

Yeats' exaggerations.

"Oh, further out, yeah, sure. But it ought to be solid ice all the

way up to the shore here." The reporter turned to the two Eskimos.

"Isn't that right?"

One of the Eskimos, who held a degree in climatology from the

University of Alaska, nodded solemn agreement. "There hasn't been

EMPIRE BUILDERS 241

this much open water here at this time of the season in the memory

of living man."

"See.'?" said Yeats.

"It still don't look like much," argued the cameraman. "Just some

water. We could get a shot like this in New Jersey, for Chrissake."

Yeats screwed up his handsome features into a dark scowl. His

crew people knew that he was thinking, not angry.

"Okay," he said, "how about this? I take one of those little

kayaks and paddle out to the ice floes. You shoot me from here; show how far away the ice really is."

"I wouldn't do that ..." said the climatologist.

Yeats waved him down. "I've done plenty of kayaking. Went

down the length of the Grand Canyon last year."

The cameraman brightened. "Yeah. We could set up a remote on

the kayak, just like we did then."

The audio woman nodded agreement. The two Eskimos glanced

at one another. They tried to argue against it, but Yeats would not

listen. "We've only got a couple hours of sunlight left, right7 We're

not going to stay here until the sun comes up again, that'd take

months, right'?. So stop arguing and get me a kayak."

Thus it was that, as the pale Arctic sun touched the flat horizon

of sea and ice, Harvey Keats paddled a kayak out to the nearest of

the ice floes, a remote camera attached to the boat's prow trained

on his tousle-haired face, a remote microphone catching every word

of his nonstop narration.

Thus it was that an orca, driven close to the shore by hunger

because the seals had been largely killed off, rushed up from the

depths, overturned Keats' kayak, and crushed him in its jaws.

The cameraman and audio woman stood on the shore, aghast

but recording every instant of Keats' untimely death. The two

Eskimos looked at one another sorrowfully, grieved by the loss of

that spanking new parka.

The mass driver stretched in a straight line for slightly more than

two miles across Mare Nubium, just outside the ringwall mountains

of Alphonsus.

4 8FN OVA

The original planners of the Alphonsus complex assumed that

workers at the mass-driver facility would be quartered in the city

and commute to their jobs via the cable-car system that crossed the

ringwall. Over the years, however, a small, makeshift, rugged community

grew around the mass-driver facility. Men and women lived

there for months or even years at a time, going to Alphonsus City

only for vacations or to return Earthward.

Except for the long straight track of the electric catapult itself,

the mass-driver complex was underground, a warren of interconnected

shelters and tunnels. One of the shelters housed the complex's

only bar, named Hundred Gees after the nominal acceleration

that the mass driver imparted to its cargo containers to fling them

into space trajectories.

Tamara Duchamps did not feel comfortable at Hundred Gees.

She was accustomed to the more refined cabarets of Paris or the

quiet lounges of A1phonsus City; the bar felt rough and rowdy to

her. The men who gathered there were little better than grease

monkeys, for the most part, and miners who drifted in from the

camps farther out on Mare Nubium looking for a night's entertainment.

The women were hardly better.

Tamara seldom went to the bar, but after weeks of living in this

dreary underground nest, exiled from the comforts of the city, she

found herself driven by loneliness, the need for some human companionship.

The Hundred Gees was crowded, smoky, noisy with

raucous talk and blaring canned music. But she went there anyway;

there was no place else to go.

She never dressed provocatively; usually she wore plain coveralls,

as she did this evening. Yet not even the drabbest of outfits

could hide the lithe grace of her long-legged body or the sculptured

dark beauty of her face.

"Hey, princess, you drinkin' aloneT"

Tamara looked up from the minuscule table to see a lanky,

red-faced guy with a bushy moustache grinning at her. Almost

leering at her. The name badge on his breast said Rollins; his

shoulder patch identified him as an electrical engineer.

"The place is awful crowded," he said, not giving her a chance

EMPIRE BUILDERS 243

to answer. "Mind if I sit with you?" Again without waiting, he took

the chair next to hers and pulled it close. He already had a tall drink

in one hand.

"My name's Jon. Without an aitch. I'm from Oklahoma, where

the wind comes whistlin' down the plain."

Tamara hesitated, then said, "My name is Tamara.'

'Now! Sexy name. Where ya from?"

"I was born in Addis Ababa. Ethiopia."

"Wow!" he repeated. "Like out of the Arabian Nights."

Tamara sipped at her drink, thinking how ironic it was that she

badly wanted some company but wanted even more badly to be rid

of this lout. Scanning the crowd clustered thickly around the bar, her

eyes smarting from their smoke, ears hurting from the noise of their

so-called music, she desperately wished she were back in Paris. Or

at Alphonsus, working for Clan. No matter what his reputation, he

was civilized.

"Howdja like to take a little walk outside, see the Earth? It's real

romantic."

"From inside a pressure suit?"

"Ever done it in a suit?"

Tamara put her unfinished drink down on the table. "Excuse me.

I'm leaving."

"What? Ya just got here, didn't ya?"

She pushed through the crowd and the smoke and the noise,

heading for the door.

"Just a minute, lady." Someone grasped her shoulder.

The man turned her around. It was not Jon from Oklahoma. This

man had a lean face, like a weasel, and sallow skin. He did not look

like one of the workers from the mass driver, and certainly not a

miner. Too slick. And he wore a business suit instead of the coveralls

that the workers wore.

"You're coming with me. We got things to talk about."

Without a word, Tamara snapped her arm upward, breaking his

grip on her shoulder, while simultaneously driving a knee into his

groin. The man grunted like a ruptured airlock and doubled over.

A couple of the men around the bar laughed. One of the women

244 BEN BOVA

said, "That's it, honey, kick 'em where it hurts." Nobody else

thought much of the brief encounter. Tamara pushed her way

toward the door.

But now two burly grim-faced men in dark suits grabbed both

her arms.

"That wasn't polite, Ms. Duchamps," said one.

"You made our friend look bad."

"What is this? Who are you?"

"Never mind. Come on along with us."

"No! I don't want to!"

She struggled but they began to drag her toward the door. The

patrons of the bar watched; a couple of the men began to stir.

"Security police," announced the bigger of the two men dragging

Tamara, who still struggled furiously to get free. "She's under

arrest."

"The hell she is."

Another man stepped out of the crowd to stand grinning before

them. Tamara recognized him: Clan Randolph.

"Now look, buddy," said the bigger of her two captors, "you

could get hurt pretty bad sticking your nose into what's none of

your business."

"Let go of her," Clan said calmly. "If you're security police, let's

see some ID. And an arrest warrant."

The bigger man let go of Tamara's arm. Before he could take a

step toward Clan, though, a really big man with the smooth-cheeked

face of a child came up behind them and--grabbing them both by

the backs of their necks--whacked their heads together with a

resounding hollow thud that sounded like two billiard balls colliding

at high speed. Down they both went, glassy eyes rolling back into

their skulls.

The crowd cheered.

"Thanks, pal," said Clan to Big George. He offered his arm to

Tamara. "Shall we leave this den of depravity?

She saw the weasel lurching toward Clan. He spun around,

warned by her glance, and smashed an overhand right into the

weasel's chin. He fell forward, flat on his face.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 245

"Such violence," he muttered, turning back to Tamara. Taking

her arm in his own, Clan turned briefly back to the onlookers. "If

anybody finds a security ID on any one of these clowns, tell them

my name is Clan Randolph. That'll make their day."

And he marched grandly out of the Hundred Gees, Tamara on

his arm, Big George following him.

"What are you doing here?" Tamara asked, once they returned to

her quarters.

"Came to find you," said Clan, flexing the aching fingers of his

right hand. At least he hadn't broken it.

Tamara's room was nothing more than a cramped compartment

with a lavatory alcove in one of the buried shelters connected to the

rest of the underground complex. Big George waited outside,

guarding her door. Pops Tucker had remained at the bar, an inconspicuous

little old gnome, to see what developed when the three

goons came to.

"Nice place you've got here," Clan said sarcastically. "Kate really

put you in Siberia, didn't she?"

Tamara felt suddenly weak-kneed. She sat on the edge of her

bunk. Clan was already astride the room's only chair.

"Who were those goons, anyway?" Clan asked. "Are you in

trouble?"

"Yes, I think I am," she said, surprised at how her voice fluttered.

"From Kate?"

"No. From--it sounds melodramatic to say it, but I think they're

from the Mafia."

"The MafiaT"

"Some variation of it. An international syndicate of organized

crime."

"On the Moon7"

"Why not? Who do you think you were doing business with

when you were smuggling drugs into the city7"

POPS TUCKER JOINED them at the cable-car terminal on their

way back to the Yamagata Hotel. None of the three men who had

accosted Tamara had security identification on them. The crowd at

the bar threatened to put them into one of the catapult cargo

containers if they ever showed their faces at the Hundred Gees

again.

"Rough bunch," muttered Clan.

"They had a hopper waiting for them. They're on their way to

the city," Tucker said. "Maybe they'll be waiting for us."

Clan shook his head. "No, they'll slink off to their boss, whoever

it is, with their tails between their legs. They don't know we're

staying at the hotel."

"How can you be at the hotelT" Tamara wondered. "Your

photograph, your retinal prints--Kate has spread them all over

Alphonsus and the other settlements, as well. How can you ride in

this car without the security department recognizing you on the

monitor cameras?"

They were alone in the cable car. This late at night, hardly

anyone traveled between the Nubium facilities and the city.

"Two safeguards," Clan said, grinning tightly. "One: my wrinkled

old friend here has hacked into the security files and transferred

the photograph and prints of a long-dead mining engineer for my

EMPIRE BUILDERS 247

own. So the dumb computer is looking for a dead man, not for me."

"But there are still people who might recognize you."

"That's where bribery comes in. Like the room clerk at the hotel

when we checked in a couple nights ago. He knew something was

slightly askew, but I tipped him enough to make him happy about

it. Money talks, kid. It talks loudly. But when you want it to, it can

whisper."

Despite his avowed confidence, Clan was edgy and hyper-alert

when the cable car reached its terminal in the city. Hardly anyone

in the underground corridors at this time of night. They took a

powered walkway to the hotel and went immediately down to

Dan's suite.

The sitting room was huge, ornately decorated with Oriental

carpets flown in from Earth and furniture made on the Moon to

resemble classic styles. One entire broad wall was a video window.

Jabbing a finger toward a closed door, Clan said to Tamara, "You

can have the master bedroom. Pops and George are sharing the

other bedroom. I'll sleep out here tonight."

Half an hour later Clan and Tamara were sitting on the couch

that would convert into his bed. Tucker and George had retired to

their own room. A pair of brandy snifters stood on the coffee table

before the couch. The room lights were turned down almost all the

way. The picture wall was showing a video scene of a crescent Earth

glowing blue and white in the infinite black sky above Mare

Nubium.

"... so that's how Kate caught you, I'm sure," Tamara was

saying. "She was tracking the logistics program, looking for where

the steady leaks are."

"While I was getting people to smuggle propellant for the

hopper I snagged," Clan muttered. "I should've known better. Never

leave a straight trail behind you."

"It was while Kate was searching the logistics files that I began

to see how somebody was bleeding away five to ten percent of the

company's assets. That's when I began to suspect that there were

criminals burrowing into Astro's business."

"And you told Kate about itT" Clan asked.

248 BEN BOVA

She nodded solemnly. "That's when she transferred me out of

her office, to the mass-driver complex."

"So she's in on it."

"She must be."

"And she wasn't satisfied just exiling you to the mass driver.

Those goons were sent to shut you up permanently."

Tamara shuddered.

"Damn!" He smacked a fist into his open palm, making Tamara

jump. "I thought it was Malik and his double-damned GEC bureau,

cracy. But it's an international syndicate of criminals that we re up

against. Both of them."

"The crooks see the GEC's greenhouse project as an opportunity

to steal on a global scale."

Clan shook his head. "It's more than that, kid. They've always

been around, nibbling at the edges. Like a pack of rats, hiding in the

dark, biting off what they can when you're not looking. We've had

problems like that at Astro since I first got into business."

Tamara smiled at him. "For a while there you were one of the

crooks."

"Yeah, I guess I was."

He got up from the couch and began pacing the big, plush room.

"But now they're organizing on a global scale. They're not after just

money anymore. They wouldn't have to organize globally for that.

They could just continue operating the way they always have."

Tamara watched him striding, thinking out loud.

"No, they're after power now," said Clan. "This greenhouse

project is giving them the opportunity to focus all their efforts.

They want to take over the GEC. That's what they're after."

His eyes ablaze, Clan came back to the couch and sat beside

Tamara once again. "That's what it's all about! They're letting Malik

and the others on the Council turn the GEC into an effective

worldwide dictatorship. Then they take over the GEC! They'll be

running the whole double-damned world!"

"Do you really think so?"

"Hell yes! What do they care if half the world sinks beneath the

waves? They'll control everything that's left."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 249

"That's ... frightening."

"There's plenty to be frightened of. Anybody who gets in their

way is liable to be killed."

"Like me," she said, her voice small, hollow.

Clan nodded.

"I'm scared, Clan. They want to kill me."

Tamara pressed close to him, close enough for Clan to smell the

scent in her hair, to see into the depths of her jet black eyes. She was

trembling. So was he. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed

him. Clan held her tightly, his mind spinning. His body reacted.

Lifting her up in his arms he walked across the big shadowy

silent room, the glow of the distant Earth throwing highlights on

her ebony hair, the classic curve of her high cheekbones, the sensuousness

of her half-opened lips. Clan carried her into the bedroom

and forgot about the world and all its cares.

In the morning he felt almost embarrassed. You took advantage of

a scared kid, he accused his mirror image as he brushed his teeth.

You saved her from a scary situation and then you carried her off

to your bed like Gonzo the Caveman. Back to your old tricks.

But, hell, it had been a long time. And she was just as happy

about it as I was.

Tamara was sitting demurely in the bed, sheet pulled to her chin,

when he came out of the bathroom. Feeling unaccustomedly flustered,

Clan padded to the closet where his two newly purchased

suits were hanging in the otherwise empty expanse.

"You talk in your sleep, do you know that?" Tamara called to

him while he hastily dressed.

"Not me. And I don't snore, either."

"You didn't snore. But you talked. Quite a lot."

Pulling on his slacks, Clan asked, "Anything intelligibleT'

"Mostly mumbles," she said. "Only one name came through

clearly enough to understand."

"One name7"

"Jane."

Clan felt the breath sink out of him.

250 BEN BOVA

"That would be Jane Scanwell, wouldn't it?"

He remembered the dream. It was about Jane, all right: angry

with him and loving him all at the same time. A real jumble.

"Wouldn't itt" Tamara insisted.

He stepped out of the closet fully clothed in a sandy brown

lightweight suit that he had bought at the hotel's men's shop for an

outrageous price.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Jane Scanwell."

Tamara smiled at him. "I think you should marry the woman.

You definitely are in love with her."

He made a sour face. "Thanks for the advice."

Tamara laughed and got out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Clan stood watching her lithe naked body until she shut the door.

He shook his head. Women. How can a woman spend the night

making love to you, parade herself naked in front of your feasting

eyes, and at the same time tell you that you're in love with somebody

else and you should marry her?

The trouble was, Clan knew, that she was entirely right.

Jane realized she was taking a chance. She had no certain way of

knowing where Malik's loyalties stood. She wanted to believe that

Vasily was exactly what he appeared to be: a hardworking member

of the Council, a dedicated representative of the vast Russian Federation,

a man intent on orchestrating this enormous global effort to

save the world from the greenhouse cliff.

But he could be secretly working for Rare. Or perhaps working

with him, rather than for him. If that's the case, Jane knew, if he's

on their side, then I'm stepping into a minefield.

Their meeting had to be away from the GEC offices. Jane knew

that Malik's relationship with his wife was strained, at best. She

hardly ever saw the two of them together, even at social functions.

So she felt almost no qualms when she asked him to have dinner

with her, alone. And she was not surprised when he swiftly agreed.

Now they sat at a table by the big picture window of Les Trois

Anges, looking out over the Seine as evening spread its soft purple

shadows over Paris.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 251

Smiling over his aperitif at her, Malik said, "This is a very

romantic restaurant, isn't it?"

Jane did not return his smile. "I picked it because it's away from

the office. We're not likely to be disturbed here. Or overheard."

He cocked his head slightly. "Then this is strictly a business

meeting?"

"Of course. What did you expectT"

"Nothing. Only business, naturally. Still ..."

"Strictly business, Vasily."

"Of course."

Jane sipped at her drink while Malik looked out at the people

sauntering along the street, couples sitting on benches along the

river. It would be pleasant to walk with Lucita along the Seine, he

thought. Or to sit on one of those benches and watch the Moon

come up over Paris' rooftops. But Lucita's heart still belongs to Clan

Randolph. Malik knew that, and it fueled his hatred for her--and

him.

'%'asily," Jane said, pulling his attention back to her, "I think the

Council is being undermined by organized crime."

His smile turned sardonic. "Not that again."

"Again?"

"Just because Gaetano's an Italian, half the Council thinks he's connected with the Mafia."

"He is," Jane said firmly. "He had a friend of mine murdered."

Sighing, "Yes, Rate told me he thought you blame him for

Robertson's death. He was eighty-some years old, wasn't he? A

hear,!Ha2tack is not uncommon--"

was starting to investigate how organized crime is infiltrating

our greenhouse project. They killed him."

"I'm sorry, Jane. I can't believe that. Not without some hard

evidence."

She studied his face, trying to determine if he was being honest

with,,iCer or covering up his own connection with Gaetano.

I bring you hard evidence," Jane asked, "what will you do?"

Malik's eyes flared. "I will do whatever needs to be done to

wipe out the criminals. Our program to avert the greenhouse cliff

252 BEN BOVA

is too important to allow a pack of hoodlums to get in our way."

He seemed honest enough about that, Jane thought. Now comes

the hard part.

"Vasily--has it occurred to you that Gaetano and his kind want

our project to succeed? That they want the GEC to take control of

the global economy, because it will be easier for them that way7"

"I don't understand how--"

Jane hunched closer to him, leaning across the little table, and

lowered her voice to a whisper. "Once the GEC is effectively

running the entire world's economy, if the criminals have successfully

infiltrated the Council, then they will be masters of the world."

She saw a flash of understanding cross his face. Then it hardened

into an immobile mask. "So you think that I am merely a pawn for

Gaetano to push about as he chooses?"

"I think that we are all running the danger of packaging the

world with a big ribbon and handing it over to the international

crime syndicate."

Malik was obviously angry, and obviously trying to control the

rage he felt. "Very well," he said through gritted teeth. "I will keep

a careful watch on Gaetano. If you have this hard evidence you

mentioned a moment ago, I would like to see it."

Jane nodded slowly. "I'll get it for you."

"Rest assured that I have no intention of allowing criminals to

take over the Council. I have decided to run for the chairmanship

when Sibuti's term is over."

"But it's Europe's turn next."

"Do you want Gaetano in the chairman's seat7"

"No."

"Then we must break with tradition and force a vote, a true

vote. Will you support me?"

"One hundred percent," said Jane.

"Good," Malik replied. "Now let's order something to eat."

To himself he added, And once chairman I will see to it that I

remain in the post for the duration of this emergency. No one else

has the guts to deal with this greenhouse problem, not even this

former President of the United States.

"NOT ONLY DOES she suspect me," Gaetano was saying, his

voice high with anger and fear, "but now she's got the Russian to

oppose me in the vote for chairman!"

Marcello Arcangelico sat calmly in his powered wheelchair, his

eyes following the furious pacing and wild gesticulations of his

young henchman.

"Softly, Rafaelo. Softly. This isn't Aida; you don't have to bellow.''

Gaetano stopped his raving and stared at his chief. In the sudden

silence he could hear the faint chugging hum of the biomedical

equipment built into the wheelchair that kept the old man alive.

"Come, sit down here. Beside me." Arcangelico patted the seat

of the chair next to him.

They were in the old man's study, a dark and somehow menacing

room lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling. The windows

were covered with tasseled drapes, heavy with dust. Medieval suits

of armor stood in the corners and on either side of the double sliding

door, brandishing lances and battle-axes and spiked truncheons.

Scant glimmers of sunlight leaked around the thick draperies; dust

motes danced in their wan beams.

Don Marcello had parked his powered chair beside the heavy

mahogany table in the center of the darkened, somber room. There

254 BEN BOVA

were four chairs placed perfectly around the table, and a small lamp

exactly in the middle of it, shining feebly, throwing the Don's face

into wrinkled highlights and deep shadows.

Gaetano sat obediently on the proffered chair, complaining,

"But the chairmanship was supposed to go to United Europe. To

me. The rotation is traditional. It's unheard of for another Council

member to contest the election! It's a slap in my face!"

Don Marcello shook his head sagely. "Let them have the title,"

he said, his voice wheezing slightly. "What do you care?. Titles mean

little. Power is what counts."

"What about respect?"

"The Council chair is an empty title. Some prestige, I know, and

more responsibilities. But what additional power does it gain you?

Very little."

"It should be mine, by right," Gaetano mumbled.

"Yes, I understand. But now I will show you how to gain more

power than the chairmanship would give you. And respect, as well."

Gaetano leaned forward slightly, eager to hear.

Raising a trembling finger, Don Marcello said, "You will withdraw

from the election."

"I will what?"

The old man coughed, then continued, "You will withdraw and

allow the Russian to be elected unanimously. In the name of peace

and harmony."

"But--"

"You will tell the other members of the Council that you agree

with the Russian: in this time of extreme emergency the Council

needs an experienced man at its head, not the youngest of their

members."

"But Don Marcello!"

"Once you do that, they will all be indebted to you. They will

be very grateful that you did not cause a rift in the Council's ranks.

They will respect your willingness to step aside in the name of

harmony and efficiency." The old man laughed wheezily. "They

might even become convinced that you are not a Mafioso, after all!"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 255

Reluctantly, feeling very downcast, Gaetano said, "I see. I understand."

He knew that Don Marcello's suggestion was a command. Give

up the chairmanship. It would be a humiliation, a personal affront.

But perhaps giving it up voluntarily would be better than being

beaten in a vote. Still, Gaetano glowered in the shadows of the

dusty old room. I am a member of the Global Economic Council, he

told himself. I represent all of United Europe. Nearly three-quarters

of a billion people. And I must accept this humiliation? I must grovel

in the dust? Why? Why must I allow them to show such disrespect

for me?

He knew why. Don Marcello had raised him to his present

height and Don Marcello could push him down into oblivion, quite

literally, whenever he chose to.

He looked down at the old man, sunken into his wheelchair, his

face half-hidden in shadows, his mind spinning intricate webs of

power. How much longer can this ancient wreck of a man keep on

living? Why don't I just reach over and turn off his batteries for a

couple of minutes? No one would know. Then I could step into his

place.

"Another thing," Don Marcello murmured, totally unaware of

the younger man's murderous thoughts. "There will be a meeting

soon, perhaps as early as next week. In the Cayman Islands. Top

people from Japan, Latin America, the States, everywhere. You will

represent me at this meeting."

Gaetano blanched. "I shouldn't be seen with such people!"

"You won't be seen. The meeting will be totally private. Not

even the news satellites will notice it; we have taken steps to see to

that."

"But still--"

"I want you to give them the complete layout of the GEC's

program on the greenhouse. And I want them to vote for you to

coordinate all our actions in this regard. That is an election I want

you to win!"

Gaetano felt as if he were soaring up among the clouds. "Me?

You want me to be the head?"

254 BEN BOVA

were four chairs placed perfectly around the table, and a small lamp

exactly in the middle of it, shining feebly, throwing the Don's face

into wrinkled highlights and deep shadows.

Gaetano sat obediently on the proffered chair, complaining,

"But the chairmanship was supposed to go to United Europe. To

me. The rotation is traditional. It's unheard of for another Council

member to contest the election! It's a slap in my face!"

Don Marcello shook his head sagely. "Let them have the title,"

he said, his voice wheezing slightly. "What do you care? Titles mean

little. Power is what counts."

"What about respect?"

"The Council chair is an empty title. Some prestige, I know, and

more responsibilities. But what additional power does it gain you?

Very little."

"It should be mine, by right," Gaetano mumbled.

"Yes, I understand. But now I will show you how to gain more

power than the chairmanship would give you. And respect, as well."

Gaetano leaned forward slightly, eager to hear.

Raising a trembling finger, Don Marcello said, "You will withdraw

from the election."

"I will what?"

The old man coughed, then continued, "You will withdraw and

allow the Russian to be elected unanimously. In the name of peace

and harmony."

"But--"

"You will tell the other members of the Council that you agree

with the Russian: in this time of extreme emergency the Council

needs an experienced man at its head, not the youngest of their

members."

"But Don Marcello?

"Once you do that, they will all be indebted to you. They will

be very grateful that you did not cause a rift in the Council's ranks.

They will respect your willingness to step aside in the name of

harmony and efficiency." The old man laughed wheezily. "They

might even become convinced that you are not a Mafioso, after all!"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 255

Reluctantly, feeling very downcast, Gaetano said, "I see. I understand."

He knew that Don Marcello's suggestion was a command. Give

up the chairmanship. It would be a humiliation, a personal affront.

But perhaps giving it up voluntarily would be better than being

beaten in a vote. Still, Gaetano glowered in the shadows of the

dusty old room. I am a member of the Global Economic Council, he

told himself. I represent all of United Europe. Nearly three-quarters

of a billion people. And I must accept this humiliation? I must grovel

in the dust? Why? Why must I allow them to show such disrespect

for me?

He knew why. Don Marcello had raised him to his present

height and Don Marcello could push him down into oblivion, quite

literally, whenever he chose to.

He looked down at the old man, sunken into his wheelchair, his

face half-hidden in shadows, his mind spinning intricate webs of

power. How much longer can this ancient wreck of a man keep on

living? Why don't I just reach over and turn off his batteries for a

couple of minutes? No one would know. Then I could step into his

place.

"Another thing," Don Marcello murmured, totally unaware of

the younger man's murderous thoughts. "There will be a meeting

soon, perhaps as early as next week. In the Cayman Islands. Top

people from Japan, Latin America, the States, everywhere. You will

represent me at this meeting."

Gaetano blanched. "I shouldn't be seen with such people?

"You won't be seen. The meeting will be totally private. Not

even the news satellites will notice it; we have taken steps to see to

that."

"But still--"

"I want you to give them the complete layout of the GEC's

program on the greenhouse. And I want them to vote for you to

coordinate all our actions in this regard. That is an election I want

you to win!"

Gaetano felt as if he were soaring up among the clouds. "Me?

You want me to be the head?"

256 BEN BOVA

"Capo di tutti capi," Don Marcello said. Then he made that

wheezing laugh again. "Except for me, of course. You can be boss

of all the other bosses, but I am still your boss. Understand?"

"Yes. Of course. Thank you, Don Marcello." And he thought,

You will be my boss for as long as you live.

For such a powerful office, the room looked small and indecently

shabby. It was high in a skyscraper in midtown Manhattan, and if

the windows had been clean they would have offered a fine view

of the old Rockefeller Center and even a glimpse of Central Park's

threadbare greenery.

But the four people in the office were focused entirely on their

own problems. Two of them were reporters, a man and a woman,

both in their early thirties, both aggressive, ambitious and angry.

Josh Pollett was the wiry, high-strung type; he had wadded his suit

jacket into a ball and flung it across the room an hour ago. Harriet

Mclntyre had shouted so much that her throat was sore and rasping.

The third person was the news network's president and CEO,

sleek-looking with a beautifully groomed silver gray toupee and a

hand-tailored silk suit that cost a month of the two reporters' pay,

combined. Although the argument had been raging for more than

an hour, neither of the reporters had said aloud what was commonly

gossiped in the office hallways: that Wayne Manley had risen to his

present post on the strength of his skin color rather than his abilities.

Sitting at the head of the wobbly steel table was the owner of

the network and chairman of the corporation's board of directors.

To her back she was called the Empress Theodora.

"But I've got corroboration!" Pollett was yelling. "I've got ten

different sources all telling me the same story!"

"Leaks," muttered Manley, his eye on Theodora rather than his

reporters. "Try to put them on the air and they'll clam up. Then

they'll sue."

Mclntyre, coolly blonde on camera, tried to cool things off here.

"Let's all calm down a little and see where we stand."

"Fine idea," said Theodora. Even seated at the rickety table she

looked tall, austere, regal.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 257

"Okay," said Pollett. He sucked in a deep breath, then, glaring

across the table at Manley, said, "There's a global catastrophe

i

coming down. The greenhouse effect is going to hit with a ven-

'

geance. Sea levels up thirty feet. Killer storms all the time. Half the

world flooded out."

Manley muttered, "Nonsense."

"I've got Zachary Freiberg's word for it," Pollett insisted. "He's

a distinguished scientist from CalTech."

"He's not with CalTech," said Manley. "Hasn't been for ten

years.

"He's a visiting professor there," countered Pollett. "He's also

lectured at MIT, University of Texas, and half a dozen countries

overseas.

"But he works for Clan Randolph, doesn't he?"

"Clan Randolph?" Theodora's eyes snapped. "I met him once. I

wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw this building."

Harriet McIntyre wondered if Randolph had made a pass at her.

Or failed to make a pass at her.

"Freiberg's top talent," Pollett was saying. "He says that this

greenhouse will hit in ten years, maybe less."

"Absolute nonsense," Manley said.

"There's more," McIntyre interjected, throat rasping. "Three

months ago the GEC confiscated Astro Manufacturing. Just took it

entirely away from Clan Randolph, for some little infraction of the

rules."

"It must have been more than a little infraction," said Theodora.

"And the GEC has been quietly muscling every major corpora

tion on Earth," McIntyre went on, "especially the Big Seven space

companies."

·

"Over this make-believe greenhouse cliff?" Manley sniffed.

·

"Right," she croaked. "The GEC is trying to line up all the major

corporations--especially those in energy and manufacturing--to

I

follow some master plan that they're drawing up."

i

They went into another hour of fevered discussion, slightly

calmer this time; at least there was no screaming. But when all the

258 BEN BOVA

arguments were laid out on the table and the two reporters sat back

exhausted, Manley still said:

"You don't have anyone who will admit to this greenhouse

thing on camera. Not even Freiberg."

"He's being muzzled," said Pollett wearily.

"They're all being muzzled," Mclntyre added.

Shaking his head again, Manley said, "We can't go on the air

with rumor and innuendo. We'd get sued!" Turning to the Empress,

.,

"And our FCC license renewal comes up in eight months."

:'

"But this is an important story? Pollett pleaded. "It's vital!

Millions of lives are at stake and the goddamned government's

I,

suppressing the story!"

"The GEC," McIntyre corrected gently.

,

"But Washington's going along with them." Pollett's voice

'

sounded agonized.

"We've got to do something," Mclntyre said.

All three of them turned to Theodora.

i'

She sat there for a long moment like a true empress: calm, aloof,

all-powerful.

Then, "What I am about to tell you is in strictest confidence. If

'

you repeat it anywhere, to anyone, I will deny it totally and you will

not only be fired but blackballed throughout the industry. Do you

understand?"

They nodded dumbly.

"The greenhouse threat is real. The GEC is putting together a

monumental effort to stop it from happening. I have been asked by

the President himself to keep the lid on this story until the GEC is

prepared to make it public. This network will cooperate with the

GEC and the United States government in every way possible. Is

that understood7."

More nods.

"Good. Then this is the last word any of us will utter on this

:

subject until the GEC is ready to make its announcement."

"When will that be7" Pollett found the strength to ask.

"When they're ready." With that, the Empress got to her feet

EMPIRE BUILDERS 259

and headed regally for the door. Manley scrambled to catch up

with her.

McIntyre stared at her colleague. Pollett was sweaty, his shirt

a rumpled mess, his eyes bloodshot.

"Well," she said, "that's that."

"Maybe," he said tightly.

"Don't go off the deep end," she warned.

"Sure. We'll just sit here until the sea level reaches our floor,

huhT"

Like similar facilities back on Earth, the Yamagata Hotel's gymnasium

was called a "fitness center." It was filled with shining equipment,

had thick, dark blue wall-to-wall carpeting, soft music piped

in through the ceiling speakers, and air fresheners sprayed through

the air to mask the stink of sweat.

Unlike similar hotel facilities on Earth, this lunar gym was almost

always filled with men and women, even children, puffing, bending,

lifting, grunting, pedaling away in grim determination. Anyone who

stayed on the Moon for more than two weeks was not allowed to return

Earthward until they had put in enough exercise hours to

convince the authorities that their hearts were ready to face a full

one g once again.

Clan pedaled on a stationary bike next to Tamara, knowing that

he was in a race against time and chance. Sooner or later someone

would recognize that Roger Wilcox was actually the wanted fugitive,

Clan Randolph. Or one of the well-bribed hotel employees

would turn him in for the reward that the GEC was offering. That

must have been Kate's idea, putting a price on my head, he thought

as he churned away at the bike. Ten thousand dollars. Damned

piker. I'm worth a lot more than that. Hell, I've put out more than

that in bribes already.

Across the gym, Big George was lifting enormous barbells,

lying flat on a padded bench and hefting the tremendous weights like a cartoon-character strongman. It would take weeks before

either George or Tucker could condition their bodies properly, after

years of lunar living. Tucker, convinced that at his age he could

260 BEN BOVA

never get back into good enough shape, had flatly refused even to

come to the gym.

I don't have weeks, Clan knew. I'll have to leave them here when

I head back to Earth.

He had ensconced Tamara in her own room at the hotel once

Tucker had cranked out faked identification for her. The old man's

a whiz with the computer. Clan realized that Tucker could make

himself a multimillionaire with his talented fingers any time he

wanted to. But he feared being caught again, and kept as low a

profile as he could.

So Clan would head for Earth with Tamara. The Mafia couldn't

threaten her if they didn't know where she was. Tamara Duchamps

had already disappeared, as far as the security computer system was

concerned. The exotic dark beauty pedaling alongside Roger Wilcox,

her gym shorts revealing long smooth-skinned legs, was a

tourist named Emelia Temple. From the Caribbean island of St.

Croix.

The odometer on the bike's console beeped.

"Ten miles," Clan said. "I'm finished." He slid off the bike's seat,

backside aching, sweat dripping everywhere except into his eyes,

thanks to the headband he wore.

"I still have one-point-seven miles to go," said Tamara, hardly

puffing.

"Dinner in my suite," he said.

She nodded and went back to the video she was watching on

the bike console's built-in screen.

Tamara had slept in her own room since that first night they had

shared, a week earlier. It's better that way, Clan told himself as he

lingered in the gym's shower, letting the gloriously hot water sluice

over his body. We shouldn't be complicating each other's lives;

they're complicated enough as it is.

Besides, he admitted ruefully to himself, she's right. I love Jane.

I've loved her damned near all my life. The thought made him grin.

That's the way the world works, buddy: you can get just about any

woman you want, but you want the one you can't get.

As he dried off and began to dress, his grin slowly evaporated.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 261

There's one woman you want, and she's right here, within reach.

Kate. The treacherous Scarlett. She's in with Malik and it looks like

she's in with the crime syndicate, too. There must be a helluva lot

of valuable information stored in that pretty head of hers.

Tucker had tried to hack into Kate's private files, but unlike most

of the Astro programs, Kate's were strongly protected with programs

that would trigger alarms if anyone tried to access them

without the proper code.

But I could access her, all right, Clan said to himself as he rode

the lift up to his suite. I could grab that redheaded bitch in my two

hands and access the hell out of her.

THAT EVENING, AFTER dinner, after Tamara had gone back to

her own room, Clan asked Big George to come with him. He did not

say where until they were well out of the hotel, riding a powered

walkway through the underground corridors that led to the Astro

office complex.

"Kate Williams?" George was aghast. "The one who's running

Astro now? Are you out of your looking mind?"

"I've got to see her," Clan said grimly.

"You'll get us all caught and sent to the penal colony!"

"You can go back to the hotel if you want to."

"What good would that do? They catch you, they pump you full

of babble juice, and then they catch us."

"I wish I had some truth serum with me right now."

George shook his smooth-cheeked face. Under Dan's orders he

had faithfully shaved every morning, complaining loudly each time

about the pain to his sensitive skin.

"Let me get this straight," George said as they rode past homebound

Astro employees heading the other way. "You're going to

go back to your office, say hello to her and ask her to spill her guts

to you?"

"Something like that."

"You're looking daft, my friend."

EMPIRE BUILDERS

263

"She screwed me out of my company!" Clan blurted.

"And now you want to rape her7 Is that itT"

"No!"

"Then whatT"

"I want to--" He hesitated, groping for words. "I want to make

her know that she hasn't finished me. I want to spit in her eye and

tell her that I'm going to take back everything she's stolen from me.

And I'll break her back in the process. Figuratively, not literally."

"And the thought of sticking it to her has never crossed your

mind," George said.

"Well..."

"It's a fooking enormous risk, just to impress a woman."

Clan shrugged. The big kid is right, he knew. This is crazy. But

I've got to do it. I can't leave the Moon without seeing the expression

on her face when I tell her that I'm going to get even.

"You had a lot of women in your day, didn't youT" George

asked.

Clan looked sideways at him. "In my day."

"I've only been with the ladies over at the camps on Nubium."

A sorry bunch, Clan knew. But he said, "In the dark, pal, all cats

are gray."

"I've heard that," George said. "Is it really trueT"

The big kid looked almost melancholy. Clan could not lie to him.

"No, it's not, Georgie. Women are as various and marvelous as fine

wines. You can spend your life tasting and still not be halfway

through the list."

George brightened considerably. "ReallyT"

"There's hope for you, Georgie. Why don't you try smiling back

at some of the women who watch you in the gymT"

"Oh, I don't think--"

"Try it. Break the ice. They'll come over and talk to you. You'll

see."

They were coming to the end of the powered walkway. Beyond

lay the corridors of the Astro complex. Glancing at his wristwatch,

Clan saw that it was well past nine P.4. Most of the regular staff was

gone, even the eager beavers who worked late. But if Kate's taken

264 BEN BOVA

over my office, then she's probably living in my quarters as well. If

she's not in one of them she'll be in the other.

Mad dogs and Englishmen, thought Zachary Freiberg as he jogged

along the broad, flat Santa Monica beach in the noonday sun. The

surf was down, but the public beach was busy with shapely young

ladies in skimpy bikinis sunning themselves while muscular young

men showed off for them, playing volleyball, hoisting weights, or

.

just flexing well-oiled biceps. They'd better be well oiled with

sunblock, Zach thought, or else the UV coming through what's left

of the ozone layer will give 'em all skin cancer.

i

I

There was a lot of skin visible to worry about. Zach felt dis

tinctly out of place, old and puffing and potbellied, in his sweat

,

stained running suit.

He had bolted from his office, unable to stand the pressure that

i'

was building up inside him. Invited to an international conference on

,,

the greenhouse effect being held at a hotel just minutes from his

.'

CalTech office, Zach had been refused permission to attend by the

GEC bureaucrats who feared "a premature disclosure of the impend

ing crisis that would cause widespread public panic and have a

deleterious effect on the global economic balance."

I should have told them to shove it and gone to the conference

anyway, Zach said to himself as he jogged along the beach. Yeah,

and then they'd send you to Zaire or Patagonia or some other

sweetheart of a location, you and Jessie and the kids too.

Premature disclosure. They'd better disclose something soon.

Time's ticking away and from what I can see all they're doing is

holding conferences of their own and shuffling papers. And trying

to keep the lid on the situation.

He stared at the soft swells surging in toward the beach. Is it my

imagination or is the beach narrower than it was last year? I ought

to call the local parks department and have them make a measure

ment.

"Hey, Zach! Wait up!"

Surprised, Zach halted and turned to see who was calling him,

one hand raised to his brow to shield his eyes.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 265

He recognized Terry O'Doul loping across the sand toward

him, suit jacket swinging from one hand, shoes in the other, shirt

unbuttoned, a big grin on his lantern-jawed face.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Zach blurted as the lanky

O'Doul caught up with him.

"Why the hell weren't you at the conference?" O'Doul shot

back. "It was right around the corner from your office, for god's

sake. You were invited, weren't you?"

Zach tried to keep the bitterness from showing. "I was too busy,

Terry. Couldn't make it."

"Too busy--jogging?"

The hell of the GEC's security measures was that Zach was not

allowed to tell anyone why he was not allowed to say anything.

"Come on." He pointed toward the refreshment stand up the

beach. "I'll buy you a beer."

They talked about the conference, the papers delivered, the

people who were there, as they sat in the shade of the refreshment

stand's awning. Neither of them drank much of their beer.

"Everybody was asking for you," O'Doul said. "Brudnoy was

especially disappointed that you didn't show up."

"Couldn't be helped," Zach muttered.

"Why not?"

"I told you. I'm too busy."

"Doing what?"

Zach did not answer.

"Your work's related to the greenhouse, isn't it?" O'Doul

probed, his eyes showing more curiosity than suspicion. "We all

expected you to give us the latest on what the new landers have

found on Venus."

Zach gave a single shake of his head and reached for his beer.

"What the hell is it, Zach? What's wrong? This is me, Terry,

remember? We used to make up limericks about Brudnoy when we

were in grad school, remember? You can tell me."

"No," Zach said. "I can't."

"Why not?"

266 BEN BOVA

He gulped at the beer, almost strangled on it. Sputtering, he

managed to choke out, "Job security."

"I don't understand."

Zach coughed down the beer, cleared his throat. His old class

mate was staring at him, alarmed, worried about him.

"Listen, Terry, you still go down to Antarctica every winter?."

"It's summer down there."

"To McMurdo?."

ii;

"Yes, most of the time. I make a trip to the station at the pole

now and again."

"I shouldn't be telling you even this much," Zach said, lowering

'i

his voice. "But you'd better start drawing up plans for evacuating

those bases."

"Evacuate?. McMurdo?."

"All the Antarctic bases."

"But why?."

Zach flicked a glance at the youngster running the refreshment

"

stand. He was at the other end of the stand, chatting with a couple

of bikini-clad teenagers.

"Because all the bases in Antarctica are sitting on top of a

mile-thick sheet of ice."

"So?,"

"So the ice isn't going to be there."

"What?."

"It's going to melt down, Terry. It's probably started melting

already."

O'Doul's expression went from incredulous to thoughtful.

"Well, the Ross shelf has thinned noticeably, but that's just a long-

term climate swing. The ice will thicken up again with the next

sunspot cycle."

Zach said nothing.

"Won't it?,"

"Be prepared to evacuate. Just in case the ice keeps on melting

regardless of the sunspot cycle."

"What are you trying to tell me?," O'Doul asked.

Zach got down from his stool. "I've already told you too much.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 267

Got to get back to the office now. It was good to see you, Terry.

Don't tell anybody you saw me, okay?"

He started trotting to the parking lot where he had left his car,

leaving O'Doul standing there scratching his head.

"But you haven't even been here two weeks!" Kate Williams said,

nearly shouting.

Kimberly slumped in one of the chairs in front of Kate's desk.

"There's nothing to do here. It's a bore."

"Nothing to do? What about flying in the big dome, or low-g

acrobatics? There's--"

"It's a bore!" Kimberly snapped. "Everybody up here is boring.

A bunch of Japanese who stick to themselves and some Americans who've

mostly engineer nerds. I don't need this! I want to go back."

Kate held her breath, trying to make herself as calm as possible

before replying to her sister. In just two weeks Kim had gained a

healthy bit of weight, gotten some color in her cheeks. Good diet

and regular exercise under the carefully metered full-spectrum lamps

in the gym had done more for her than months in the rehab clinic.

"You can't go back," Kate said, keeping her voice soft and even.

"There's no one back on Earth for you to go to, unless you want

to return to the clinic."

Kimberly gave her a self-satisfied smile. "Rafe invited me to visit

him in Italy."

Kate felt her jaw drop open. The breath gushed out of her so

hard she could not answer.

"I'll be staying with his family, so it'll be okay. They have a

beautiful place down below Naples. He's shown me pictures on the

phone and he even sent me a set of holograms. It's a gorgeous

estate"

"Absolutely not!" Kate nearly screamed. "You're not going to

see him!"

Kim's smile turned nasty. "Have I taken your boyfriend away

from you?"

"I forbid it! You're not leaving this city."

"Hey, you don't own me!"

268 BEN BOVA

"Oh no? Where did you think you were going to get the

fare?"

"Rare will send it."

"The hell he will! I'll impound it. You're still a minor, legally."

Kimberly's tawny eyes flashed with anger. "Then I'll raise the

money myself."

"And how are you going to do that? What kind of job do you

think you can get up here?"

"Same as anywhere."

"Get out!" Kate screamed. "Get out of here, you little whore?

Smirking, Kim got to her feet and started for the door.

"You're confined to your room," Kate called after her. "I'm

going to instruct security that you're not to be allowed out and no

one but me is allowed in. You'll sit in there until I can talk some

sense into you."

"You're just jealous," Kim said, without a trace of anger. She was

almost smiling as she spoke. "I thought you were finished with Rafe.

Well, anyway, he's finished with you now."

She left, closing the door gently behind her.

Kate sank her head in her hands. Kimberly. Kimberly. That

bastard Rare is just using you to keep his power over me. I've got

to explain that to her, tell her the whole story. Will she believe me?

Probably not. Can I keep her here, keep her from running back to

Earth and into Rafe's arms?

She sat up straighter in her desk chair. I'll keep Kimberly here,

no matter what it takes. If I have to break both her legs I'll keep

her out of that bastard's clutches. No matter what. No matter

what.

She called security and explained that she wanted her sister

confined to her room. The woman on the phone screen promised to

send a robot to Kimberly's door.

Then Kate leaned back in her chair and lowered the room's

lights. For long hours she reclined there, letting the chair's softly

yielding surface soothe her, relax her. She drifted into a light,

troubled sleep.

And awoke when she sensed someone stepping into the office.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 269

Blinking her gummy eyes, she saw the figure of a man standing

before the desk. In the shadowy light she could not quite make out

his face, but she knew who it was anyway.

"Hello, Clan. I was wondering when you'd show up."

SITTING AT MY desk drowsing, Clan saw. A line from Hamlet

came to his mind: "Now might I do it pat."

Kate stirred, eyes fluttering. "Hello, Clan. I was wondering when

i

you'd show up."

As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, he came around the desk.

Resisting an urge to grab her and yank her out of his chair, Clan

made himself sit on the corner of the desk. He folded his hands in

his lap.

"Couldn't leave without saying good-bye, Scarlett."

"You're leaving?"

He nodded solemnly. "Going back to Earth."

"Then coming here was a pretty silly thing to do," Kate said.

"I know."

"But you couldn't leave without coming to see me," she said,

looking up at him. Kate laughed softly. "I knew it. My security

.,

people went apeshit after you escaped. But once you registered at

the hotel--"

"You knew about that?"

"That little old man you've got with you is pretty good at

hacking into computers, but we've got the real experts."

Clan marveled at the news. "You knew and you didn't do

anything?"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 271

"I wanted to see what 'Mr. Wilcox' was up to. I didn't have to

send anybody out searching for you. I figured you'd come here,

sooner or later. You couldn't stay away, could you?"

"No, I guess I couldn't."

Leaning further back in the chair, Kate put her feet on the desk. Clan saw that she was wearing softboots, and the clinging fabric of

her slacks outlined her calves and thighs tantalizingly.

"So what happens now?" Kate asked. "You going to tear my

clothes off and rape me?"

Clan grinned down at her. "I imagine your security people are

already watching us, aren't they? How much of a show do you want

to give them?"

"We're not being watched. Oh, the office is locked tight now.

One-way locks. I had them installed right after your friends sprang

you. You can't get out until I call security to come in and open the

door from the other side."

"That's cozy."

"We're not bugged, either. I have my own people go over this

office twice a day."

Curious, he asked, "Who would bug you?"

She laughed again; Clan thought it sounded bitter. "Lots of

people bug me, Clan. Lots of them."

"Like me?"

"You? You're the least of my worries."

That stung. "Then who?"

She straightened up in the chair, planted her feet firmly on the

carpeted floor. "Do you know a GEC Councilman named Gaetano?

Rafaelo Gaetano?"

"The representative from United Europe."

"From the Mafia, you mean." Clan felt his eyebrows hike up.

Kate nodded. "That's what I said. The Mafia. They've got their

hooks into this global conversion program, and they plan to take

charge of the whole operation."

"How do you know?"

272 BEN BOVA

"Because I've been working for them, how else? Gaetano has a

hold on me and he's forced me to let them infiltrate Astro."

"So I heard."

"From who?"

"Never mind."

"The Duchamps woman? I transferred her out of here so she'd

be out of Gaetano's way."

"Somebody tried to kill her."

"Jesus Christ! Murder?"

"Why not? They're good at it. Centuries of experience."

"This is getting too heavy."

Feeling a different sort of anger heating his blood, Clan jabbed

an accusing finger at her. "You think that milking the conversion

program isn't going to kill people? By the millions? What the hell

do they care, as long as they come out on top."

Kate nodded grimly. "I suppose that's right."

"And Malik's in with them, I bet."

"I don't think so," she said. "Oh, sure, Malik's efforts to get all

the major industries under GEC control is making it easy for the

crime syndicate to move in."

"Yeah," Clan said disgustedly. "Malik ties up everybody hand

and foot and the crooks come in and pick their pockets."

"Something like that."

"So how do you like working for Gaetano and his family?"

"I'd like to kill him," said Kate.

Clan cocked his head at her. "That shouldn't be too tough for

you to do. You're sleeping with him, right?"

"I can't."

"Don't like the sight of blood?"

"I told you, he's got a hold on me. My sister. If I kill him, I'm

certain they'll send somebody to kill her. And then me."

Her eyes strayed to a framed photograph on the desk. In the dim

lighting, Clan could make out a young woman's face, long hair

billowing, a strong resemblance to Kate.

"So you want me to do your wet work."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 273

"You don't have to kill him," Kate said. "Just expose him. Him

and his whole rotten scheme. The law will do the rest."

"The same law that screwed me out of my company?"

Kate got to her feet and stood eye to eye with Clan. "That's

right. The same law."

He grinned at her righteous anger. "Why should I help you?"

"I thought you wanted to save the world."

"Looks like the world doesn't really want to be saved. And I've

got my own neck to worry about, thanks to you. And Malik."

Kate studied his face in the low, shadowy lighting for a long

moment. Then she turned away and stepped to the farther corner

of the desk.

"You really don't have much of an option, Clan. You are a wanted

fugitive. All I have to do is call out for security and they'll

burst in here and arrest you."

His grin widened. "And all I have to do is agree to get Gaetano

for you and you'll let me waltz out of here?"

"That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

"You'd trust me once I'm back on Earth, out of your control?"

"I know you, Clan Randolph. More than anything else you want

to get even with Malik. Destroying Gaetano will go a long way

toward toppling Malik, as well. You can see that."

"Maybe."

"And beyond that, you really do want to save the world from

this greenhouse disaster, don't you?"

"Maybe," he repeated, more softly.

"So?"

"So if I go after Gaetano, won't that still be dangerous for you?

And your sister?"

Kate shook her head. "They'll see the great Clan Randolph

attacking them. They won't even think about me."

"I could get myself killed."

"You've got nine lives," Kate said, almost sneering.

"Maybe I did once," he muttered. "I've got a feeling that a lot

of them have been used up."

She put both her hands flat on the desktop, leaning forward

274

BEN BOVA

slightly. "That's the deal, Clan. I'll supply you with all the data you

need. You nail Gaetano for me."

"Or else?"

"Or else I call security and we send you to Malik with an airtight

guard around you."

"Hmm."

"And we sweep up all your friends, as well. The big Australian

and your old computer hacker and all the other illegals who've

hiding around Alphonsus."

"You make a strong case for yourself, Scarlett.'

She did not smile. "Well?"

"There's something I want," said Clan.

"You're in no position to bargain."

Ignoring that, he replied, "I want Tamara Duchamps protected.

She's got nothing to do with this game, there's no reason for her to

get hurt."

"She knows enough for them to want to eliminate her."

"I want your absolute guarantee of her safety," Clan insisted.

"Otherwise no deal."

"I can't give guarantees, Clan."

"You keep her here under your personal keen eye, Scarlett.

Protect her the way you'd protect your sister. You can do that

much."

She thought a moment. "Clan, I could agree to that. But it'd be

a lie. I can't protect her. I don't even know if I can protect my sister

and myself. Do you think I'd be asking you for your help if I felt

safe here?"

It was Dan's turn to be silent, thinking. She's telling the truth,

he realized. She's scared and she knows she can't protect Tamara

now that the goons are after her.

"Okay," he said. "I'll take the kid with me. But I want your

promise that you'll leave those other people alone. They're not

hurting you. They're no threat to anybody."

"The illegals?" Kate made a disdainful little huff. "They can stay.

It'd be more trouble to round them up than it's worth."

"Deal?" he asked.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 275

She let a smile curve her lips. "Deal."

Clan put out his hand. Reaching across the length of the desk,

Kate extended hers. They shook hands briefly. But Clan did not let

go of her.

"One more thing," he said. "I'm curious. If I had ever made a

serious move on you, how would you have reacted?"

Kate pulled her hand free. "You're a hopeless chauvinist to the

bitter end, aren't you? I'm not a person to you, I'm a goddamned set

of sex organs!"

Clan raised both hands in mock surrender. "Just asking!" He

backed away from the desk, then added, "Didn't you ever even

think about it?"

"Hardly ever," Kate snapped.

"Hardly ever?"

"Security code four-eight-four!" she called out.

The phone responded, "Doors unlocked."

"Now get the hell out of here," Kate said, "before I change my

mind and call a live team to arrest you."

"Okay," said Clan. "But I'll need the data you told me about."

"I'll send it to Wilcox's suite at the hotel."

"And you'll leave the illegals alone?"

"Yes," she snapped.

"That's a promise, now."

''ou have my word," said Kate.

Clan nodded, thinking to himself, Not as solid as a written

contract but it'll have to do.

Jane Scanwell felt utterly weary as she stepped from the limousine

and went to the front door of her apartment building. The chauffeur

waited, standing almost at attention beside the limo, until the electronic

lock clicked and the ornate iron-grilled door swung open.

I wonder if limousines can be converted to electric motors, Jane

mused idly as the lift carried her to her floor. The only electric cars

I've ever seen are so little. It will be ironic if we have to give up

some of our luxuries. But it might help in the public relations aspect

276

BEN BOVA

of the program--if we ever get to the point where we reveal the

program to the public.

She almost missed the note that had been slipped under the

door. It was in a small off-white envelope, lying on the parqueted

floor of the entry.

Frowning, she bent down and picked up the envelope. No

return address. No writing on it at all. She put her purse down on

the table beneath the mirror and opened the envelope. It was not

even sealed.

ALIVE AND WELL AND LIVING IN PARIS. MEET ME AT THE

TOP OF THE EIFFEL TOWER TOMORROW AT HIGH NOON.

YOU KNOW WHO.

ClanI Suddenly Jane's knees went weak and she sagged against

the little table for support.

Clan. He's alive and well and in Paris. She struggled for a

moment to regain her breath. The fool! The stupid, arrogant wonderful

fool. In Paris. He's not dead. He's here and he wants to

see me.

She thought she would be unable to sleep, but Jane drifted off

easily that night, her dreams filled with images of Clan and Morgan

and Vasily Malik, all jumbled together. The next morning, dressed

in a skirted suit of deep burgundy over a soft pink tailored blouse,

she could hardly keep still in the office.

You're behaving like a silly schoolgirl, she berated herself. Yes,

a voice in her mind answered. Isn't it marvelous7

Jane did not even notice the drizzling rain until she went down

to the porte cochere. The uniformed guard asked if she wanted a

limousine called up.

"No, thank you," said Jane, thinking that the limo drivers were

GEC employees and kept records of who went where. "A taxi,

please."

Taxi companies kept records, too, so Jane told the driver to take

her to the old Hilton Hotel. It had been bought and sold a dozen

EMPIRE BUILDERS 277

times in the past few decades, but still the taxi drivers knew it as the

Hilton.

Instead of going to the hotel's restaurant, Jane went to the

clothing store in the lobby and purchased an umbrella for an extravagant

price. Then she walked in the chill drizzle the few blocks to

the Eiffel Tower. Hardly anyone was there in the gray misty

weather. She rode the elevator to the top with a young Oriental

couple who seemed to be honeymooners, smiling at each other,

oblivious of the weather and of the city spreading around them as

the elevator rose higher and higher.

The wind was so strong up at the top that Jane feared her

umbrella would be torn from her grasp if she opened it. So she

hovered in the scant shelter offered by the elevator tube. Where's

Clan ? she wondered, glancing at her wristwatch. It was quarter past

noon.

"Late, as usual."

She spun around and he was standing before her, plastic rain hat

pulled low over his face, trench-coat collar turned up, grinning like

a teenager.

Jane flung her arms around his neck and they kissed until even

the honeymooners noticed.

"I thought you were dead," she said when they separated

slightly.

"I thought you wouldn't give a damn."

"Oh, Clan, let's stop fighting. No matter what's happened in the

past, no matter what's going to happen in the future, I love you. I

can't fight it any more. I love you."

"And I've loved you ever since I first met you, Jane. All these

years I've tried to hide it, even from myself. But I love you. You're

the only woman I've ever loved."

Over lunch at the tower's restaurant Jane brought him up to

date on the GEC's plans and politics. And the Mafia's interference.

And Jeff Robertson's murder.

"So Rafe has actually declined the Council chair, leaving the way

clear for Vasily to be elected," she was saying.

278 BEN BOVA

Clan frowned at the news. "That means that Malik's in with

them."

"I've been wondering about that. I don't think he's working for

the crime syndicate, but--"

"They wouldn't let him take the chair away from their own man

if he wasn't."

"Maybe he doesn't realize it?"

"My left foot! He's in with the bastards all right. He's working

hand-in-glove with the people who murdered Jeff Robertson."

Jane stared at him across their little table. "What can we do?"

Clan grinned at her. "Same thing that the Founding Fathers did

when they were writing the Constitution: trust the people."

"What do you mean?"

"We're going public, Jane. With the whole sorry tale. It's the

only way to smoke these snakes out from under their rocks."

"You mean you want to tell the public about the greenhouse

cliff! Clan, you can't!"

"We've got to. The longer this program stays in the dark, the

longer the crooks have to worm their way in. And the longer Malik

has to set himself up as global dictator."

She shook her head warily.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Clan took out a holo cube.

Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he said, "There's

enough data here to blow Gaetano out of the water. But what good

is it if the people you give it to are working for the sonofabitch7 All

it'll do is get you killed."

"But Clan, if you reveal the news about the greenhouse to the

public, people will panic. The consequences could be disastrous?'

"You don't think they'll panic once the GEC does release the

newsT"

"Vasily is working out plans to orchestrate the information."

"Leak it out slowly. A drip at a time, like the Chinese water

torture."

Obviously displeased with his words, Jane replied: "Isn't that

better than throwing everybody headfirst into the deep end of the

pool?'

EMPIRE BUILDERS 279

"No," said Clan firmly. "This is literally a sink or swim situation,

]ane darling. We've got to throw a strong light on it. Now."

"You're mixing metaphors," she muttered. "But my heart is pure."

"I can't agree with you about this."

"That's okay," he said cheerfully. "All I need is to know that

you'll be on the right side when the shit hits the fan. I'll do the rest

without implicating you."

"You're going to disappear again?"

"For a little while. I've got to."

"I had thought . . .' Her voice trailed off.

"Thought what?"

"Can't we just chuck the whole business and go off by ourselves?

Nobody's going to be able to solve all the world's problems, Clan .

Not you, not me, not all of us together. We've slaved at it all

our lives and what has it gotten us except heartache? Can't we

just run away and live the rest of our lives in peace and be happy

together?"

"I'm a fugitive from justice, remember?"

"I can fix that. You wouldn't even have to face a trial if I testified

that I went to Alphonsus with you willingly."

He leaned back in his chair and studied her. "Where would we

go, Jane? Tetiaroa? It'll be underwater in a few more years. Geneva?

What'll the Swiss do when the snow on the Alps melts down and

floods their valleys? Rome? New York? Where?"

For long moments Jane said nothing. She sat like a living statue,

aubum hair perfectly coiffed, green eyes staring at Clan. Beyond her

the restaurant windows showed that the drizzle had turned into a

hard slanting rain. The sky, the city beneath, the whole world

seemed gray and cold.

"You're right," she said, in a voice so low Clan could barely hear

her, even though the restaurant was nearly empty and very quiet.

Clan sighed. "For years I've said that when the going gets tough,

the tough get going to where the going's easier. But there's no place

to go, Janie. This is one fight we can't avoid."

280

BEN BOVA

She nodded reluctantly. "It's just--I thought it would be so

good if we could be together."

"We will be." He reached across the table and took her hand.

"We'll be together, Jane. There's nothing in the world I want more.

We'll be together--come hell or high water."

Her eyes went wide. Then she burst into laughter. "You certainly

know how to choose your words!"

He laughed too, thinking how good it was to see her happy,

even if it was only for a moment.

It's a myth that sea level is the same everywhere around the world,

thought Amory Magee. Bending over his tabletop display, its light

throwing weird shadows across his angular face, he saw the world's

oceans and seas as a living, breathing creature in constant motion,

flexing, reaching, writhing with currents.

Gaea is the wrong name for this planet of ours, he thought as

the display showed him the shifting patterns of ocean currents all

around the world. The computer display was created from the

sensors of three geostationary satellites, continuously and simultaneously.

Ours is an ocean world. Poseidon is a better namesake than

any earth goddess.

Magee was a solitary man, acknowledged by those in the

Oceanographic Institute who had to work with him as a genius, but

a prickly one.

"Sea level," he muttered to himself, pushing his large, owlish

eyeglasses back into place. They kept slipping down his thin, sharp

nose when he bent over the display table. "No such thing as sea

level, not really. The Pacific's higher than the Atlantic, most places.

Of course it's much bigger. And the Arctic could get itself trapped

behind the Bering Shelf, it's been so low in the past. Probably

triggered the Ice Age that way."

He often talked to himself, alone in his laboratory. No one

contradicted him. He liked that.

His eyes focused on the Gulf of Mexico. "Now, there's a perfect

example of what I mean. Trade winds blow the length of the

Atlantic and pile the water up in the Gulf until it's considerably

EMPIRE BUILDERS 281

higher than the ocean itself. That's what generates the Gulf Stream,

of course."

Sea levels were rising, and much faster than anyone had anticipated.

Magee had faithfully sent his reports to his superiors at the

Institute. What they did with them he neither knew nor cared. His

interest was in how the oceans were working, how Poseidon was

behaving himself. Once in a while he thought idly that, at the rate

the sea was rising, they would have to abandon these buildings. The

idea of moving filled him with such anxiety, though, that he usually

pushed those thoughts out of his conscious mind as soon as they

arose.

He flicked his fingers across the remote keyboard he held in his

hand and data points appeared on the display. Earthquake predictions

from the people over in California. Most people thought that

earthquakes on the seafioor were nothing to worry about. Magee

knew better. His favorite reading was firsthand accounts by the

survivors of tsunamis. He enjoyed picturing the wall of water that

could sweep miles inland, crushing and drowning everything in its

path. "Serves them all right," he groused. "Poseidon is nobody to

take lightly."

A new earthquake prediction had appeared since the last time he

surveyed the display. "Somebody's calling for a quake in the Gulf

of Mexico," he saw, surprised. "That's unusual." Tapping on the

hand-held, he saw that the prediction called for a deep temblor,

Richter scale seven or higher. "Big one!"

Working his remote control again, he saw that under the right

circumstances a considerable tsunami could spread from the locus of

the seafioor quake. "Florida?" he asked, pecking at the keys. But the

tidal wave petered out before it could swamp Florida's west coast.

"That's good, I suppose," he muttered, feeling slightly disappointed.

"Florida's already got enough problems with the sea-level

rise. Lots of expensive condominiums are being emptied out, I hear."

The seafioor contours might guide the tsunami onto the TexasLouisiana

coast, he realized. "New Orleans is going to be hard hit

if these numbers are right."

He tapped one more key and the display showed the timeframe

282 BEN BOVA

estimate. Within one year. Magee whistled to himself. "Accuracy?"

The numbers said plus or minus twelve months.

Magee blinked at the numbers. "That means it could happen any

day now," he said to himself. Shaking his head, he added, "I

wouldn't want to be in New Orleans when Poseidon comes calling.

Hope somebody's put out a warning to them."

As they stepped out of the Eiffel Tower elevator into the driving

gray rain, Jane popped her umbrella open. The wind nearly pulled

it out of her hands. Clan reached for it and helped her steady it.

"Where are you staying, she asked.

"It's better if you don't know."

"In" ' ?"

rahs.

"For the time being."

She looked out across the rain-swept park. "I'll have to get

a cab."

"You'll never get one around here. I'll walk with you to the

Hilton."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"As long as you have the umbrella, yes."

The only other people out on the streets seemed to be a few

Japanese tourists, looking wet and bedraggled and miserably unhappy.

"Jane, can you set up a meeting with Nobo for me?"

"Nobuhiko Yamagata?"

"Right. We had a kind of stupid argument the last time we were

together. At his father's freezing. He got pretty sore at me and--"

"He's not angry anymore. I think he'd like to see you."

"Good," said Clan. "We could use his help."

"We certainly could."

They parted at the Hilton, Jane waiting in the lobby while the

doorman phoned for a taxi, Clan striding off through the rain toward

the apartment he had taken, hat pulled low and shoulders hunched

against the rain. They did not kiss good-bye. Not at the hotel. Too

many people might have seen them.

I've got to protect her, too, Clan thought, squinting into the chill

EMPIRE BUILDERS 283

rain. She may have a GEC bodyguard, but I'll bet Gaetano's put

himself in charge of security for the whole board. That'd be just their

style of operation. Still, he grinned his widest grin as he walked

splashing through the puddles on the sidewalks. She loves me. She

really loves me. He wished he could sing and dance through the

storm like that what's-his-name in that old video. He wished he

could feel like a kid again, so blitzed by the thought that Jane loved

him that nothing else mattered.

But he knew better. He had the world on his shoulders. Now

Jane's safety was an added problem. Big George and Tamara were

waiting for him at the apartment. The four of us against the world,

with Malik and Gaetano and the whole double-damned international

crime syndicate against us.

His grin vanished. I forgot to tell Jane about Tamara. Better

remember to do it next time we meet. Got to make certain she

doesn't get the wrong idea about the kid. That could screw up

everything.

ONCE ON EARTH, Clan had tapped into one of the funds he had

established in Liechtenstein, at the same bank into which he

had deposited the money that he, Big George and Pops Tucker had

made on the Moon. The lunar account was a pittance compared to

that of Mason Dickson, Dan's alias.

Roger Wilcox had disappeared; Mason Dickson had sprung to

life out of the computer files of the International Bank of Liechtenstein,

a charming miniature nation nestled in the Alps between

Switzerland and Austria, where sleekly smiling bankers spoke in

whispers and accepted deposits with few questions and low taxes.

Like stoutly independent Switzerland, Liechtenstein had not formally

joined the Global Economic Council. The only other nation

on Earth that had similarly remained aloof was Afghanistan.

Big George had accompanied Clan and Tamara to Earth. Pops

Tucker remained on the Moon, too physically debilitated to face full

terrestrial gravity without a long and rigorous course of rehabilitation,

which he adamantly refused even to consider.

"Besides," the wizened old man had argued, patting his tabletop

computer, "I can keep an eye on your Williams woman for you."

Clan had reluctantly agreed. Big George told him, "He's living

the way he wants to. Fooking old kook's been an outlaw for so long

he wouldn't know how to behave in normal society."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 285

Clan nodded, but remembered Tucker's bitter anger at being

unable to see his grandchildren. Which one is the real Pops Tucker.

Clan asked himself. The nasty old man who won't stir himself to get

back into shape, or the sad old guy who's never seen his grandchildren?

But he put those thoughts behind him as he drove a rented car

through a slashing rainstorm that was flooding the streets of Geneva.

Every time I see Jane it seems to be raining, he said to himself.

The car radio was babbling about the unusual warm spell, the

unseasonably heavy storm and the rising level of the lake. The water

was hubcaps deep in several places; the police had cordoned off

several streets altogether.

Wait till the glaciers start melting down, Clan thought grimly.

They'll have to borrow gondolas from Venice. If there's anything

left of Venice.

The Bank of Geneva was hushed and imposing. Marble floors,

vaulted ribbed ceiling, the smell of heavy money oozing out of the

walls. The guard at the security desk was expecting Mason Dickson;

Clan was escorted to a private conference room on an upper floor.

Clan opened the door as the guard stood a respectful distance

away. Jane was already there, her back to the door, staring out at

the merciless rain. Nobo sat beside her, looking glum.

They both turned at the click of the door's closing. Jane's smile

warmed the room. Nobo jumped to his feet, a slightly sheepish

expression on his lean face.

He came to Clan with his hand extended. "It's good to see you

again."

Clan grabbed his hand. "You too, Nobo. I'm sorry about the

blowup the last time we talked."

"It was my fault."

"Mine, just as much. I could've been more flexible."

"So could I."

Jane had swiveled her chair around to face the round table that

dominated the small room. "Don't start another argument apologizing

about the old one," she said.

Nobo laughed and Clan clapped him on the back and the argu-

286 BEN BOVA

merit was forgotten. Almost. Clan could not help thinking that the

whole issue was moot now: he couldn't adjust Astro's helium-three

output even if he wanted to. He no longer had control over the

company.

As soon as the two men had seated themselves, one on either

side of Jane, Nobuhiko said, "Clan, I want you to come back to my

family home with me. You'll be safe in Kyoto."

Clan shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm still a wanted

.;

man, a fugitive from the GEC's brand of justice. You don't want to

put yourself in jeopardy over me."

"You are my friend and you are in danger," Nobo said. "I can

I

, I

protect you until Jane straightens out your legal

difficulties."

"You don't understand, Nobo. My legal difficulties don't

amount to a thimbleful of buckeyballs compared to this greenhouse

crisis."

"That's in the hands of the GEC," said Jane.

"Which means it's in the hands of the double-damned Mafia and

their associates around the world."

"If you fear for Jane's safety, I have a very discreet security team

guarding her night and day."

"You do?" Jane yelped.

Nobo made a small nod. "Ever since you spoke to me about

your fears and Mr. Robertson's murder."

"Look," Clan said, "I've got enough data from Kate Williams to

blow Gaetano out of the water, but I don't know who to give it to."

"The GEC has tied up most of the world's media, Clan," said

Jane. "I've checked. Most of the member nations have imposed their

official censorship laws. In the States, the major media have privately

agreed to go along with the GEC's blackout on the greenhouse

crisis--at least for now."

"Will they take the material I've got about the Mafia infiltrating

Astro? And their plans for all the major industries?"

"From a criminal, a man wanted for kidnapping, terrorism, drug

dealing, smuggling and grand larceny?"

Clan grinned at her. "Lord, that sounds damned impressive,

doesn't it.*"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 287

"It's not funny, Clan."

"There are always outlets for hot news," Clan said. "The TV

tabloids, the smaller news outfits."

"Then it won't be news, it will be gossip. Put your Mafia story

alongside stories about three-headed babies being born on Mars and

what have you got? No one will pay any attention."

"Yeah," Clan admitted grudgingly. "Nobody except the hit

men."

Nobo suggested, "You could give Dan's information to the

media, Jane. You are a very prestigious person. Your integrity is

unquestioned."

She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "The first thing they

would ask would be where I got the information, what's my source.

That would lead right back to Clan--"

"How about an anonymous leak in the Astro office?"

"And who would that be?"

"A beautiful half-Ethiopian young woman who'd be a knockout

on video."

Jane's eyes narrowed. Nobuhiko asked, "Wouldn't that expose

her to danger?"

"They've already tried to kill her."

"Where is she? At Alphonsus?"

"I've brought her here. She's staying with me."

"A beautiful young woman," Jane said thinly.

Clan raised both hands over his head. "There's nothing going on

between us. I'm just trying to protect her."

Jane looked totally dubious.

"Honest," said Clan, trying to look sincere.

"If she is in such danger," Nobo said, "then she must come with

you to Kyoto."

"She should," Clan agreed. "But I'm not going with you, Nobo."

Nobuhiko shot him a questioning look.

"I'm going to be doing some highly illegal things, friends. I've

thought it all out and it seems to be the only way to crack this nut

open."

'Nhat do you mean?"

288 BEN BOVA

"What are you talking about?"

Clan took a deep breath. Then, "Jane, you can go to the Ameri

can news media with my information and give them Tamara as your

source. That's even the truth, almost."

"And I can keep her under my protection in Kyoto/' said Nobo.

"Yeah, but I'm not sure that the media will take the story, even

with Jane promoting it to them."

"They'd have to!" Jane snapped.

Clan made a lopsided grin. "Jane, honey, you've been in poli

,.,

tics all your life. You know that the First Amendment guarantees

the media the right to broadcast anything they choose to. But it

doesn't guarantee that they have to broadcast something they

,.;

don't want to."

"They'd take this story!" Jane insisted. "One of them would and

!

then the others would have to follow suit."

t!i

"Suppose Malik threatens a court injunction? Or the current U.S.

President leans on the media executives to bury the story7 He's no

friend of yours, that imbecile in the White House."

"I'll get the story aired," Jane said firmly.

"And I'll help you," said Clan.

"How?"

"My way."

She's gone. Kate Williams lay sleepless on her bed, wondering

where her sister was, fearing that she knew.

With Rafe. Somewhere down on Earth she's letting that bastard

do whatever he wants to her as long as he feeds her whatever crap

she's turned on to now.

She gripped the sheets so hard that her fingernails cut into her

palms painfully. And I can't do a thing about it! Not a goddamned

motherfucking thing! How could she get away from A1phonsus7

How could she even get out of her goddamned room without my

permission.'? This whole place is honeycombed with Rafe's people.

I thought I was running Astro, but he is, like a puppeteer from a

quarter of a million miles away. He's stolen my sister and now he

EMPIRE BUILDERS 289

knows he can make me jump through any hoop he wants just as

long as he promises not to hurt her any more.

I'll kill him! she screamed silently for the thousandth time. If he

ever comes within arm's reach of me again I'll tear his throat out!

But he won't come close to me again. He's too smart for that.

He knows me too well. Besides, he's got my sister to fuck.

The phone chirped.

Kate sat bolt upright and grabbed at the receiver. She kept the

room unlit, the video circuit closed.

"Katie? Did I wake you up?" Kim's voice!

"No," she managed to choke out. "I was awake anyway."

The delay told Kate that her sister was back on Earth. "I just

want to let you know that I'm okay. Don't worry about me."

"Where are you?"

She knew what the answer would be even while her sister's

reply made its way to her.

"In Italy! It's beautiful here! The beaches are all flooded right

now but the weather's wonderful and we have our own swimming

pool."

"We? You're with Rare?"

Did Kim's voice sound slightly blurry? Was she slurring her

words? Kate listened hard.

"Yes. He's wonderful. He says he sends you love and kisses. You

want to talk to him? He's right here. But I can't put on the video

'cause we're both indecent!" Kim giggled like a schoolgirl.

"No," Kate said, weary, defeated. "I don't need to talk to Rare.

I'm sure that if he has any business to discuss with me he'll call later."

"Okay. I just wanted you to know that I'm fine. I'm having a

great time."

"What are you taking?"

The delay seemed longer than before. "Taking? I'm not taking

anything. I'm totally clean, Kate, honest."

"That's good," she said. "Stay that way."

When she hung up the phone Kate remembered all the other

times Kim had sworn she was clean. She always used the same

phrase: "I'm totally clean, Kate, honest."

290 BEN BOVA

She dropped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling in the

dark. Where are you, Clan Randolph'?. Why haven't you done anything7

You've got to get the bastard. Get him quick before he kills

my little sister.

The Philharmonic Hall of Naples, Florida, had seen magnificent

performers and illustrious audiences in the past, but never an occasion

such as this. To celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the spacious,

handsome building, the Naples Philharmonic Orchestra

combined with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir to gratify the crme

de la crme of American society. No vulgar entertainment stars or

other pop icons. No artists or authors or politicians. The one thousand

elegant men and women who gathered at the Philharmonic this

night were each multimillionaires, tycoons of commerce and industry,

civic leaders who earned their lofty places in their communities

the old-fashioned way: by buying in.

Jane Scanwell was invited not because she was a former President

of the United States or the nation's representative on the

Global Economic Council. She was invited for the same reason

everyone else was: because Texas oil and aerospace money had

made her rich.

She accepted the gilt-edged invitation to the gala evening not

because she had any desire to see or be seen by the leisure class. Jane

came to Naples because she knew that the Empress Theodora, head

of the largest news network in the world, would also be in attendance.

The first half of the show ended with a rousing rendition of

"Battle Hymn of the Republic." The hall was still ringing with the

audience's heartfelt cheers when Jane swiftly left her box seat and

managed to be casually strolling past the door to Theodora's box

when she opened it and stepped into the corridor.

"Theodora!" Jane said over the chatter of the crowd pushing

past. "How nice."

"Why, Jane," said Theodora, with equal sincerity, "I haven't seen

you in ages."

They fell in step as they went with the flow of the crowd along

EMPIRE BUILDERS 291

the plushly carpeted corridor. Theodora was the taller of the two

women, by an inch or so. She wore a black velvet double-breasted

tuxedo jacket over a scoop-necked white silk tank blouse and black

velvet slacks. Her ash blonde hair, usually pulled into a businesslike

bun, fell to her shoulders in graceful waves. Jane was in a more

conventional off-the-shoulder gown of jade green that set off her

rich auburn hair beautifully. Both women wore enough jewelry to

ransom a kingdom, but in this glittering crowd they were hardly

noticed.

"I've been trying to reach you at the office," Jane said, maneuvering

toward one of the quiet little alcoves off to the side of the

corridor.

"It's always so hectic there," said Theodora, her voice slightly

brittle. The crowd was pushing past them and she did not like being

bumped, even by her peers.

"Do you have a minute? Jane asked, gesturing toward the

green marble bench in the alcove.

Looking distinctly unhappy at being trapped this way,

Theodora turned to the lanky young man behind her and said,

"Wally, would you get me a glass of wine, please? Not the champagne,

it's awful. White wine."

Wally bobbed his head and asked, "And for you, ma'am?

'%'Vhite wine will be fine," said Jane.

They forced their way across the flow of the crowd and sat side

by side on the marble bench.

"All right," said Theodora, with the air of a patient getting into

a dentist's chair. "What is it you want?"

Jane made a smile. "I want to hand your network the hottest

story of the century."

Theodora's brows rose slightly. "Really?'

"You've heard rumors about the greenhouse cliff, haven't you.7"

"I promised the President that my people would not be party to

such rumors."

"It's more than rumors, Theodora. The GEC is starting a program--"

"I said I promised the President."

292 BEN BOVA

"But--"

"I know he's not of your party, Jane. But he is the President and

I have promised him that I would keep the lid on this story."

Jane could not keep herself from frowning.

Which brought a smile to Theodora's lips. "Why, from what I

understand of it, the GEC itself has asked all the news media to keep

quiet for the time being. Are you going against your own Council?"

"There's more to it than that, Theodora," said Jane. "Much

more. The GEC is honeycombed by criminals. This entire effort is

being undermined by the international crime cartel."

widened Theodora's eyes. "Are you certain?"

'T'Ihawtouldn't be telling you this if I weren't certain. And frightened

of what might happen."

"How do you know this? I mean, do you have any hard evidence

that we could use?"

"Reams of evidence. From Astro Manufacturing. And if your

reporters start digging into other major corporations, they'll find--"

"Astro Manufacturing?" Theodora interrupted. "Isn't that Clan

Randolph's company? Didn't the GEC throw him out for cheating

or stealing or something?"

"Clan Randolph, yes," said Jane. "His company was confiscated."

"And he's the one producing your evidence?"

"It's from his former company."

"You got it from Randolph himself, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't turn him over to the authorities?"

"He's not guilty of anything," Jane said.

Theodora's smile turned pitying. "I've heard rumors for years

that you two were hot for each other. Even when he married that

Latin American woman, the stories were floating around about the

two of you."

"That has nothing to do with the current situation," Jane said.

But Theodora clearly did not believe her. "Jane, how can I put

any credence into a wild tale told by a wanted criminal?"

"But the greenhouse cliff is the greatest threat the human race

EMPIRE BUILDERS 293

has ever faced!" Jane insisted. "And the Mafia's crippling our attempts

to avert the disaster!"

"The Mafia." Theodora sighed.

"It's all true!"

"Jane, dear, even if it is all true, I have promised the President

that I will not allow my people to report this supposed disaster

story. He doesn't want people unnecessarily frightened and I agree

with him. I am not going to promote a scare story."

Jane got to her feet. Looking down on Theodora, she snapped,

"Then you'd better be a damned good swimmer."

She turned and stamped off into the crowd still milling around

the bar at the end of the corridor. Wally came back with two fluted

glasses of white wine, looking surprised that his boss was alone.

The mayor of New Orleans frowned at the somber faces around her.

She tapped the report on her desk, lying closed in its forest green

plastic binder. She had read the executive summary before convening

this meeting. She had neither the time, the inclination, nor the

technical understanding to read the full report. Now she scowled at

the men who had come to talk about it. They all looked dismally

grave, as if they had to make her take medicine she didn't want to

take. ,Ail men, all of them.

"Do you know how much it would cost to build the levees

higher?" she asked accusingly. She had been a prosecuting attorney

who had toppled the previous administration in a sensational series

of trials for outrageously inept corruption.

"No matter what it costs," said the state's environmental man,

"it's going to have to be done."

"And how much will the state put in to pay for this?"

"The city's more than five feet below sea level, for the most

part," the man insisted, ignoring her question. "Do you want five

feet of water covering everything?"

"We won't have to improve the river levee," said the city

engineer. "Just the lake."

"Just the lake?" the mayor asked acidly.

294 BEN BOVA

The city engineer flapped his hands. "We can do the river later.

The lake seems to be the first problem."

"The existing levee is too low for the worst-case situation," said

the environmental man.

"It's ten feet above the level of the lake," the mayor snapped.

"But, Yor Honoh, the lake's level has been rising, that's the lord's

truth," said the majority leader. "Y'know, I live out by Metarie and

I tell you, oi' Pontchartrain is on the rise. Why, you can see it on

the causeway. Gettin' higher all the time."

"How much in the past five years?"

The environmental man flipped through the copy of the report

he held on his lap. "Two inches," he replied.

"How much in the next ten years?"

Squinting at the numbers, "Four inches, maybe six."

"And the existing levee is ten feet above the water level?"

The man from the federal Severe Storms office piped up. "It's

not the average water level that causes the problem, Miz Mayor. It's

the worst-case scenario."

"Worst case."

"Exactly. For example, usually the Mississippi stays within its

normal banks. But when it floods, well, you certainly need those

concrete levees, don't you?"

"Pontchartrain has never risen ten feet above its normal level."

"Not even in a hurricaneT" the federal man shot back, smirking

at her.

"And we've got the pumping stations."

"But what if--"

"No what ifs? she snapped. "This city has all sorts of problems

and they all require money. Do you think I can go to the voters and

tell them they've got to pony up how many hundreds of millions

of dollars because Pontchartrain is rising two inches every five

yearsT"

"Somebody's got to do it," muttered the environmental man.

"Not in my administration," she said coldly. "Maybe in twenty

years or so the lake might be getting high enough to warrant raising

EMPIRE BUILDERS 295

the levee. Maybe in twenty years it'll all dry up and disappear! Who

knows?"

The city engineer said, "If there's some disaster, like a really

strong hurricane or--"

"We'll face that problem when we come to it," said the mayor.

"I'm not about to spend the taxpayers' money on some scientific

theory."

VASILY MALIK STRODE onstage like a conquering hero, with a

broad smile and a happy gleam in his eyes. Dressed in an impeccably

tailored blue suit, he went straight to the podium and gripped it

with both hands. The hall was filled to overflowing with news

reporters; video cameras focused on the newly elected chairman of

the Global Economic Council. Two big TV monitors flanked the

podium, one displaying the BBC's broadcast, the other CNN's. Both

pictures were the same, except for a minute difference in the angle

at which the cameras were focused on Malik's triumphant expression.

Jane Scanwell sat in the balcony section reserved for VIPs. All

the other Council members were there: Muhammed Shariff Sibuti

looking slightly nonplussed, as if he did not fully understand what

was happening; Rafaelo Gaetano with a smile that looked decidedly

forced, Jane thought.

It had been three months since she had last seen Clan. For three

months Jane had hammered at her so-called friends high in the

corporate world of the news media. They had listened to her story

of criminal corruption in the GEC, promised to study the situation,

and done nothing. They always asked for her source of information.

When she told them it was Clan Randolph they invariably shrugged

her off. "He's trying to get back at Malik; everybody knows the two

EMPIRE BUILDERS 297

of them hate each other. We can't be party to a personal vendetta--we'd

be sued for billions! And Randolph's a fugitive from justice, to

boot."

Only two of her media contacts actually promised to examine

the information Jane brought with her. Again, no action from them.

It was like pouring a cup of water onto the Sahara. The information

disappeared somewhere in the network's labyrinth of departments

and bureaus. Jane began to understand that the Mafia had people in

the news networks, too. They wanted Dan's information, not to

broadcast, and certainly not to use as the starting point of an

investigation. They wanted it to help them track down the leaks in

Astro Manufacturing.

Now Malik stood before the media reporters, fresh from his

unanimous election to the GEC chair, the sky blue emblem of the GEC serving as a backdrop for him.

Smiling for the assembled reporters and the hundreds of millions

of TV viewers, Malik said, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.

You will be happy to learn that I do not have a prepared speech to

give you."

A titter of laughter rippled through the reporters.

"However, I do have an announcement to make. After it, I will

be happy to answer your questions."

He paused, took a breath while the hall fell absolutely silent

except for the barely audible sound of the cameras humming and the

faint hiss of the lights.

"My first act as chairperson of the Global Economic Council is

to institute an Industrial Coordinating Committee, which will consist

of the CEOs of each of the world's leading industrial corporations.

The ICC will serve as a focal point for the GEC's continuing

efforts to ameliorate the effects of industrial pollution on the Earth's

atmosphere."

"He's lying," said a voice.

The hall stirred.

"He's not telling the whole truth," said Clan Randolph, whose

image filled the BBC monitor screen. "Ask him why he needs an

Industrial Coordinating Committee."

298 BEN BOVA

Just as suddenly as it appeared, Dan's image winked off, leaving

Malik's angry red face on the screen.

Malik turned and glared at his aides, standing openmouthed

with shock in the wings of the small stage.

"Who was that?" somebody asked.

"Was that Clan Randolph?"

"Please?' Malik raised his hands for calm and put a reassuring

smile on his face. "There must be some crank somewhere in the BBC

system--"

"I'm not a crank," Clan said, this time from the CNN monitor.

"But I think maybe you're a crook."

Pandemonium among the reporters. They were on their feet,

shouting questions--not at Malik, but to Dan's image in the screen.

Clan grinned at them. "Hey, this is Vasily's media conference.

Ask him your questions, not me. He's got all the answers you want."

Malik angrily strode off the stage and Dan's image winked out,

leaving the reporters with no one to question. The TV screens

showed only the GEC emblem and a bare stage.

"I want him found and I want him found immediately?' Malik

was screaming into his phone. "Dead or alive, it doesn't matter.

If I don't get results immediately I'll have you replaced! Do you

understand me?"

Gaetano had brushed past the Russian's distraught secretary and

come into Malik's office looking as tense and angry as Malik himself.

He stood before the desk as the Russian turned off his phone

with a furious bang of his fist against the keyboard.

"And what do you want?" Malik snapped.

"To help you," said Gaetano.

Malik rose from his chair and leaned his knuckles on his desktop.

"The only help I want is in finding Clan Randolph."

"Dead or alive, I know."

The Russian made a furious snort.

"I can help," Gaetano said, pulling his silver cigarette case from

his jacket pocket. Malik saw that his hands were trembling slightly.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 299

"Is it true, then?" Malik asked. "You have connections to the

Mafia?"

Gaetano lit the cigarette and puffed a cloud of bluish smoke

toward the ceiling. "I have friends who can help you find Randolph."

"The Mafia," Malik insisted.

"Call them whatever you want to," said Gaetano. "You want the

man dead. So do I. We can work together to see that he never

bothers us again."

"The Mafia," Malik repeated. He turned his back to Gaetano,

went to the windows and stared out at the gray Paris sky. It always

seemed to be gray, these days, he thought. It seems as if I haven't

seen a blue sky in years.

"You can't turn your back on us," Gaetano said, his voice brittle

with suppressed anger. "You and I have been working together for

many months now. You are part of my organization, whether you

like it or not."

Malik said nothing. He wished that Gaetano would disappear.

"I will see to it that Randolph is found. And done away with.

Then we can go on with our plans for organizing the world's

industries."

Malik waited until he heard his office door click shut. When he

turned around he noticed the new nameplate that his secretary had

placed on his desk for his approval: V. S. Malik, Chairman. He tasted

ashes in his mouth.

Gaetano strode along the hallway to his own office, thinking

furiously. Malik is a reluctant ally, but he'll go along with what I

want him to do. He has to. He has no other choice. Jane Scanwell

is the dangerous one; she's in league with Randolph, probably in

love with the bastard.

By the time he reached his office and closed the door behind

him, though, he was smiling. Why not use Jane to lure Randolph

into the open? That would work. And then both of them can die in

the same accident.

The more he thought about his idea the more he liked it. And

once the two of them are out of the way, he told himself, Don

Marcello can at last have the fatal heart attack I've been waiting for.

300 BEN BOVA

Gaetano actually whistled happily as he sat at his desk and

picked up the telephone handset.

There was no way to hush up Clan Randolph's brash interruption of

Malik's media conference, not when Clan had been seen by more

than a hundred million TV viewers.

GEC public relations flacks tried to deflect reporters' questions.

Randolph is a criminal, a fugitive from justice. He's sore because the

:,,

GEC stripped him of his company.

Yes, but how did he break into the BBC and CNN transmis-

i

I

sions? How did he do that?

'

I

We're investigating that. Both those networks are beefing up

i

their security. And we're installing new protective circuits in all the

communications satellite ground stations.

You mean he broke into the ground stations?

Electronically, yes. That seems to be what he did. We're check

ing out that line of investigation. There was no physical break-in. It

looks as if he managed to override the uplink transmissions from

Earth to the satellites and insert his own transmission in place of

what the uplinks were carrying.

But how could he do that? Where did he transmit from?

We're looking into that.

You don't know?

Not yet. But one thing is for certain: with the new protective

programs we're adding to the ground stations, he'll never be able

to do it again.

Two days later, the UNESCO educational channel was running

a program about global warming. Schools all around the world

tuned in to see the top experts from major universities discuss the

possibilities of drastic changes in the global climate.

"Much of the problem stems from human activity," said a geo

physicist from Kenya, his thick white hair a startling contrast to his

deeply black skin.

"Yes," agreed the moderator, a world-famous actress who had

turned activist when her career began to slump. "As I understand it,

EMPIRE BUILDERS 301

atmospheric pollution from human sources is now a bigger factor

than all the natural sources of pollutants combined."

"If by 'natural sources of pollutants' you mean volcanic eruptions

and animal wastes, then, yes, it is true. Humans are ruining the

atmosphere at an alarming rate."

"What about the greenhouse cliffT" asked Clan Randolph. His

grinning image suddenly appeared between the moderator and the

scientist.

The moderator and scientist went on speaking as if nothing had

happened, because the show had been taped in advance of its airing.

But their sound went off and Clan Randolph's image seemed to

hover between them like an elf or a leprechaun.

"They're not telling you about the greenhouse cliff, kids," Clan

said cheerfully. "There's a strong chance that the climate is going to

shift abruptly, within a few years. Think about it. What would you do

if the sea level was going to rise by ten meters or moreT"

Before the shocked schoolchildren could react, before their

stunned teachers could think to turn off their TV sets, Dan's image

disappeared and the original show droned on as if nothing had

happened.

But that evening a dozen million children asked their parents

what a greenhouse cliff was.

Both the World Cup soccer game and cricket match were interrupted

by Clan Randolph. His image seemed to appear randomly on

television broadcasts ranging from daytime soap operas to a live

presentation of Ai'da from the Baths of Caracalla in Rome. Clan

appeared during one of the intermissions; opera lovers appreciated

his courtesy.

He never was on the screen for more than thirty seconds. He

spoke about the greenhouse cliff and the fact that the world was

facing an inexorable crisis.

"The GEC's answer is to take control of all the world's industries,"

Clan said, for once his elfin smile gone, his face grim. "That

means they're taking control of all the world's jobs. They stole my

company from me. What will they be stealing from youT"

Reporters all over the world beat themselves into exhaustion

302 BEN BOVA

trying to find Clan Randolph, trying to get Malik or anyone in the

GEC to reply to his charges. Zach Freiberg appeared on nationwide

TV in the United States and explained what the greenhouse cliff

was. But two dozen other scientists gave interviews belittling

Zach's views and casting doubt on his credibility.

"After all," said one kindly-looking white-haired woman, "he

did work for Clan Randolph, didn't he?" She herself worked for

Rockledge Industries, under GEC management.

Finally, after two weeks of uproar, Jane Scanwell announced that

she would give a news conference in Paris to respond to Clan

Randolph's charges on behalf of the GEC.

Malik knew that Jane would confirm everything Randolph had

been saying.

"It will be a disaster for us," he moaned to Gaetano.

"Then we must not permit her to meet the reporters," said the

Italian.

CLAN SHIVERED SLIGHTLY as he sat in the bare wooden chair and

hunched closer to the fire. It can't be the radiation, he told himself

for the fortieth time that morning. I'm just not accustomed to the

cold.

It was snowing again. Through the cabin's only decent window Clan

could see the white flakes sifting down gently, quietly, cold and

still as death. He shuddered again inside the quilted coat he had

thrown over his shoulders. Then he got up from the chair to toss

another stick on the fire.

Now I know how Sai must feel, he thought, bottled in liquid

nitrogen.

His campaign was going well. It was fun to twist their tails,

those pompous asses at the GEC. Must be twenty-two zillion

security agents and news reporters trying to figure out how I'm able

to break into the TV transmissions. Flatlanders, all of 'em.

It had been ridiculously easy, although physically arduous.

Nearly four months ago Mason Dickson had taken a vacation in

space. From Liechtenstein he drove to Milan and caught the space-plane

to Rockledge Industries' tourist hotel in orbit. He chose Rock-ledge's

space station because, in addition to its famous Zero-G

Hotel, the satellite also housed a considerable satellite repair and

refurbishment facility.

304 BEN BOVA

For a suitable exchange of money, one of the Rocldedge techni

cians spent a week in Mason Dickson's plush luxury suite at the

hotel while Clan replaced him at his job. The man was a maintenance

technician whose specialty was working on the communications

satellites in geostationary orbit, 22,300 miles above the Earth.

Clan rode an orbital transfer vehicle to the Clarke orbit together

with a team of human and robot technicians. He spent most of his

time inside the shielded OTV, as did the rest of the humans, direct

i.,

ing the robots who went out to work on individual satellites in the

high radiation flux of the upper Van Allen Belt.

At week's end he returned to the hotel, became Mason Dickson

I

once again, and--after a weekend of rest--returned to Earth.

Each of the commsats that his crew worked on now carried a

miniaturized electronics package that allowed Clan to override the

signal coming up from Earth and beam his own signal down the

receiving antennas around the globe.

The price, though, had been high. Clan had to pay hush money

to each of the other four technicians in the OTV. And he been

exposed to more radiation than he liked to think about. Clan had to

go EVA several times, to make sure that the small-witted robots had

done their jobs correctly. Even inside the OTV the radiation dosim

eters constantly hovered in the yellow warning area. The standing

.,

joke among the four other men and women of the crew had been

that they not only belonged to the Zero-G Club, they also belonged

to the Zero Population Growth movement.

Now he sat in the austere shack in the foothills of the Himalayas,

shivering with cold. Or was it radiation sickness7

It was unfair to call the building a shack. The lamas had built it

solidly, with loving care, as they did every task they undertook. To

them it was a retreat house, a remote place of solitude where a man

could contemplate his place in the universe without interruption

from the outside world. Nobo had made the arrangements for Clan

to use it, at the same time he had taken Tamara with him to Kyoto.

Clan pulled his chair closer to the fire. He grinned when he

thought about the look on Nobo's face when he first saw Tamara.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 305

Talk about being hit by the thunderbolt. Nobo nearly fell over his

own feet trying to be polite and helpful to her.

The door banged open and Big George stamped in, a blast of

frigid air swirling into the room.

"It's snowing again," George growled.

"I thought you liked the snow."

George had never seen snow any closer than a satellite view

before he had come to this remote retreat house with Clan. For the

first few days he had reveled in the white purity of it. But then

he began to grumble that the stuff was "fooking damned cold.

And wet."

George tossed his fleece-lined parka onto the bench by the door

and came over to the fireplace, rubbing his big hands briskly. He had

begun to let his beard grow back; he was starting to look shaggy

and fierce again, rather than pinkly cherubic.

"How do you feel, DanT"

"Got the shakes."

"I ought to get a doctor for you."

Clan laughed humorlessly. "How7 By oxcart?"

"By picturephone," George replied. "We could access one of the

medical libraries, find out if you've really got radiation sickness or

not. Don't have to call a real person and let them know where

we are."

"I'll be okay," said Clan. "Even if it is rad poisoning, I've got

plenty of pills for that."

George looked unconvinced.

"It can't be a very bad close," Clan said. "My gums aren't

bleeding and my hair isn't falling out."

"Then what's bothering you?"

With a painful sigh, "Old age, I guess. I haven't been exposed

to winter in a long, long time."

Changing the subject, George asked, "When's your next broadcast?"

Clan glanced at the gray electronics boxes piled in a corner of

the room. Wonder what the lamas would say if they knew their

retreat house had become a television studio?

306 BEN BOVA

"Did you hear me?" George asked.

"I'm not deaf," said Clan. "Some of my faculties are still working.''

"So? When?"

"They'll be expecting me to pop in on Jane's news conference.

So, instead, I'll hit the evening news shows the night before. Give

the reporters more questions to ask when Jane meets with them."

"That's tomorrow, then."

Clan nodded. "We might as well do it on the Japanese news

networks. Won't have to worry about time zones so much. Then all

the others will pick it up, all around the world."

"Sounds good to me," said

"Wish

looked better,

George.

you

though."

Clan grinned at him. "You want me to wear makeup for the

camera, George?"

"I just wish you looked better."

Gaetano flew from Paris to Naples aboard a regular commercial

airliner the night before Jane Scanwell's scheduled news conference.

It will be best if I am far from the scene of the crime, he told himself,

with plenty of witnesses to vouch for my whereabouts.

Besides, Kimberly was waiting for him in Naples. In so many

ways she reminded him of Kate: the same red hair, the same fiery

spirit, the same wild heat when her passion overwhelmed her. And

yet they were different, as well. Kate was reluctant and had to be

controlled. She disliked the little games that Rafaelo enjoyed playing.

Kim, on the other hand, invented games of her own. She could

be demanding, but they were demands that he enjoyed meeting.

And exceeding.

She did not even know that she was on a drug-induced high

virtually all of the time. Gaetano's servants saw to it that the drugs

were in her food. Nothing truly harmful. Just enough to keep her

wired. When he wanted her to be obedient, like the time he invited

his friends from Messina to share their bed, he saw to it that other

dosages were applied.

And then there was always Kate. It's probably better that she

EMPIRE BUILDERS 307

remains on the Moon. If she knew what's happening to her precious

sister, she would probably try to murder me. Gaetano smiled to

himself as the plane crossed the Alps. No, better to keep Kate where

she is. Whenever I have to go to Alphonsus I will have her there

waiting for me, obedient to my command, willing to turn herself

inside out for me, because she is afraid for her sister.

He almost laughed aloud. If she could have seen what that trio

from Messina did with her, she would know that her worst fears

have already come true.

Then he sobered. What will happen once Jane has been removed?

Will she lead us to Randolph? Everything depends on

finding that American bastard before he does any more damage.

He paid no attention to the magnificent Alps gliding past outside

his plane's window. Nor did he notice how brown they looked,

how little snow remained on their jagged peaks.

Josh Pollett was literally quivering. Like a hunting dog who knew

there were birds hiding in the bushes, the wiry, sharp-featured

reporter was atremble with anticipation as he sat at the tape console.

He was running videotapes of Clan Randolph's unauthorized broadcasts.

Harriet McIntyre and Wayne Manley stood behind him in the

darkened workroom. She too was wide-eyed with eagerness. Man-ley

was frowning, his sleekly handsome face distinctly unhappy.

"How does he do that?" Manley asked, his voice a low rumble.

'/hat difference does it make?" Pollett snapped. "He's doing it."

"Every network on Earth has teams of experts checking their

equipment. The GEC has an army of investigators looking into it."

"I've been pushing every source I've got," said Pollett. "Nobody

can figure out where he's broadcasting from, or how he's breaking

into the regular broadcasts."

On the screen, Clan Randolph was saying, "This is real, folks.

We're all facing a terrible disaster. Don't take my word for it. Ask

the scientists. Ask Zach Freiberg at the California Institute of Technology.

Ask Vasily Malik or your own representative on the Global

308 BEN BOVA

Economic Council. They've got to act! And fast! But they won't

unless you make them act."

Pollett flicked an eye to the digital timer beside the screen.

"That's the longest he's stayed on the air: fifty-three seconds."

"He's looking grimmer," Mclntyre said. "More desperate."

"He's got good reason to be desperate," said Manley. "They'll

catch him soon."

"I wish we could catch him first," Mclntyre said.

"Nobody knows where he is, or where he's broadcasting from."

Pollett swiveled his chair around and got to his feet. "Listen,

Wayne, we've got to do something about this. Whether Randolph

is right or not, this is the biggest story of the decade

maybe of the

century?

"Don't go off the deep end," Manley warned.

'Ne're all going to be in the deep end if Randolph's telling us

the truth," Mclntyre snapped.

Manley turned and made a move for the door, a well-fleshed

man in an expensive three-piece suit. His two reporters, in faded

jeans and T-shirts, scampered to cut him off. Manley glared at them

in the dim light coming from the viewer's screen.

"Come on, now," Manley said.

"No, you come on," Pollett said heatedly. "We can't sit on this

story any longer. Holy shit, Wayne, we're talking about half the

world being flooded! This is bigger than Noah and the ark?

"Any 'gentleman's agreement' that the network might have

made with Washington is out the window now," said Mclntyre,

more reasonably. "Surely even the Empress can see that."

"That's no way to speak of Theodora."

"Come on, Wayne," Pollett chivvied, "let me interview Freiberg.

I've interviewed him before. He's a responsible scientist, not some

nutcase or quack."

"And I can get to Jane Scanwell," McIntyre said.

"And maybe this guy Malik, through her," Pollett suggested.

Manley put up his hands. 'I'll speak to Theodora about it."

'/hen?"

"It's got to be today!"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 309

"This evening," Manley answered, clearly irritated. "I'm having

dinner with the family."

"Okay," said Pollett. "I'm catching the next flight to L.A."

"And I'll go to Paris."

The two reporters burst out of the viewing room like eager

schoolchildren running out to play, leaving Manley standing there

alone. A slow smile crept across his fleshy face. Let them go, he told

himself. Even if Theodora refuses to listen to reason they can get

their interviews and then we'll present the Empress with a fait

accompli. She wouldn't fire me if things go sour. She'll fire Pollett

and Mclntyre. After all, I didn't authorize these interviews, did I?

Jane sat at the gracefully curved little walnut desk in the study of

her apartment, bent over the screen of her laptop, poring over every

detail of the data Clan had given her. She knew the give-and-take

of a live meeting with the reporters. She wanted to have as much

information in her head as possible for the morning's news conference.

She had come home from the GEC office and immediately

launched into her preparation for the morning's news conference,

stopping only to get out of her business clothes and into a comfortable

terry-cloth robe and to fix a light dinner tray. Far into the night

she sat studying, memorizing facts, numbers, dates, names. The

dinner tray sat on the desk untouched.

A noise. Just a soft whisper, really, but it made her jerk her head

up and glance around the little room. The window was closed and

locked. It must have been something down on the street, Jane

thought. Nothing to be alarmed about. Still, she got up from the

desk and walked through the apartment, checking all the windows

and especially the French doors that led out onto the balcony. Then

she went back to her computer and accessed her own security

system. All the lights were green. Everything was fine.

You're being melodramatic, Jane told herself.

On the roof of the apartment building two Japanese men in

ordinary business suits walked slowly along the edge, speaking

quietly of their plans to enter the martial arts tournament in Saigon

310 BEN BOVA

during their vacation time. A third sat in the deep shadow of the

air-conditioner shed, visible only by the tiny red glow of his cigarette.

Down on the street across from the building's front entrance

another pair of Japanese, one of them a woman, loitered in a dark

doorway. In the alley behind the building, a lone Japanese man

prowled, fading into the shadows at the slightest sound. In an

apartment on the first floor of Jane's building, an older Japanese man

sat in front of a TV screen. He seemed to be drowsing, except that

every few moments he lifted his hand to inspect the small black

electronic box it held. Six green lights shone steadily. All was well

with the people he had deployed. His TV screen showed the lobby

of the apartment building, quiet and empty except for the concierge,

who was truly asleep behind his desk.

Jane knew nothing of this. Nobuhiko had informed her that she

was being guarded, but she had never noticed any bodyguards. She

had the right to ask for protection from the GEC security department,

but she feared that Gaetano had infiltrated that office before

any of the others.

So she checked her electronic security system, then shut down

her computer and went to her bedroom. For the first time in her life

she felt personally endangered. It was not exciting; it was frightening.

She wished there were some way to avoid the danger that she

knew was pressing in on her. But Gaetano and his criminals had to

be exposed, she told herself. If we're going to save the world, we've

got to get rid of the crooks.

She knew that her real reason was Clan. He loves me and he

needs me. He'll get himself killed if I don't help him. The silly fool,

butting his head against the GEC and the Mafia and anyone else

who stands in his way. Silly, stubborn, egotistical, glorious, wonderful

fool.

She stopped and looked at herself in her bedroom mirror. "And

what are you'?." she asked the image. "Just as foolish as he is." Then

she laughed, knowing that this was the way it had to be.

The phone buzzed. She called out, "Answer," and the screen lit

up with:

EMPIRE BUILDERS 311

MUST SEE YOU AT MIDNIGHT AT SACRE COEUR.

IMPERATIVE. YOU KNOW WHO.

Dan's here[ He's back in Paris.

The digital clock on the phone said 11:18. Jane called for a taxi

as she whipped out of her robe and hurriedly pulled on a cinnamon

turtleneck blouse and suede skirt. She was out the front door of her

apartment building by 11:29, tugging on a leather coat. A taxi was

waiting at the curb.

"Sacre Coeur," she said as she ducked into the cab's backseat.

The elder man in the first-floor apartment was galvanized into

action when he saw Jane race across the lobby. He pressed the

emergency button on his hand-held communicator and dashed to

the stairs that led down to the lobby. The couple in the doorway

sprinted out into the street; the man took a snapshot of the departing

taxicab while the woman raced for the sleek black sedan they

had parked half a block away. By the time she drove up their chief

had come out. The three of them piled into the car and raced after

the taxi.

The three on the roof came down the elevator to the basement

garage. They jumped into their gray minivan, the slamming of their

doors echoing through the garage, and roared out into the street,

barely slowing down to pick up the man who had come around the

building from the alley. Inside the van they had enough communications

gear to link directly to a commsat, if necessary. And a small

arsenal of weaponry.

"This isn't the way to Sacre Coeur," said Jane as the streets slid

by in the dark, silent night.

The driver did not answer. She rapped on the thick plastic

partition and said it louder, in French. Still no reaction from the

driver.

"Stop!" she hollered. "Arrete!"

When the driver still played deaf Jane realized that she was

being abducted. She sat rigid on the rear seat of the taxicab, her

stomach ablaze with fear. It's happening! They're kidnapping me!

For a moment she thought this might be Dan's way of spiriting

312 BEN BOVA

her off to meet him. But Clan wouldn't frighten her. He'd be in the

driver's seat himself, grinning into the rearview mirror. She peered

at the mirror and saw the driver's dark eyes watching her coldly. His

eyes reminded her of Gaetano's.

In the car following the taxi, the young Japanese said excitedly,

"Don't let them out of your sight."

The woman driving the sedan wanted to snarl at him. Instead

she said nothing and concentrated on her driving, constantly reminding

herself that in France one drove on the right side of the

road, not the left, as in Japan. It was not difficult to follow the

taxicab; it was not speeding and there were hardly any other cars

in the streets now, in this quiet part of the city. The difficulty was

in following it without letting the driver know he was being followed.

"It's a pity we don't have a bug on the taxi," said the young

woman. "Then we could track it without their seeing us."

"Well, we don't," the young man snapped. "Keep your eyes on

it or we'll lose them."

In the backseat their chief was speaking through his wrist communicator

to the other four in the van, following some distance

behind them.

"You must assume that the abductors will notice us following

them and be prepared for a fight when they finally come to stop.

Under no circumstances are you to risk the life of the Scanwell

woman! Nonlethal weapons only. Understood?"

A single "Hai!" issued from the wrist comm's tiny speaker, like

the voice of a sprite or a gremlin.

Past the city limit the taxi drove, past the sprawling modern

suburbs that ringed Paris, gaining speed once they were out into the

countryside. Jane had tried both doors; they were locked. The driver

had not said a word, but his eyes kept flicking up to the rearview

mirror. Turning, Jane looked out the back window. Far in the distance

a pair of headlights gleamed, disappeared when the ground

dipped, appeared again.

We're being followed, she realized. Nobo's bodyguards? Clan?

Or more of the kidnappers?

EMPIRE BUILDERS 313

The driver picked up a radio microphone and spoke into it. His

words were muffled by the plastic partition, but Jane thought she

detected the musical cadences of Italian. He's calling for help, she

thought.

She looked at her watch. Its glowing digits said 12:29. They had

been driving for exactly an hour. The night was dark out here. No

moonlight lit the countryside. They might be passing spacious

farmlands or rivers or anything at all. Jane had no idea of where they

were or where they were going. Once every few minutes a village

flicked by, ancient stone buildings and a few streetlamps standing

like forlorn sentinels in the night. The taxi whizzed through their

narrow twisting streets without slowing. God help anyone or anything

in its path, Jane thought. She caught blurred glimpses of signs

bearing names, but they meant nothing to her.

Jane's bodyguards knew where she was heading before she did.

In the minivan, one of them bent over an electronic map, his finger

tracing the road that the sedan and taxi were following.

"There's an abandoned airport less than two miles ahead, on the

right," he said into his radio microphone. "They must be heading

there."

The older man in the backseat of the sedan grunted his agreement.

Reaching forward, he tapped the woman driving the car on

the shoulder. "Faster. Get closer. They are heading for an airport."

At last the taxi whipped past a chain-link fence where two other

cars sat on either side of the gate. An airport.'? Jane wondered. The

road became bumpy, the taxi jounced and rattled. Then she saw a

helicopter up ahead, sitting next to a crumbling old building that

looked as if it might once have been the control tower of a military

airport. A single lamp on a tall pole lit the scene.

And she heard gunfire.

As the sedan pulled onto the access road to the airport the two

cars that had been parked by the gate pulled together, hood to

hood, to block the entrance. Without a word of discussion or

command, the young woman swerved the sedan to the left, smashed

right through the aged chain-link fence, and plunged in a swirl of

dust and gravel past the two parked cars.

314 BEN BOVA

Men from the two cars turned and fired at them with pistols and

assault rifles. The young man in the front seat leaned out his

window and fired back with his pistol as the car plunged ahead,

swerving and bucking. Bullets slammed into the car. A burst caught

the young man, exploding his head into a pulpy spray of blood.

The woman flinched but did nothing more. Teeth biting into her

lower lip, she hunched over the wheel and doggedly closed in on

the cloud of dust that the taxi was kicking up. Her chief, ducked

down between the seats, said calmly into his wrist comm, "Use

whatever force necessary to eliminate the team at the gate to the

airport."

The gunmen at the gate were ducking back into their own cars

when the minivan came zooming up the road and hurtled through

the break in the fence. An anti-tank rocket blew the first car into a

blazing ball of flame, which ignited the gas tank of the second car.

The double explosion masked the screams of the men roasted alive.

The taxi lurched to a stop so hard Jane was thrown off the seat.

One door popped open and the driver, gun in hand, waved her out.

She saw the black sedan boiling down toward them.

Someone yanked her by the arm, pulling her out of the taxi.

People were shooting at the sedan; Jane saw its windshield shatter

and its hood go flying as the engine blew steam and the big heavy

car plowed its front end into the soft billowing bare ground. A gray

minivan pulled up beside it, unscathed except for muddy dirt spattered

along its side.

A pair of men grabbed her arms and she felt something cold and

hard pressing against her temple.

Everything went quiet. Jane was gasping for breath, her heart

thundering in her ears. But the people around her seemed to be

standing absolutely still, frozen in the harsh bluish light from the

single lamp pole.

"Outta the car!" shouted the man holding the gun to her head.

"Outta the car or I blow her fuckin' head off."

Nothing happened. No one moved.

"You understand English?" he yelled louder. "I said get out of

the car! Now!"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 315

Jane heard the metallic click of the pistol being cocked.

The driver's door of the sedan opened and the young woman

stepped out. Jane saw that she could hardly be out of her teens, slim,

wearing black slacks and blouse, her hair pulled back tightly. She

raised her hands to shoulder level. Jane saw from the corners of her

eyes that there were at least five men leveling guns at her.

"You in the van, too," called the man with the gun. "Out."

The four men in the van came out slowly, reluctantly.

Jane heard the high-pitched whine of the helicopter's engine

starting up. Then the man beside her said, "Scratch 'em."

"The girl too?"

"All of 'em, stupid."

"But we could have some fun with her."

The man cursed in Italian, then said, "Have your fun, then snuff

her. And make it fast!"

The blaze of gunfire made Jane jump. The four men fell like

scythed wheat. Jane smelled the acrid smoke from their guns. Her

ears rang.

The man tugged at her arm and she realized that he had put his

own gun back in his shoulder holster and was pulling her toward the

helicopter. A second gunman accompanied them, cradling a vicious-looking

assault rifle in his arms. Through the ringing in her ears she

heard the deeper roar of the chopper's engine. Stunned, stumbling,

she let the man half-drag her to the helicopter while she looked over

her shoulder at the three gunmen advancing on the lone girl.

They pushed Jane into the helicopter. Her hands were trembling

too hard to fasten the safety belt. The man did it for her while she

stared at the crumpled bodies sprawled by their cars and the smoky

pyre that still flamed out by the gate. And the three grinning men

surrounding the girl by the shot-up sedan.

The helicopter's engine roared up to full power, its big rotor

kicking up a sandstorm as the pilot yelled, "All strapped in? We're

taking off."

The young woman stood trembling beside the sedan, her eyes

flicking from one of the leering gunmen to the other. They had all

holstered their pistols as they advanced toward her.

314 BFN BOVA

Men from the two cars turned and fired at them with pistols and

assault rifles. The young man in the front seat leaned out his

window and fired back with his pistol as the car plunged ahead,

swerving and bucking. Bullets slammed into the car. A burst caught

the young man, exploding his head into a pulpy spray of blood.

The woman flinched but did nothing more. Teeth biting into her

lower lip, she hunched over the wheel and doggedly closed in on

the cloud of dust that the taxi was kicking up. Her chief, ducked

down between the seats, said calmly into his wrist comm, "Use

whatever force necessary to eliminate the team at the gate to the

airport."

The gunmen at the gate were ducking back into their own cars

when the minivan came zooming up the road and hurtled through

the break in the fence. An anti-tank rocket blew the first car into a

blazing ball of flame, which ignited the gas tank of the second car.

The double explosion masked the screams of the men roasted alive.

The taxi lurched to a stop so hard Jane was thrown off the seat.

One door popped open and the driver, gun in hand, waved her out.

She saw the black sedan boiling down toward them.

Someone yanked her by the arm, pulling her out of the taxi.

People were shooting at the sedan; Jane saw its windshield shatter

and its hood go flying as the engine blew steam and the big heavy

car plowed its front end into the soft billowing bare ground. A gray

minivan pulled up beside it, unscathed except for muddy dirt spattered

along its side.

A pair of men grabbed her arms and she felt something cold and

hard pressing against her temple.

Everything went quiet. Jane was gasping for breath, her heart

thundering in her ears. But the people around her seemed to be

standing absolutely still, frozen in the harsh bluish light from the

single lamp pole.

"Outta the car!" shouted the man holding the gun to her head.

"Outta the car or I blow her fuckin' head off."

Nothing happened. No one moved.

"You understand English.'?" he yelled louder. "I said get out of

the car! Now!"

EMPIRE BUILDERS 315

Jane heard the metallic click of the pistol being cocked.

The driver's door of the sedan opened and the young woman

stepped out. Jane saw that she could hardly be out of her teens, slim,

wearing black slacks and blouse, her hair pulled back tightly. She

raised her hands to shoulder level. Jane saw from the corners of her

eyes that there were at least five men leveling guns at her.

"You in the van, too," called the man with the gun. "Out."

The four men in the van came out slowly, reluctantly.

Jane heard the high-pitched whine of the helicopter's engine

starting up. Then the man beside her said, "Scratch 'em."

"The girl too?"

"All of 'em, stupid."

"But we could have some fun with her."

The man cursed in Italian, then said, "Have your fun, then snuff

her. And make it fast!"

The blaze of gunfire made Jane jump. The four men fell like

scythed wheat. Jane smelled the acrid smoke from their guns. Her

ears rang.

The man tugged at her arm and she realized that he had put his

own gun back in his shoulder holster and was pulling her toward the

helicopter. A second gunman accompanied them, cradling a vicious-looking

assault rifle in his arms. Through the ringing in her ears she

heard the deeper roar of the chopper's engine. Stunned, stumbling,

she let the man half-drag her to the helicopter while she looked over

her shoulder at the three gunmen advancing on the lone girl.

They pushed Jane into the helicopter. Her hands were trembling

too hard to fasten the safety belt. The man did it for her while she

stared at the crumpled bodies sprawled by their cars and the smoky

pyre that still flamed out by the gate. And the three grinning men

surrounding the girl by the shot-up sedan.

The helicopter's engine roared up to full power, its big rotor

kicking up a sandstorm as the pilot yelled, "All strapped in? We're

taking off."

The young woman stood trembling beside the sedan, her eyes

flicking from one of the leering gunmen to the other. They had all

holstered their pistols as they advanced toward her.

316 BEN BOVA

"She's kind of skinny," said one of them, in English.

"Maybe we can fatten her up."

"Yeah. We'll stuff her good!" All three of them laughed. The

closest one reached out for her.

She brushed his hand away and struck with the heel of her palm

under his chin so fast that her hand was a blur. The guy's head

snapped back and he staggered, arms flailing, and fell onto his back.

The other two grabbed for her but she ducked under them, rammed

her clenched hands into the groin of one of them and rolled away.

The man's eyes rolled up in his head and his breath gushed out of

him as he collapsed to the ground.

The third was reaching for his pistol when the old man bashed

his back with the car door, then sprang out of the car and broke the

guy's neck with a single chop of the edge of his hand. By then the

young woman was sprinting for the helicopter, just starting to lift

off the ground.

The old man snaked a small slim dead-black pistol from his belt

and calmly shot the two gunmen that the girl had incapacitated. For

good measure he put a round into the skull of the man he had

already killed.

As the helicopter began to lift off the ground the young woman

leaped as high as she could, stretching her arms to their utmost, and

just managed to grab one of the landing skids.

The chopper bounced and swerved under the sudden unbalanced

weight.

"Hey, what..." The pilot grappled with his controls.

"One of them's hanging on to us!" yelled the man sitting beside

the pilot.

The man beside Jane snarled, "Fucking idiot!" and yanked his

pistol from its holster. He opened the door and leaned out into the

blast of wind from the rotor. The young woman was hanging on to

the landing skid with one hand, staring up at him, swinging as she

tried to hide beneath the helicopter's bottom.

"Bitch," muttered the gunman. He unbuckled his seat harness,

leaned out farther and fired three shots into her face point-blank. Just

EMPIRE BUILDERS 317

as Jane, suddenly filled with flaming anger that boiled over her fear,

shoved at his back with all her strength.

The girl fell silently, already dead, to the ground. The gunman

screamed as he plunged. Jane leaned back in her seat, a terrible smile

on her pale face.

THE OLD MAN stood with his pistol in his hand still smoking, his

eyes wide at the sight of his daughter sprawled and broken on the

ground. The Mafioso who had killed her lay not more than a meter

away, broken and bleeding. The helicopter dwindled into the dark

night sky, carrying Jane Scanwell with it.

The three other gunmen lay dead around him. He stepped past

their bodies and went to the minivan, where his four men lay, their

bodies riddled.

They died well, the old man thought. But my daughter died the

best of them all.

He had much to do. First, he slid back the door of the van and

climbed inside. Crouching before the electronics hardware that lined

one side of the van's interior, he flicked several switches. A display

screen lit up, a single red dot blinking off to one side of its circular

grid. The elder Japanese touched two keys and the red dot moved

to the center of the screen. Another touch, and a map appeared on

the screen.

It is well, he thought. My daughter succeeded in planting the

tracker bug on the helicopter. Now at least we will know where they

are taking the Scanwell woman.

He powered up the satellite link and made his report to his

superiors in Kyoto, knowing that he had to take care of the bodies

EMPIRE BUILDERS 319

of his team before the sun rose and anyone could see what had

happened here. Knowing that he had really failed in his mission to

protect the Scanwell woman. Knowing that as soon as the proper

services were conducted for his daughter he would take his own life

as payment for his failure.

"Kidnapped?" A bolt of almost electrical intensity raced through Clan .

Nobo's face on the phone screen seemed wretched with anguish.

"Abducted, kidnapped. They took her from Paris last night."

Clan had just finished the latest of his pirate broadcasts, breaking

in on evening entertainment shows in the western hemisphere with

his abrupt warnings about the greenhouse cliff and corruption in the

GEC. He felt tired, as if he had been struggling to reach the top of

a hill for ages yet still had a long, long way to go.

Snow was banked against the window. The wind was howling

outside, moaning down the chimney so strongly that Clan feared it

would blow out their meager fire. George was squatting by the

fireplace, feeding sticks while glancing over his shoulder at Clan.

"Kidnapped," Clan repeated. "Not killed."

"They are holding her as a hostage," said Nobo. "We received

a message from them this morning."

"We? Who do you mean?"

"Gaetano spoke to Malik about it this morning."

"Gaetano. The Italian. He's come out into the open, has he?"

"Dan--he says they're willing to release Jane."

"Malik told you that?"

"Yes. He gave me the message because he knows I can reach

yOU."

"Malik wants me to know that Jane's been kidnapped," said Clan . "Nice of him."

Nobo closed his eyes briefly, tiredly. "It has nothing to do with

your rivalry. The message Gaetano gave him was that they will

release Jane . in exchange for you."

"Oh?"

"And the data file you have from Astro."

320 BEN BOVA

Clan thought swiftly. "I suppose they've swiped the copy that

Jane had."

"Her apartment seemed undisturbed, but no trace of the file was

found when the police searched it."

"They want me, huh?"

Nobo answered tautly, "In forty-eight hours. They have set a

deadline of forty-eight hours."

"That doesn't give us much time."

"They will kill you, Clan."

"They'll kill Jane, too. She knows as much about them as I do,

now. Maybe more."

"Clan, I will throw the full weight of the House of Yamagata into

finding Jane and rescuing her."

Clan thought, Your team of bodyguards didn't do much good,

pal. What can you do for her now2

As if he could read Dan's thoughts, Nobo said, "We know

where the helicopter took her."

"You do?"

"One of our agents managed to plant a bug on it before she was

killed."

Killed, Clan said to himself. Of course. Nobo's team wouldn't let

Jane out of their protection without a fight. "How many casualties

did they take?" he asked aloud.

"Six dead."

"Damn! I'm sorry, Nobo."

"The important fact is that we know where the helicopter

landed."

"Where?"

"At a private airport just outside Lyon."

Clan leaned back in his chair. "They must have transferred her

from there."

"Yes. And we don't know where they've taken her."

Clan swept the room with his eyes: the bare wooden floor, the

sturdy beams of the ceiling, George hulking by the fireplace, the

snow piling up outside. They're holding her hostage someplace and

I'm stuck here in the ass end of Shangri-La.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 321

"I've got to get out of here," he said to Nobo.

"I have already dispatched a plane to the airport nearest you."

Clan pictured the bumpy grass strip that passed as an airport,

down in the valley below this monastic retreat house. "It'll be

covered with snow, Nobo."

For the first time, the trace of a smile played across Nobuhiko's

face. "I am aware of the climate in the Himalayas, my friend. And

the team I have sent is well acquainted with the region. Three of

them have scaled Mount Everest."

Clan grinned back at him. "I should have guessed."

"In the time until they reach you," Nobo asked, his face going

somber again, "what should I say to Malik?"

Clan shrugged. "Tell the sonofabitch that I'm on my way to

Paris."

"Paris?" Nobo seemed startled. "Is that wise?"

"No," said Clan. "But it's necessary."

Luther Clay leaned back in his creaking leather chair and wondered

why the whole world seemed to conspire to make his life miserable.

He had fought and struggled and scrapped for every little step up

the ladder of success. Now, at his age, life should be easier, much

easier. Instead, it got harder every blessed day.

Clay had been appointed to head the state's environmental

protection office only a year earlier, the culmination of a long and

dedicated career in the state bureaucracy. He had a right to expect

a long and uneventful reign as the state's top environmental man,

and then a peaceful and well-paid retirement.

Instead, he had troubles with the mayor of New Orleans and

these federal pests who insisted that the levee on Lake Pontchartrain

was no longer sufficient to meet their theoretical worst-case scenario.

And now he had an assistant who had just dropped a worse-

than-worst-case scenario on his desk.

Damn!

He peered over his glasses at Regina Cartmill, sitting nervously

on the front two inches of the chair before his desk. She was a

322 BEN BOVA

mousy type, plain brown hair and plain vanilla skin blotched here

and there with acne.

"An earthquake?" asked Clay, his voice dripping with disbelief.

Bobbing her head up and down, Ms. Cartmill said, "That's what

the report predicts. A Richter scale seven earthquake in the Gulf

sometime within the next twelve months."

Clay pushed his glasses back into place. "There hasn't been an

earthquake in these parts within the memory of living man. I don't

even think there's one on the records."

"There is. I checked. Eighteen-twelve. The New Madrid fault. It

was one of the biggest earthquakes in history."

Clay shook his head. "Eighteen-twelve? More than two hundred

years ago?"

"Maybe we're due for another one."

"My sweet lord."

Ms. Cartmill said, "But the prediction is for the quake to be out

in the Gulf, hundreds of miles from here."

"Then why the warning?"

"There might be disturbances in the water. You know, a tidal

wave."

"Tidal wave?" Clay yelped.

She nodded unhappily.

"What on earth are we supposed to do about a tidal wave7"

"According to the report, all we can do is evacuate all the

low-lying coastal areas."

"EvacuateT"

"That includes New Orleans," she said, her voice so low that

Clay could barely hear it.

He seemed to shrivel before her eyes, sinking into the chair as

if he wanted to disappear altogether.

"Mr. Clay7 Are you all right7"

"Oh, I'm fine," he said, his voice little more than a croak. "Our

budget's being cut again. Our lawsuit against the companies who've

been dumping raw sewage into the river has been thrown out of

court. There's a madman on television telling everybody that the

EMPIRE BUILDERS 323

greenhouse is going to drown us all. My wife is hysterical because

our daughter wants to marry a white boy.

"Now you've just told me that half the state might get flooded

out. That means I've got to go to the mayor of New Orleans, who

already hates the sight of me, and tell her that on some unknown

day sometime in the next twelve months she's going to have to give

the order to evacuate the city because a potential tidal wave caused

by a theoretical earthquake might possibly wipe out her city. That's

fine, just perfectly fine. That's wonderful."

Despite the dogged weariness that was draining him, Clan paced the

main room of the retreat house, half mad with impatience. He was

perspiring beneath his heavy woolen shirt and leather vest, yet he

felt chilled, as if his bones were turning to ice. The fire flickered

fitfully, throwing gleaming highlights on the polished wooden

beams of the low ceiling.

Big George banged through the door, looking like a fuzzy bear

in the long-haired coat he wore. For once, no blast of wind followed

him into the room.

"Storm's over," he announced, trying to sound cheerful. "Moon's

up. You can even see the lights of Alphonsus and Copernicus. It's

really a pretty night out there."

"Any sign of them?" Clan asked.

George shook his shaggy head. "We might be the only two

fooking people left on Earth for all the signs you can see out there.

Not even a paw print in the snow." He pulled off the coat and tossed

it onto the chest by the door. "Fooking beautiful, though, what with

the moonlight on the new snow."

"They should have been here by now," Clan said, still pacing.

"You eaten anything?"

Clan shook his head. George muttered to himself and went to

the smaller room that served as a kitchen. When they had first

arrived at the retreat house, they had been surprised to see a modern

refrigerator, a sizable freezer, electric stove and even a microwave

oven. The lama who had guided them up the steep and narrow

mountain path to the house explained with a gentle smile that

324 BEN BOVA

although the lamas themselves were forbidden to use such luxuries,

they knew that Western guests regarded them as necessities. Then

he had gone outside and started the diesel generator that powered

the house.

Clan could not help thinking, at the time, that even in this

remote site, in a house built by religious ascetics for peaceful contemplation,

they were adding their little bit to the greenhouse effect.

Later, he grumbled that the lamas had not bothered to wire the

house for electrical heating, relying only on the pitiful fireplace

which also added its jot to the greenhouse.

George made a meal from the dwindling supplies they had

brought with them and insisted that Clan sit at the table with him

and eat.

"You've got some strenuous days ahead of you, mate," George

said, almost cheerfully. "Better keep up your strength, eh?"

Clan spooned whatever it was into his mouth, his mind focused

on Jane. Where is she, what are they doing to her, is she all right,

have the bastards already killed her, how can I help her sitting here

in this godforsaken shack at the ass end of nowhere with a close of

radiation sickness eating away at me?

"Where in the seven levels of hell are they?" he shouted, slamming

his spoo.n down on the table.

George eyed him from beneath his bushy red brows. "If you'd

keep quiet for half a tick you'd be able to hear them."

Dan's breath caught in his chest. Yes, in the stillness of the night

there was a faint thrumming sound. Then he huffed and said, "It's

just the damned generator."

George shook his head. "No it's not. Listen."

It seemed as if each second stretched into eternity. But soon

enough Clan realized the young Aussie was right. It was definitely

the sound of a helicopter.

He bolted from the table, grabbed his parka and dashed out into

the snow. The sky was bright with moonlight, the snow glittered

clean and untouched except for George's own tracks around the

cabin. And up in that sky, clattering and thundering like a giant

EMPIRE BUILDERS 325

mechanical insect, Clan saw the black silhouette of a helicopter

approaching.

"Hey, you're right, Georgie! It's a beautiful night! A gorgeous

night!" He laughed and pounded the big man's back.

"YOU DON'T LOOK so well," said Vasily Malik.

"Never mind that," Clan snapped. "We have work to do and less

than twenty-four hours to do it."

They sat facing each other on the fantail of a luxury yacht under

the warm Mediterranean sun, beneath the shade of a molecularly

thin plastic awning, reflective white on top and UV-absorbent blue-green

underneath. Barely an hour had passed since the Yamagata

supersonic jet transport had landed Clan and George at San Remo,

on the Italian riviera. From the deck of the yacht the magnificent old

hotel and casino stood white and colonnaded against the hills that

glittered with row upon row of hothouses where Europe's finest

flowers were cultivated.

Malik had suggested a meeting place outside Paris, claiming he

was afraid that Gaetano had him under surveillance. Clan did not

entirely believe the Russian, but Nobuhiko suggested the yacht at

San Remo. It belonged to Yamagata Industries; it was safe and

unbugged.

Now Nobo sat between Malik and Clan; Big George was up on

the bridge with the skipper, hugely enjoying the first time he had

been on the water in more than ten years, even though the yacht

lay at anchor.

"I have a medical team on its way," said Nobo.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 327

"We're here to get Jane back," Clan said. "Everything else can

wait."

Malik inclined his head slightly, as if conceding the point. But

he said, "May I remind you that, technically, you are under arrest?

You are in no position to make demands."

Nobo's eyes shifted from the Russian to Clan, who put on a grim

smile and replied, "May I remind you, in the real world, that Jane's

being held hostage by a bunch of bastards who say they'll let her

go only when they get their hands on me. I'm a valuable property,

pal."

"That is the only thing that is keeping you out of jail, at the

moment," said Malik.

Dan's nostrils flared. "And the only thing that's keeping me

from throwing you the hell over the side and into the drink is that

I double-damn need you and the capabilities of the GEC to find

where they're holding Jane and rescue her."

"You have no intention of trading yourself for her?" Malik

asked. He was almost smirking. "What a surprise. I thought that at

last you would show some shred of altruism, some particle of

self-sacrifice."

The air between the two men seemed to crackle like the filaments

in a spark tube.

"Listen, Vasily," Clan said, hunching toward the Russian until

their noses were barely an inch apart, "I'll do what has to be done,

but I have no intention of going in like a lamb to the slaughter.

They're not going to let Jane go no matter what I do and we both know that."

"I do not know that," said Malik.

Clan leaned back in his canvas chair. He looked into Malik's ice

blue eyes. "Just how much do you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you working for them? Are you part of this double-

damned Mafia operation?"

"Certainly not!"

"Then prove it." Clan jabbed a finger at the Russian. "Cut all this

bullshit and give us the help we need to find her."

328 BEN BOVA

Malik stared back at Clan intently. Finally he made a small smile

and waved one hand in the air. "Very well. I propose a truce

between us, until Jane is safe once again."

"A truce," Clan echoed.

"I will forget that you are a wanted fugitive," said Malik. "Until

Jane is safe."

A small grin returned to Dan's face. "And I'll forget that I'd

rather feed you to the fishes."

"That seems like an excellent arrangement to me," said Nobo.

"Okay." Clan put out his hand. Malik hesitated for just a mo

ment, then took it. Clan was surprised by the strength of his grip.

If I find out he really is working with Gaetano and the rest of

those thugs, I'll kill him, Clan said to himself.

At the same time Malik thought, Perhaps the hoodlums will kill

him and save me the trouble afterward.

"Shall we go to work now?" Nobo asked.

ii ,,

"By all means."

Nobo picked up the portable phone beside his chair and said,

Please bring up the map."

A moment later, Tamara Duchamps emerged from below deck,

wearing a flowered bikini beneath a filmy beach coat. She carried a

:i

square electronic display map in both hands.

Clan saw Malik eying her and it made him angry the way a

Z'"

father would simmer at a man's lecherous ogling of his daughter.

Then he noticed how Nobo looked at her. And how she looked back

at him. He's really fallen for her, Clan saw. He's in orbit. And she

doesn't mind it a bit.

Tamara put the flat display map on the low table before the men

and managed to touch Nobo's hand before she stepped back behind

his chair. He reached up and nuzzled her hand. She beamed a smile

at him.

Clan grinned widely. Looks like Sai's going to get the grandson

he wanted.

.,

Then Nobuhiko became businesslike again. Pointing to the map,

he said, "The security team that I had watching over Jane was under

EMPIRE BUILDERS 329

orders not to risk her life. That is why they allowed the kidnappers

to take her."

Malik muttered, "That is their excuse for failing to stop the

kidnappers."

Nobo glanced at Clan, who let his disgust with Malik show on

his face.

"Sir," he said to the Russian, "five men and one woman let

themselves be killed rather than risk Jane's life. The leader of the

team killed himself after making his report to me."

Malik said nothing.

"Before she died," Nobo went on, "the woman managed to

plant a homing device on the helicopter that carried Jane away from

Paris. The helicopter landed here, near Lyon." He tapped the map.

"And then you lost track of her," said Malik.

Before Nobo could reply Clan said, "But you can help us pick up

the trail, Vasil¥."

"I? How?"

"The surveillance satellites. The World Meteorological Center

keeps the satellite tapes on file, don't they?"

"I suppose they do, but--"

"Jane's abduction happened less than forty-eight hours ago.

They took her to this private airport and we assume that they

transferred her to another plane and flew her somewhere else. We

can scan the satellite tapes to see the planes that left that airport

during the critical time period and track them to their destinations."

Malik rubbed his chin. "Yes, I suppose that is possible. If the

tapes have sufficient resolution."

"If they don't, there're the military systems in the Peacekeepers'

satellites. They can read the flyspecks on a postage stamp."

"Then we should go to the Peacekeepers first," said Malik.

"Okay. Good," Clan said. "Two things, though. It's got to be

done fast. No hang-ups from the usual red tape. And it's got to be

done in absolute secrecy. If they know we're tracking them they'll

move Jane again."

Malik nodded. "I can get the commander of the Peacekeepers to

330

BEN BOVA

help us. He is a Swede; I know him well. And I doubt that even the

Mafia has infiltrated the International Peacekeeping Force."

"Assume nothing," Clan warned. "If you and the IPF commander

can work this out with nobody else in the loop, that would be best." "I understand."

"What do we do in the meantimeT' Nobo asked. "The forty-eight

hours are almost up."

"I will contact Gaetano and tell him that you are on your way

to me," said Malik. "I will ask him for instructions on how and where

to deliver you in exchange for Jane."

"Good enough," said Clan, adding silently, I hope. He turned to

Nobuhiko. "We won't be able to use Peacekeepers' troops, Nobo.

They're forbidden from anything that doesn't involve aggression

between national groups."

"I know," said Nobo. "Yamagata will supply you with all the

muscle you need. It would be difficult for me to stop my people

from trying to avenge their friends' deaths."

It was night. A cool breeze swept across the water, pushing low

clouds past the smiling moon. Clan saw the twinkling lights of San

Remo as the anchored yacht bobbed on the swells. People there are

going to dinner and gambling at the casino and living their lives just

as if there's no greenhouse cliff, no disaster staring them in the face.

Everything we've done so far hasn't put a dent in their awareness.

Maybe nothing will until it's too late.

The breeze gusted and he shivered.

"You should get medical attention," said Tamara softly in the

shadows.

Clan turned and saw that she had wrapped a windbreaker around

herself, though her long lithe legs were still bare. She held another

jacket out to Clan. He was still in the woolen shirt and chinos he had

been wearing since the helicopter picked him and Big George out

of the snow of the Himalayas. In the heat of the Mediterranean

afternoon he had felt comfortable. Now he was chilled.

"Thanks," he said, pulling on the nylon jacket.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 331

"We just got word from the Yamagata spaceport at Alphonsus.

Kate Williams left yesterday."

"Yesterday? Where's she heading?"

"The space station Nueva Venezuela."

"And from there?"

She shrugged.

Clan thought a moment. "Wherever she's going, it's probably

where Gaetano is. Which is probably where Jane is, too."

"Very likely," said Tamara.

"I'd better tell Nobo. Maybe he can track her."

"I've already told him. Yamagata personnel aboard the lunar

shuttle will follow her."

"Good." He looked into her almond eyes. "You and Nobo have

hit it off very well."

Even in the darkness he could see her dazzling smile. "He says

he loves me."

"And you7"

"I think I love him."

"ThinkT'

"Everything has happened very quickly. I want to give this time,

to see if this is really love or not."

"He's a fine young man," said Clan.

"He thinks the world of you."

Clan grinned. "You see? A man of rare perceptions and fine

discriminations."

But she did not laugh. "You really must see a doctor. George

told me that you received a severe radiation close."

"Mild," Clan said. "Not severe. I've had worse and I got over

them."

"But you are much older now than you were in those days."

Dan's grin turned bitter. "Ah, the innocent cruelty of youth."

"Oh! I did not mean to hurt you, Clan .... "

With a sigh that was only partially a put-on, Clan said, "How

keener than a serpent's tooth is a reminder of a man's age from a

beautiful young lady."

Before she could reply, Big George stuck his head up from the

332 BEN BOVA

main hatch. "Hey, Clan. Malik's got the tracking data from the

Peacekeepers."

"Come on," Clan said to Tamara as he headed for the hatch.

Down in the yacht's main salon, Nobo and Malik sat side by

side on a leather couch, poring over the electronic map board. Clan

tugged at an armchair; when it barely moved, George picked it up

and deposited it at one end of the couch.

"According to the satellite data," Nobo said, "there were five

departures from the airport where the helicopter landed."

"Five?" Clan asked. "Over what time period?"

Malik.

"Within twelve hours of the time the helicopter landed," said

Clan nodded. It was reasonable to assume that they wouldn't

keep Jane at the airport for more than a few hours. They'd want to

move her to a safer, better-protected location.

Nobo was working the control dials of the map. It showed five

red lines radiating from the airport. The map expanded, as though

their point of view were rising like a rocket. Two of the red lines

went to Orly airport outside Paris, a third to Milan, the fourth and

fifth to Oran, on the coast of Algeria.

"Would they take her back to Paris?" Nobo wondered.

"If they have it will be extremely difficult to find her," said

Malik.

"Or Milan, too," Clan said. "Big cities are easy to hide in and

tough to find anybody who's being hidden."

"Oran is not that much smaller than Milan," Nobo pointed out.

"It must be Milan," Malik said. "It's in Italy. That's where

Gaetano would take her."

Clan asked, "Did those two planes for Oran leave at the same

time?"

Nobo checked the data on the map display. "Within five minutes

of one another."

"That's where she's gone," Clan said eagerly. "I'd bet on it! Two

planes full of hoods."

Malik was shaking his head. "I doubt it."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 333

Tamara, standing behind the couch, touched Nobo's shoulder.

He twisted in his seat to look up at her.

"You can have Kate Williams followed. She will most likely lead

you to Mrs. Scanwell."

"Yes, that has already been arranged."

"Where'd those planes go after they landed in Oran?" Clan

asked, still poring over the map.

Nobo tapped the map's control keys. "One remained in Oran

for two hours, then returned to Marseille. The other stayed in Oran

for forty-five minutes and flew to-" A new red line appeared on

the map. "--to Cagliari, on Sardinia."

"SardiniaT" Malik looked shocked.

"Holy shit." Clan groaned. "They must have a stronghold there

that's fight out of the Middle Ages."

***It's a castle, Jane said to herself. An honest to goodness castle, just

like in a fairy tale.

She stood on the roof, by the crenellated parapet, and gazed

down into the green valley below. The Sardinian sun was blazing

hot out of a brilliant blue sky, but the breeze was cool. In the

shadows it was chilly, and inside the castle's thick walls Jane had felt

positively cold. On the long climb up to the roof, along the dark,

steeply winding stone stairway, she had seen her breath steaming

in the air.

They had brought her here the previous night. Her captors had

treated her with deference. If they realized that she had pushed the

gunman from the helicopter they gave no indication of it. They had

delivered her to a plane, flown to another airport, changed planes,

and finally brought her here. All with the exaggerated formality of

handling a very high-ranking prisoner of war. No threats, no cruelty,

but no warmth or kindness either.

This must be the way the British treated Napoleon after Waterloo.

He was from Corsica, though, not Sardinia. And they took him

to Saint Helena, little more than a barren rock out in the middle of

the Atlantic.

The Sardinian countryside was harsh but not barren. The castle

334 BEN BOVA

sat perched atop a steep cliff of bare rock, thrust like a fist through

the forest below. Down in the valley Jane could see a tiny village

and some cultivated fields. Vineyards, she thought, and wondered

how the local wine tasted.

Her quarters in the castle were reasonably comfortable, though

too small and confined to be royal. The door was thick and bolted

from the outside. Her windows were narrow and barred. Peering

over the edge of the parapet, Jane tried to locate her room. If those

are my windows, she thought, there's a sheer drop down the wall

and the cliff. Even if I could get past the bars on the window there's

nothing but a straight drop of a couple hundred feet.

She sighed. At least I've got my own bathroom. The kidnappers

had been very thorough. When they solemnly escorted her to her

room they assured her that a complete wardrobe had been assembled

for her, everything in the correct size. Jane had seen that they

told the truth, and wondered how they got her bra size. Now she

stood in the morning sunlight, wearing the same turtleneck and skirt

she had when they had captured her. It was her only sign of

defiance, that she refused to put on the clothes that they had

provided.

Otherwise there was no fight left in her, not even any fear. She

was here and there was nothing she could do about it. If Clan or

anyone else on Earth cared about her abduction and was trying to

do something about it, she had not the slightest inkling. She had

been kidnapped. She had witnessed the cold-blooded murder of five

people. She herself had killed a man, deliberately pushed him to his

death. It was if all the emotion, all the adrenaline in her had been

used up. Now she felt numb, almost dazed, totally unable to do or

even think of anything that could help her escape from this.

"Are you enjoying the scenery?"

She turned and saw Gaetano ducking through the low doorway

of the winding staircase. As he started toward her he pulled a pair

of sunglasses from the breast pocket of his jacket and put them on

like donning a mask.

"You should not stay out in the sun more than a few minutes,"

Gaetano said. "The ozone, you know."

EMPIRE BUILDERS

335

"You're concerned about my health?"

"Of course."

"How touching."

Gaetano smiled at her and took his cigarette case from his inside

pocket. Automatically he offered a cigarette to Jane, who refused it

with a shake of her head.

After he lit up, Gaetano said, "I'm sorry it had to come to this,

Jane. But believe me, we have no desire to harm you."

"And those Japanese people who were trying to protect me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Soldiers killed in a skirmish. It

happens."

"It was murder and you know it."

"So? Salvatore tells me that you might have helped Carlo out of

the helicopter."

"He was murdering a helpless girl."

"And you murdered him?"

Jane glared at him.

Gaetano puffed on his cigarette, smiling. "Come on, Jane, there's

no sense arguing over spilt milk. Or blood. I have good news for

you: Clan Randolph will be coming here for you."

"Clan?" She tried to control her sudden surge of emotion; almost

succeeded.

"Once he's here we can let you go."

"What do you mean? What are you going to do to Clan?"

"We just want to keep him quiet, that's all. He's been a pain in

the ass for a long time. Now we can hold him here and get on with

our plans."

Jane swiftly pieced it together. They want to get Clan out of

their way. So they take me, knowing that Clan will come after me.

I'm the bait, nothing but bait.

"Once Randolph has come to us we can let you go back to

Paris," Gaetano said. Then his smile clicked off. "But you will say

nothing about us, or about this, eh episode. Nothing to anyone,

understand? Otl',erwise Randolph will die."

"You use me to get to Clan, and then you use him to keep me

quiet."

336

BEN BOVA

Gaetano nodded. "As long as you remain quiet, Randolph will

remain alive." He spread his arms wide, the smile reappearing. "And

it's not so bad living here, is it? Princes and kings fought to take this

castle, centuries ago. We'll let Randolph live like a king!"

The memory of Napoleon flashed again through Jane's mind.

Once the British had him safely tucked away in exile on Saint

Helena, they slowly poisoned him to death.

BENEATH MORE THAN two and a half miles of water and another

mile of bottom sediment and ooze rests the bedrock of the

basins that make up the Gulf of Mexico and the adjoining Caribbean

Sea.

The fault line that marks the border between the Caribbean

tectonic plate and the North American runs roughly from Cuba to

Mexico's Yucatin peninsula, buried so deeply that most geologists

were uncertain whether the Caribbean basin is truly a part of the

North American tectonic plate or a small plate of its own.

Their uncertainty ended abruptly. After centuries of inactivity

the fault line slipped slightly, a minor readjustment in geological

forces, a tiny shudder of the Earth's rocky crust. Seismographic

stations as far away as St. Louis recorded an earthquake that registered

7.2 on the Richter scale.

"Thank god the epicenter was far out at sea," said the public

relations woman for the Mexico City seismographic center. "An

earthquake of that severity would have caused incredible damage

had it been located anywhere near a populated area."

Jane had arrived at the castle late the previous night and had been

taken directly to her locked and guarded room. One of the guards

had brought her a supper tray.

338 BEN BOVA

This evening, however, she ate in the castle's dining hall with

Gaetano and a very young red-haired woman who was introduced

to her as Kimberly Williams.

"My fiancee," Gaetano said, with a smile that bordered on

smirking.

Jane had reluctantly changed into a simple jacketed frock that

she had found in the closet waiting for her. Kimberly wore a

clinging metallic blue sheath that might have looked sexy if she had

more meat on her bones. Jane thought the kid was pretty in an

immature, freckled way. But there was something nearly haunted

about her face. Her eyes glittered, almost like a feral animal's. She

talked too loudly, too fast, and laughed far too easily.

It was a tedious dinner in the dusty, shadowy old hall. Jane had

little to say, Kimberly had too much to say and Gaetano obviously

enjoyed having the two women on either side of him as he sat at

the head of the long heavy wooden table.

"I will be away on business tonight," he announced, as an ice

cream dessert was being served by a silent, heavyset woman in a

black maid's uniform.

"Tonight?" Kimberly fairly shouted. "Why tonight? Can't you

go tomorrow?"

"I should be back tomorrow around midmorning," said Gaetano.

Then he turned toward Jane and added, "With Clan Randolph."

Jane gripped her spoon hard enough to bend it. But she said

nothing.

"Why do you have to leave tonight?" Kimberly pouted. "Why

do I have to be all alone tonight?"

"Important business," said Gaetano. "Don't worry, little one. I'll

bring you a present."

The kid literally bounced up and down in her chair. "A present2

What2 What is it? Tell me!"

"Someone you would like to see, I think. Someone who wants

very much to see you."

"Kate?" Kimberly's excitement died immediately. She looked

across the table at Jane and explained glumly, "My sister. My older sister."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 339

Jane said nothing. But she remembered that Kate Williams was

the leader of the GEC team that had taken over Dan's office at

Alphonsus. Now that she knew the relationship she could see a

family resemblance in Kimberly. She turned back to Gaetano, who

had the self-satisfied smile of a snake on him.

He'll be bringing Clan here. And despite all his oily assurances,

Jane was certain that Gaetano fully intended to murder Clan. And

herself.

"Are you certain that this thing's going to work?" Clan asked,

staring at the tiny flesh-colored plug he held in his palm.

"It performed almost perfectly in the lab tests," said Nobuhiko.

Clan looked up at Nobo, then across the cabin to Malik, who

was already worming a similar plug into his left ear. The only sound

in the cabin was the gentle lapping of waves against the yacht's hull.

"It is practically invisible once it's in your ear," Nobo went on,

encouragingly. "And since it's made entirely of protein it won't

show up on any kind of metal detector. They can strip-search you

and they still won't find it."

"Electronic chips made of protein," Malik murmured. "Remarkable."

"And very new," said Nobo. "So new that your Mafia kidnappers

have probably never heard of them."

"You said it worked almost perfectly," Clan countered. "What's

the 'almost'?"

Nobo smiled. "Apparently it can cause a slight ringing in the ear

when it's activated. And perhaps a slight loss of balance. The radio

frequency may interfere with the middle ear's balance mechanism.

It's only temporary, of course."

Clan frowned at him.

"Come on, Randolph," said Malik, "it's too late to chicken out

now."

"Famous last words," Clan muttered. But he screwed the biochip

radio transceiver into his ear. It felt huge, bulging.

"To be on the safe side," Nobo explained for the twelfth time,

340 BEN BOVA

"don't activate it until you are actually at the place where you want

the assault squad to hit."

Nodding, Clan said, "I know. I know." The biochip plug felt like

a watermelon jammed into his ear. He could barely hear anything

through it.

Their plan was simple. Malik had already contacted Gaetano

with the news that Randolph was ready to give himself up in

exchange for Jane's safety. Malik would bring Clan to Gaetano,

leave him and return with Jane. Both men would be wearing the

protein-chip transceivers so that an aerial assault team of Yamagata

special forces could locate them and swoop in--but not until they

had definitely seen Jane and knew exactly where she was.

As a backup, a smaller team of Yamagata personnel was trailing

Kate Williams, who had transshipped from the Nueva Venezuela

space station to a shuttle for Milan. That worried Clan. One of the

planes that might have been carrying Jane had landed in Milan. He

was certain that Gaetano had taken Jane to Sardinia, but Milan was

bothersome.

Malik sighed as they clambered down the ladder to the power

launch that would take them to the floatplane waiting for them.

"This is going to be very risky," said the Russian.

"You can stay here," Clan said. "You don't have to put your neck

on the line."

Malik shook his head with the stubbornness of a man who had

struggled to make up his mind and, once it was made up, had no

intention of changing it.

'"We have no way of knowing that they will take you to the

same place that they are holding Jane," he reminded Clan. "I can

demand to see her and bring her out with me. You are in no such

position."

Clan knew that the Russian was right. Gaetano's people aren't

fools. If anybody connected with this situation's been a fool, it's

been me. Breaking in on the commsat broadcasts the way I did

forced their hand. I shook them up, all right. And Jane's in danger

because of it. Because of me.

Yet he found himself grinning at Malik as the powerboat headed

EMPIRE BUILDERS 341

for the sleek, twin-engine plane. "Who would have thought that the

two of us would ever be working together, Vasily?" he shouted over

the roar of the boat's motor.

Malik made a pale smile as he squinted against the spray. He

mumbled something that Clan could not hear through the transceiver

plug in his ear.

"What?" Clan shouted, instantly hating the fact that he sounded

like a deaf old man.

"Certainly not I," Malik yelled back.

Once they had climbed into the plane and strapped themselves

into their seats, Dan's smile faded. Maybe we're not really working

together, he thought. Maybe he's on Gaetano's side after all and he's

just bringing me to the slaughter. And Jane, too.

Big George leaned his heavy forearms on the yacht's rail and

watched the sleek twin-engine fioatplane lift off from the calm

Mediterranean water. Nobuhiko and Tamara stood beside him.

As the plane dwindled into the cloud-flecked sky, Nobo turned

to Tamara and said, "I have much to do." He started toward the

hatch to the main salon.

George grabbed him by the arm, turning him around.

"I'm going with your rescue team," George said.

Nobuhiko's eyes flashed wide for an instant. Then he smiled and

said, "I'm sorry, that will be impossible."

"I'm going," George said, still holding Nobo's arm.

"Perhaps you don't understand. The team is composed of

paramilitary specialists. They are all highly skilled, highly trained."

"Dan's my friend and he's going to need all the fooking help he

can get."

"This will be an extremely difficult and dangerous operation,"

Nobo said.

"If it was a fooking piece of cake I wouldn't bother with it,"

George said, his temper rising.

Tamara stepped between them. "Let him go with your team,"

she said gently to Nobo. "He is concerned for Clan."

"But the team--"

342 BEN BOVA

"Let him go with them," Tamara urged.

"Have you ever jumped in a parachute before?" Nobo asked

George.

The big Aussie scratched at his half-grown beard. "When I was

a kid, back home in Queensland."

"How many jumps?"

"Oh," George waved a ham-sized hand, "dozens of times."

Nobo knew he was lying. "Can you speak Japanese?" "Wakarimashita," George said. I understand. Then he added,

"You can't work on the fooking Moon without learning some

Japanese. I can understand it if you motto yukkuri hanashite kudasai."

"The soldiers may not have the time to speak slowly to you,"

Nobo said.

"Look," George said, looming over Nobo and Tamara like a

glowering thunderhead, "I'm not going to sit here and bite my nails

while Dan's got his neck on the chopping block. I may not be a

fooking ninja but I can fight."

Nobo glared back at the giant.

Tamara suggested, "What about the other team, the one that is

following Kate Williams?"

Nobo said grudgingly, "I could ask the team leader to take you

with them."

George grinned like a kid in a candy shop. "Thanks! You won't

regret it." He rushed to the hatch and ducked down belowdecks.

Nobo shook his head. "This is a mistake. George will be a drag

on them. He'll make matters worse, not better."

Tamara slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head

against his shoulder. "You did the right thing. He wants to help

Clan ." Silently she added, And he might have broken every bone in

your body if you refused to allow him to go.

THE UNDERWATER EARTHQUAKE lasted only seventy-two

seconds. Some of its impact on the sea above was absorbed by the

soft mud of the seabed sediments. Still, a tremendous jolt of energy

was imparted to the water.

Monitoring satellite sensors detected a deep swell in the Gulf of

Mexico, a spreading ring of waves like the ripples caused by dropping

a pebble in a pond. But these waves contained megatons of

energy. They were not high, so far away from land where the water

was more than two miles deep. But they were spreading in all

directions, racing across the face of the Gulf, and steepening as they

ran toward the shallower waters of the coast.

The satellite automatically sent its data to the ground stations

beneath its flight track. None of the automated equipment was

programmed to recognize a tsunami. There had never been a tidal

wave in the Gulf of Mexico within the history of the satellite

monitoring system. No alarm bells rang. No human observer

shouted out a warning. The data were entered in the monitoring

system's computer files, where they would be analyzed someday.

While the tsunami silently, relentlessly surged toward shore.

Don Marcello Arcangelico found himself on the horns of a delicate

dilemma.

344 BEN BOVA

On the one hand, it was his policy never to allow himself to be

physically connected with a crime of any sort. Other people committed

the acts that he deemed necessary while he sat safely in his

home, surrounded by witnesses. He had never been charged by the

police with so much as a misdemeanor.

On the other hand, he felt that he had to see this man Randolph

with his own eyes. Gaetano was ambitious enough to cut his own

deal with the big shots in the GEC. Randolph had to be silenced and

the Scanwell woman neutralized. And Gaetano kept firmly in hand.

Don Marcello could not rest easily on any of those counts until he

saw Randolph with his own eyes. Trust did not come easily, not

when the whole world was at stake. This was no time for a slipup,

no time to let Gaetano think that the old man was getting careless.

So he commanded Gaetano to bring Randolph to his home in

Reggio. There was little risk that Randolph would ever identify him

as being involved in Scanwell's abduction. Randolph would be dead

within hours.

i.

About an hour after the floatplane took off Clan whispered to Malik,

"We're not heading for Sardinia."

"Are you certain?"

Pointing at the placid sea and puffy cumulus clouds outside their

circular window, Clan said, "The sun rises in the east and it's ahead

of us on our left. Sardinia is a little west of south from where the

yacht was anchored. If we were heading that way the sun would be

ii

almost behind us."

'

Malik unbuckled his safety strap and made his way forward to

the flight deck, hunched over because of the plane's low ceiling. He

spoke briefly with the two pilots and then returned to his seat.

"Well?"

"They told me to mind my own business."

Clan shook his head. "It's not Sardinia."

"What can we do?"

"Get some sleep," said Clan, cranking his chair back. He closed

his eyes, but he was far too restless to sleep. He felt a sullen fatigue

sapping at his strength. Maybe I really have radiation sickness, Clan

EMPIRE BUILDERS 345

thought. I feel like a squeezed-out dishrag. And that damned earplug

hurts.

He knew there was a plane full of Yamagata paramilitary following

them at an extreme distance, guided by mini-satellites that Nobo

had launched specifically to monitor the region. But what good is

all this if they don't take either one of us to where Jane is7

Gaetano had left the castle immediately after dinner. Up in her

room, Jane heard a car crunching on the gravel driveway that circled

the castle's inner courtyard. Going to the window, she saw a flash

of headlights against the main gate, and then the car was heading

down the switchbacks of the road cut into the cliff's face.

Someone knocked at her door.

From the barred window Jane called out, "Who is it7"

"Me," came a muffled voice. "Kim."

She let out a pent-up breath, suddenly aware that she was alone

in a castle full of armed men, except for Kimberly.

"Come in," she called.

The bolt slid back and the door creaked open. Jane caught a

glimpse of the young man guarding the door, his dark face solemn

as Kimberly stepped into the room. She was still in the glittering

blue sheath she had worn at dinner.

"Wow! They gave you the biggest bedroom in the place."

"I suppose they did," said Jane.

"But no TV."

Jane had not noticed until Kimberly mentioned it. "I think Rafe

would rather I didn't see any of the news broadcasts," she said flatly.

"There's nothing much on anyway," said Kim, moving slowly

through the room, touching the sturdy old bureau, the faded mirror

atop it, the massive hand-tooled armoire, the dusty tasseled spread

across the canopied bed.

"You're lonely," Jane said.

"Kind of."

"Are you really Rafes fiancee? Has he proposed marriage to

you?"

346

BEN BOVA

Kimberly laughed brittlely. "Marriage? Not for me! I'm never

going to marry Rare or any other man."

"Then... ?"

"Oh, he was kind of fun for a while. But I get the feeling he's

just using me to make my sister sore."

"He's not a decent man."

Kimberly shrugged. "Who is'?."

Jane went to the couch, sat down and patted the cushion beside

her. "Come here and tell me about yourself. And your sister."

Luther Clay took his family to Biloxi for the weekend. As head of

Louisiana's environmental protection agency, Clay had phoned his

opposite number in Mississippi to make certain that the beach at

Biloxi was reasonably clean of oil and the Gulf water was all right

for swimming.

His daughter had whined and complained all through the long,

sweltering Friday-night drive. She wanted to be with her boyfriend,

not stuck with her medieval parents. But as soon as they hit the

beach early Saturday morning she found that there were plenty of

guys there who were quickly attracted to her. Clay fretted about the

amount of skin she was exposing in her bikini. Even black skin was

no protection these days. But his wife told him that it was better

than her spending the weekend with that white trash she thought

she was in love with.

It was a hazy, cloudy day. The sun seemed pale and too weak

to harm anyone despite the warnings about skin cancer. The tide

seemed to be out farther than Clay had ever seen it before. Tides

around the Gulf were never that big to begin with, but this morning

it seemed as if the water had just picked up and walked away. Wet

gray sand stretched out for what looked like a mile or more.

Clay stood staring at the uncovered beach, the tiniest hint of a

worrisome thought nagging at the back of his mind. He saw his

daughter laughing and horsing around with a bunch of boys, some

of them white.

Then he noticed something really odd. Far out on the horizon

the sea seemed to rise up. Like a wall of water, just lifting up, its top

EMPIRE BUILDERS 347

edge as straight as the horizon itself. Clay thought his eyes were

playing tricks on him.

He had never seen a tidal wave before.

"So you are Clan Randolph," said Don Marcello.

Clan looked down at the corpulent old man in the wheelchair.

There was a smell of corruption about him, a stink of fear in the way

the other men in the room walked on tiptoe and spoke in whispers.

Even Gaetano seemed subdued in this darkened, dusty, closed-in

chamber with its heavy ancient furniture and its lone feeble lamp

casting more shadow than light. It was high noon outside, but in this

room there was no sunlight, no time. Like a gambling casino,

thought Clan.

He and Malik had indeed been strip-searched and walked

through an X-ray metal detector identical to the type used at airports.

Now they stood in the gloomy study of Don Marcello's

dreary house, under the scrutiny of the balding old man and a

roomful of guards.

"You know who I am," Clan said, standing before the wheelchair.

"Who are you?"

Don Marcello waggled a fat beringed finger. "That is not important,''

he said in heavily accented English. Clan noticed that his rings

dug deeply into the flesh of his fingers; the old man had been

wearing them for many years.

"We were supposed to see Mrs. Scanwell," said Malik, standing

beside Clan. "Where is she?"

"You will see her," Don Marcello replied. "Mr. Randolph will

not."

A bolt of fear sizzled through Clan. I should have known better.

They're too smart to take me to the same place they've taken her.

"Then it's no deal," he said sharply. "If I don't see her with my

own eyes, the deal is off."

Don Marcello's mouth dropped open for a moment, then he

threw his head back and laughed, laughed so hard his eyes squeezed

shut and tears ran down his baggy cheeks, laughed until he began

coughing and sputtering. One of the silent men standing in the

348 BEN BOVA

shadows behind the wheelchair came up and handed him an inhala

tor. Hacking and coughing, the old man stuck the nozzle in his

mouth and pressed the plastic plunger.

Maybe he'll choke to death, Clan thought.

"They didn't tell me you are a comedian," said Don Marcello,

once he got his breath under control again.

"The deal was that I see Mrs. Scanwell and make certain that

she's safely on her way back to Paris," Clan insisted.

"You're in no position to make any demands," Don Marcello

replied. Pointing to Malik, "This one will see the woman and take

1[

her back to Paris. You stay here."

"No," said Malik.

"WhatT" It seemed to be a word that Don Marcello did not

often hear.

'q/Ve have honored our commitment. You must honor yours.

Randolph is entitled to see Mrs. Scanwell. You pledged that he

would. You must honor that pledge."

"Honor? You talk to me about honor?"

,h

Malik leaned down slightly to put his face closer to the old

man's. "You cannot keep the woman silent if she fears that Randolph

has been murdered. Unless she sees him, she will not cooperate with

you."

',

Don Marcello glared up at him.

b

Malik turned to Gaetano. "You know Jane, Rafaelo..Am I speak-

i,!

ing the truth about her7"

"Yes," said Gaetano reluctantly. "She is in love with Randolph.

If she thinks we've killed him--well, we'll have to kill her too."

"So?"

"And you will have to kill me also," Malik said. "I will not stand

idly by if you murder Jane Scanwell."

Dan's eyes flicked from one of them to the other as he thought,

Malik doesn't mind them knocking me off, but he's sticking his neck

out for Jane.

"How will the world react to the death of two members of the

Global Economic Council7" Malik asked. "One of them its new

chairman."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 349 Gaetano shifted uneasily on his feet. Don Marcello stared at

Malik, one hand stroking his chins.

"There are limits to what you can get away with," Malik went

on. "Murdering two GEC representatives will bring down the full

power of the international community upon your heads. And you

know it."

Clan was silently urging, Don't tell him we're being tracked, for

Chrissakes! Don't blow it!

Don Marcello finally replied, "You will cooperate with us if we

satisfy the woman?"

With a glance at Clan, Malik allowed a tiny smile to creep across

his lips. "Naturally. What do I care if you kill this American? He's

been nothing but a thorn in my flesh for years. But Jane Scanwell

is another matter. Let her see Randolph. Then I will take her back

to Paris. What happens to this Yankee afterward is of no concern

to me."

He sounds as if he means it, Clan thought. Aloud, he said, "Jane

won't go along with you if she realizes I'm dead."

"She will not realize it," Gaetano said. "We will make a few

tapes of your voice and then use a synthesizer to send her telephone

messages every few weeks."

"You'll need my cooperation to make those tapes."

Gaetano snickered. "You'll cooperate. First you will scream a lot,

but soon enough you'll do whatever we tell you to."

THE WALL OF water that drowned Biloxi hit the inlet to Lake

'

Pontchartrain less than half an hour later. It surged through the inlet,

i

steepening and speeding up in its narrow confines, smashing every

"

thing in its path--boats, wharves, locks, bridges--and surged into

i:'

the broad lake like an invading army searching for plunder.

The concrete bridge carrying Interstate Highway I0 was inun

dated, cars, trucks, buses swept away into the churning muddy

waters. The central span of the bridge collapsed, never designed to

stand up to latitudinal stresses of such force.

Within minutes the expanding wave surged over the north-

i'

south causeway that spanned the lake and smashed against the

concrete levee that protected the city of New Orleans and its

:,

suburban communities.

Whole sections of the levee were gouged away; rotting con

crete and rusting steel reinforcements that should have been re

placed years earlier simply tore loose under the tidal wave's

enormous pressure. Millions of tons of water poured through. The

city's pumping stations were overwhelmed before they could even

start up. A frothing smashing wave of dirty gray water rushed

through the streets, knocking down poles and highway bridges,

collapsing buildings, tossing automobiles and diesel trucks and city

buses like flotsam. Over the unstoppable roar of the water came the

EMPIRE BUILDERS 351 screams of a million people and more as they were drowned or

crushed by the raging water.

Downhill toward the river the water raced, carrying half the city

with it. Electrical wires snapped and fizzed, sewer lines literally

exploded with overpressure. Basin Street, Rampart Street, Bourbon

Street disappeared beneath the raging floodwaters. At Duncan Plaza

the water smashed through the doors and windows of the City Hall

and other government buildings in an unstoppable torrent, tearing

away desks, file cabinets, bookcases, people. The mayor found herself

stranded on the roof of the City Hall, clinging to a useless radio

antenna.

She sobbed hysterically as she looked out on what had been a

city. There was nothing to see except the ghosts of buildings

sticking out of the surging filthy water. The water itself was thick

with debris and the floating bodies of the dead.

The same twin-engine fioatplane took Clan, Malik and Gaetano

westward through the late afternoon toward Sardinia. They were

totally unaware of the disaster that had struck the Gulf shore and

New Orleans.

Clan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. That old man

is the boss of these hoodlums, whoever he is. Then Clan grinned

sardonically. They were bargaining over my life, Malik and the old

man. Deciding when they would kill me. Not if. When.

He wondered where the Yamagata plane was. They can't have

stayed aloft all this time. They must have had to put down somewhere

and refuel. Have they picked us up again? Inadvertently he

reached toward his ear, where the biochip transceiver was lodged,

but pulled his hand away when he remembered that Gaetano was

sitting behind him. They haven't detected it so far, he thought. But

if I activate it now to give Nobo's people a signal to home on,

would the pilots up in the cockpit be able to detect it on their

instruments?

He glanced over at Malik, sitting tensely in his seat. Not yet, Clan

decided. The plan is that we don't activate the chips until we

352 BEN BOVA

see Jane. Then the Yamagata team can attack. If they're still close

enough to get the signal.

No matter what happened, Jane would be safe. Malik's playing

a dangerous game, tightrope-walking between Gaetano and his own

interests. But he wants Jane safe almost as much as I do. At least he

says he does.

Clan tried to sleep. But no matter how exhausted he felt, no

matter how weak and old he felt, sleep would not come. I'm scared,

he realized. For the first time in my life I'm really scared. These guys

are going to kill me. Or try to. I'll be okay once the action starts,

he told himself. It's this damned waiting, just sitting here with

nothing to do but think and wait and worry.

Eventually he drifted into a troubled sleep, dreaming of formless

monsters and hovering faces that shifted before he could truly

recognize who they were.

As they drove slowly up the switchback road cut into the cliff's face,

Clan craned his neck for a view of the castle. It loomed up at the top

of the cliff, dark gray crenellated stone walls outlined against the

bright blue Sardinian sky. It's not all that big, Clan thought. But

those walls look plenty thick.

He felt sick in the pit of his stomach. Whether from fear or

radiation or just the fact that he had not eaten anything in almost

a full day, he could not tell. Maybe they plan to starve me to death,

he thought. Didn't one of the Roman emperors do that to somebody?

Walled him up in a cell beneath the Senate building and let

him starve to death?

He searched the cloudless sky for a trace of a contrail, some

evidence that the Yamagata plane was near. Nothing. The sky was

a flawless bowl of blue, unmarred by any planes whatsoever.

As their car trundled over the warped wooden boards of the

castle's moat bridge, Clan saw that there were six men standing at

the main gate. They were in shirtsleeves, dark lean men with stubble

on their faces and short-barreled shotguns slung over their shoulders.

Rabbit guns. Luperia. The kind that armies all over the world

had adopted for close-in killing.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 353

Another half-dozen armed men were sitting around the sunny

inner courtyard. One of them trotted alongside the car as it slowed

to a stop. The driver clicked the door locks and the shotgun-armed

man pulled Dan's door open.

Ducking through, Clan stretched tiredly and felt his spine and

tendons pop. He let the late-aftemoon sun soak into his bones. It felt

good, although his legs seemed wobbly. Must be the gravity, he

told himself. Looking up at the fitted stone walls around the courtyard,

he saw a face in one of the narrow barred windows.

Jane.

Dan's stomach did a flip. He grinned foolishly and waved to her.

Jane's face disappeared from the window and another took its place,

a red-haired young woman who looked enough like Kate... Clan

remembered Kate's sister. So she's here too. Wonder if Kate's really

going to join the party.

Gaetano came around the car with a smarmy smile on his face.

"You see? I spoke the truth, eh? There she is, waiting for you."

As Malik pulled himself out of the car, an older man, dressed in

a dead black suit, stepped out of the doorway and beckoned to

Gaetano. He went to the man, who looked to Clan like a butler or

some sort of house servant. The man spoke briefly to Gaetano.

"What do you suppose he is saying?" Malik asked, sounding

slightly nervous. Clan barely heard him through the earplug.

"Telling him what's on the menu for dinner," Clan said, shifting

to put Malik on the side of his good ear.

Malik huffed. "Us, most likely." "Us," Clan agreed.

"I have more good news for you," Gaetano said. "An old friend

of yours has come all the way from the Moon to be with us. She

should arrive here in a few minutes."

Kate Williams, sure enough. Clan wondered why she would

leave Alphonsus, then remembered that she wanted more than

anything else to protect her sister.

"We will wait here for her to arrive," Gaetano said. "Her car is

halfway up the cliff already."

"I want to see Jane," said Clan.

354 BEN BOVA

"You can wait a few minutes. Then we can have a big, happy

reunion, all of us together."

They also serve who stand and wait, Clan said to himself. Matik

looked more apprehensive than ever. The seriousness of this pickle

is just starting to sink in to him. We could all get ourselves killed.

Clan strolled slowly away from the car, across the sunlit courtyard,

noticing that at least two of the guys with shotguns watched

him with beady eyes, hands on their weapons. If Gaetano knows

that Kate's car is halfway up the cliff, maybe he's got guards posted

along the road. Or maybe Kate just phoned him from the car to let

him know she's almost here.

I

He enjoyed the warmth of the sun through his woolen shirt. He

felt perspiration trickling down his ribs. Bake the bad stuff out of me,

',,

he said to the sun. Boil away the fear. Make me strong again.

He heard the boards of the bridge thudding, and an executive

limousine swung through the gate, crunching across the gravel of

Ill

the courtyard. It stopped behind the car that Clan had come in. A

strapping big chauffeur hopped out and opened the door for Kate

Clan stared at the chauffeur. There was no mistaking his size or

his rough red beard, even in an ill-fitting suit of livery and a cap that

was almost comically too small for him.

How in the hell did Big George get into this game?

JANE WAITED IMPATIENTLY for them to open the door to her

room, striding from the barred window to the locked door and then

back again. Gaetano was keeping them down there in the courtyard,

stretching out the minutes, torturing her. Clan was there, he had seen

her, he had even waved. Close enough to touch, almost. Almost.

"What are they waiting forT' Jane blurted, one hand fidgeting

with her hair. She had pinned it back, smooth and sleek, but now she

wondered if it wouldn't look better falling loosely to her shoulders.

Kimberly's hair was a helmet of molten copper. She was watching

Jane curiously, a sly little half smile curling her lips.

"Relax," Kim said. "They'll be here soon enough."

But Jane rushed back to the window. She saw a limousine pull

through the guarded main gate. The chauffeur trudged around and

opened the door for a woman to step out. Kate Williams.

"Your sister's here," she called to Kimberly.

"Big deal."

"They're starting inside!" At last, at last, she thought.

Jane's eyes darted to the dusty mirror in the corner of the room.

She had picked a simple forest green jumpsuit from the closet full

of clothes Gaetano had provided. Sensible low-heeled shoes. No

need for glamor today. If I know Clan, there's going to be a ruckus

before this is all over.

356 BEN BOVA

Kimberly, in a pastel miniskirted sundress, seemed to be catch

ing Jane's nervousness. Her lips had become a tense thin line, her

hands knotted into fists.

"Why did he bring her here?" she asked, her voice brittle. "Rare

and I were getting along fine. We don't need her here."

Jane answered, "Rafe is a lying, murdering, scheming bastard. I

imagine he'll enjoy watching you and your sister hurt each other."

"Hurt? I never hurt Kate!"

"From all that you've told me, that's not true," Jane said. Then

she added as gently as she could, "And you know it."

Kimberly looked away without answering.

The bolt of the door clanked and the heavy door groaned

inward. Jane held her breath. Gaetano stepped through, followed by

,,.

Malik, Kate Williams and finally Clan. Four armed men stood out in

the hallway. Jane ran to Clan and threw her arms around his neck.

Clan grabbed her as if she were life itself and held her to him as

they kissed, ignoring all the others for a long sweet moment.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear.

Clan barely heard her through the biochip plug. He whispered

back, "I've always loved you."

Gaetano clapped his hands slowly, sardonically. "Bravo," he

quipped. "Bravissimo. Now let's get down to business."

Clan grinned crookedly as he let go of Jane. She stood beside

:

him, their backs to the door.

"You have arranged transport for Mrs. Scanwell and myself?"

Malik asked.

':;

"In due time, Vasily," said Gaetano. "There are one or two

points we must clear up first."

Clan scratched at his ear, then stuck his little finger in and

touched the biochip transceiver. It felt warm. But nothing happened.

No ringing in his ear. No way to know if the damned thing worked

or not. He glanced over at Malik. Sonofabitch hasn't activated his

i

unit. The Russian's hands stayed down at his sides.

"Rafe, you'll have to make your transportation arrangements for

the three of us," said Jane. "I'm not leaving here without Clan."

Gaetano's eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm afraid that will be impos-

EMPIRE BUILDERS 357

sible, my dear Jane. Clan remains here. He will be kept well and

happy, as long as you behave yourself once you get back to Paris."

"I don't believe you," Jane said. "I won't believe that Dan's safe

as long as he's in your hands."

Smiling, Gaetano gestured toward Kate Williams. "Look, I've

even brought him an old friend from the Moon. He'll have plenty

to amuse himself with while he's here."

Clan laughed. "I'd rather amuse myself with a nest of cobras."

"I am not leaving here without Clan," Jane said firmly.

"Yes you are," said Gaetano. "You have no choice. And his

continued good health will depend entirely on your continuing

cooperation."

"He's right," Malik said, stepping toward Jane. "You'll have to

come back to Paris with me, Jane. We have no option in the matter."

Jane glowered at the Russian, then at Gaetano.

"It's all right," Clan said. "Do what they're telling you. I'll be

okay."

She studied Clan more closely. He seemed pale, thinner than she

had ever remembered him. He was wearing a heavy woolen shirt

and rough Levi's. There was perspiration on his brow, his upper lip.

Clan made himself smile for her. "I'm okay," he said, anticipating

her question. "Just a little close of radiation. Nobo's medics have

already stuck enough counteractants in me to shut down a nuclear

reactor."

But he felt weak, knees shaky. If the Yamagata medicines were

doing any good he had yet to feel it.

"Then it's settled," Gaetano said. "You two can return to Paris

tomorrow morning. Randolph stays here as a guarantee for Jane's

good behavior."

"Tomorrow morning?" Malik asked. "Why not now? The

sooner the better."

"We still have much to discuss," said Gaetano.

"Discuss?"

"Yes. I want to show you what is expected of you back on the

Council. We have a worldwide program to implement, and your

cooperation will be very important to us."

358 BEN BOVA

Clan saw how Jane's face hardened. Even Malik looked angry.

Gaetano seemed amused, terribly pleased with himself.

"After all, I may not be the GEC's chairman," he made a mocking

little bow to Malik, "or its most prestigious member," another

bow, lower, with a flourish, to Jane, "but I do expect the two of you

to help me in every way." Gaetano's smile vanished. His voice

became iron hard. "In other words, I will tell you what to do and

you will do it. I will be the master of the GEC. Me, and no one else."

Clan clapped his hands exactly as Gaetano had a few minutes

earlier. Furious, the Italian whirled around and raised his fist. Clan

saw the punch coming but could not move fast enough to block it.

Malik grabbed Gaetano's wrist and held his arm in midair. The

Italian tried to twist free, but Malik held him in a grip of steel.

"There is no need for violence," the Russian said. "Violence is

for fools." Then he released Gaetano's wrist.

Wringing his hand and glaring at Malik, Gaetano said, "Yes,

you're right. Violence is for fools." Then he shifted his seething gaze

to Clan. "And for my hired help."

As he took his place at the heavy dark dinner table Clan thought that

Jane looked furious, Malik tense, Kate worried, her sister puzzled

and Gaetano as pleased as an operatic tenor who had just been asked

for a third encore.

Gaetano had spent the remainder of the day locked in conference

with Jane and Malik. Giving them their orders, Clan knew. Kate

and her sister had gone off together. Clan had taken a nap. No sign

of Big George. No sign of the Yamagata assault team. No indication

that the double-damned biochip plug had worked at all.

Clan had been tempted to pull the transceiver out of his ear once

he was alone in the bedroom to which Gaetano's guards had escorted

him. But he feared that he might be watched by hidden

cameras. So he flopped on the narrow bed fully clothed, the transceiver

feeling like a boulder lodged in his ear, and stared at the

ceiling, knowing that he was far too wound up to sleep.

When the guard's unlocking the door woke him, it was dark

outside. Nothing had changed except the time. Clan splashed some

EMPIRE BUILDERS 359

water on his face and went down the castle's broad stone main

staircase to the dining hall, escorted front and rear by silent, grim-looking

guards whose shoulder holsters showed through their unbuttoned

leather vests.

Gaetano sat at the head of the table, almost vibrating, he was

so wired. He chattered about the antiquity of the castle, the family

that had built it, the foreign invaders who had never been able to

conquer it. Jane and Malik, at Gaetano's right and left, respectively,

exchanged worried looks with each other and occasionally stole a

swift glance down to the end of the table, where Clan sat.

He thinks he's got it made, Clan told himself. He thinks he's won

it all. I guess neither Jane nor Malik put up much resistance to him

this afternoon. He gave them their orders and they agreed to do

what they're told.

Kate and her sister hardly said a word as a pair of sullen-faced

heavyset women in black uniforms served dinner, shuttling in and

out of the swinging door to the kitchen like a pair of silent morose

robots.

Where in hell is Nobo's team? Clan asked himself for the thousandth

time. Do they know we're here? Has something happened to

them? And what's George up to?

Gaetano's monologue had shifted from the history of the castle

to the history of the family who had originally owned and defended

it. Now he was talking about his own family, but Clan realized that

he did not mean merely his parents and siblings.

"Related by blood," Gaetano said. "That is what makes us

strong. Blood ties are the most binding. We are a family. Every man

who joins takes a blood oath that follows him to the grave and even

beyond."

"Beyond?" Jane asked.

"Generations beyond," said Gaetano. His dark eyes were glittering

like the wine in his crystal goblet as it caught the candlelight.

"What is the vendetta except a keeping of faith with the generations

that preceded you?"

"I thought it was nothing more than a primitive thirst for

vengeance," said Malik.

360 BEN BOVA

"Like a family feud in the Ozarks," Clan added, raising his voice

to be heard down the length of the table.

Gaetano's smile turned sinister. "You make jokes about things

you don't understand. The vendetta is an expression of family

loyalty that extends from one generation to the next."

"And damned near depopulated parts of Sicily," said Clan.

"Organized murder," Malik said.

"Organized," Gaetano agreed, emphasizing the word with an

upraised finger. "That is the key. Organization." He looked down

the table at Clan. "You are correct, Randolph. At one time vendettas

had taken so many lives in Sicily that whole towns were abandoned,

there

not

left to till the fields. But those

enough

days

were

men

are

gone. Now we are organized."

With a sad shake of his head Clan said, "Blood oaths and family

loyalty--it's all so medieval. Your so-called organization is a throwback

to the Dark Ages. People have learned to develop higher

loyalties than that. While the rest of the world created nation-states

and multinational corporations and even a double-damned Global

Economic Council, you benighted pricks still act like it's the frigging

ninth century."

Gaetano's nostrils flared with anger. "For thousands of years our

people have been invaded by foreigners! Greeks, Romans, Goths,

Huns, French. Even today our land is ruled by strangers in Rome.

We created our organization to protect ourselves against the outside

world."

By stealing from your own people. By murdering and terrifying

them."

"What ruler has ever succeeded without cowing his people into

obedience?" Gaetano asked. "Besides, as I told you, we no longer kill

amongst ourselves."

"Now you kill other people."

Gaetano conceded the point with a tilt of his head. "When we

must. But violence is for fools--unless it is absolutely necessary."

"You prefer kidnapping and extortion."

"I prefer bribery," said Gaetano, a fingertip brushing his moustache.

"It is usually the safest and cleanest. You would be surprised

EMPIRE BUILDERS 361

at how easy it is to bribe people. And not always with money,

either. Take Kate, here. All I had to do was to give her Astro Corporation.''

Kate stiffened. She did not look at Clan, or even at Gaetano. She

stared at her sister, across the table from her.

"Touch," said Clan.

Gaetano turned back to Malik. "You think that the GEC is

running the world; that you, as Council chairman, are in charge.

But we are really controlling everything. From the cockfight pits of

Bangkok to the agenda of the Global Economic Council, we are in

charge! We have ended the vendettas and expanded throughout

Europe and North America. We are bringing the Latin cartel under

our control, and the Asian gangs as well. Soon we will have the

entire world in our grasp. And the Moon, as well."

"Like Genghis Khan," Clan said.

"Eh?"

"He got the warring Mongol tribes to stop fighting among

themselves by turning them outward, to conquest."

"Yes, and he built a mighty empire, didn't he?" Gaetano said.

"Is that who the old man is? The man we saw this morning? Is

he your Genghis Khan?"

Gaetano's expression hardened. "Who he is is none of your

business."

Clan shrugged. "Vasily, do you see where all this is leading? You

wanted to get the whole world's economy under your control--for

the good of the people, of course. But once you've done that, some

piece of shit like this jerk can steal it from you and all you've

accomplished is to hand the world over to a pack of thieving,

murdering bastards."

"You need a few lessons in manners," Gaetano said.

"It's never been my strong point," Clan replied.

Malik sat silently, as if lost in thought. Jane's eyes darted from

Clan to Gaetano to the Russian and then back to Clan.

The lights vent out.

The chandelier and the lights in the wall sconces flicked off,

leaving the table dimly lit by the decorative candles.

362 BEN BOVA

"The emergency generator will come on in a moment," said

Gaetano.

Several moments passed. The room remained candlelit. Gaetano

spoke in Italian to one of the dour swarthy guards and he left the

room. Clan heard excited, exasperated voices shouting from the

kitchen.

Nobo's team has arrived, he told himself. They got here!

The guard came back into the room, bringing a palm-sized

two-way radio to Gaetano. Nothing came from it but a hiss of static.

In the shadows cast by the candles Clan smiled grimly. The

Yamagata team's knocked out every electrical and electronic circuit

in the place. Must have thumped the castle with a hell of an

electromagnetic pulse.

"On your feet, all of you? Gaetano snapped. "Something is

happening here. You will each be taken to separate rooms. Do not

try to leave those rooms until we have things under control. The

doors will be locked and guarded. If this is an attack on the castle

you will be used as hostages..All of you."

Jane looked over her shoulder toward Clan as one of the guards

took her by the arm and headed for the door. Malik was pushed

forward by another guard, none too gently. In the semidarkness it

was hard to make out the expression on Gaetano's face. At least,

thought Clan, he doesn't seem so cocky anymore.

Two guards grabbed his arms and moved him toward the

kitchen, away from the others. Going to keep us separated, Clan

realized. They passed Gaetano, who was banging the two-way on

the table. Clan laughed inwardly: when it doesn't work, hammer it.

That'll do a lot of good.

The kitchen was even darker than the dining hail, lit only by a

pair of battery-powered emergency lamps placed above each of its

two doors. In the thick shadows the rows of heavy pots and skillets

hanging from their overhead racks looked like an arsenal of medieval

weapons. Clan knew there were plenty of knives around, too, but

he could not see any in the thick shadows.

But there was a big steaming pot on the stove. Clan stumbled,

staggered, let his arms go limp in the grasp of his two guards. They

EMPIRE BUILDERS 363

tried to yank him to his feet but Clan hung limply between them,

moaning as theatrically as he dared.

They lowered him to the floor, speaking to each other in swift

Italian. Clan realized that they intended to carry him, one at his

shoulders, the other at his feet.

He kicked with both feet at the guard's knees, knocking him to

the floor with a surprised yelp of pain, and pulled the other one

down headfirst to sprawl on top of him. Wriggling to his feet Clan

grabbed the steaming pot as the guard reached for his shoulder

holster. He saw the boiling water coming and tried to duck out of

its way but Clan flung it at him, pot and all. He screamed as Clan

wrung his hands in pain; the pot's metal handgrips had been scalding

hot.

The other guard was scrambling to his feet. Clan reached overhead,

grabbed a heavy iron skillet and banged him on the head with

it. He fell sideways. Clan swung the skillet again, ignoring the pain

in his hand. It sounded like a cathedral clock's gong. For good

measure he bashed the scalded one, too. They both lay silent on the

tiled floor. As Clan pawed the two bodies for their pistols he heard

gunshots, muffled, far away. But definitely gunshots.

The battle's on, and Gaetano's going to use Jane as a shield for

himself. Jamming the two pistols into the belt of his Levi's, wringing

his painful hands, Clan headed back toward the dining hall.

THE DINING HALL was empty, the table still set with food in the

dishes and wine in the goblets. The candles flickered fitfully in the

draft from the open door at the far side of the chamber.

Clan made his way to the central hall. It was as dark as a cave,

not even moonlight sifting through the long narrow windows. Clan

knew that the main staircase was off to his right and that Gaetano

had probably taken Jane up that way.

More gunshots. Closer. The rattle of automatic weapons. He

could hear shouting now, heavy angry voices yelling back and forth.

They're not using tranquilizer darts, he knew. Gingerly pulling

one of the automatic pistols from his belt, his palm and fingers raw

from their scalding, he realized that he would be firing real bullets.

And they'll be shooting to kill you, pal. Hope Nobo's team has

night-vision gear. I'd hate to be shot by my own side.

He groped across the central hall toward the main staircase, the

pistol heavy in his hand. Slowly, carefully, like a blind man without

a cane, he slid one foot in front of the other until finally he butted

against the first step of the staircase.

He started up the steps. Uncertain of how high or deep they

were, he nearly tripped on the first one. Cripes, he thought, if I fall

down the gun in my belt might just shoot my cojones off. So he

pulled the second pistol out with his left hand and proceeded

EMPIRE BUILDERS 365

slowly, gropingly, up the wide stone staircase, feeling slightly ridiculous,

like a cowboy gunslinger in an old video with a gun in each

hand.

He heard footsteps running against the stone floor up above. A

voice, speaking low and swift in Italian. He froze on the steps. If I

can't see them they can't see me, Clan told himself.

The thin beam of a flashlight lanced through the darkness,

sweeping erratically along the staircase. Clan flattened himself

against the steps. The flashlight beam swung toward him, hazy with

dust motes.

"Eccolo! Fucile!"

Somebody at the top of the stairs sprayed a fusillade of automatic

rifle fire at Clan. Bullets whined and cracked all around him.

Stone chips flew from the steps and walls, slashing his back, his arms,

his cheek. He remembered that the last time he had fired a pistol had

been on a target range in Texas, nearly thirty years earlier. And he

had been a rotten shot.

Big George had been down in the servants' quarters, as befits a

chauffeur, when the lights went out.

The job Nobuhiko had given him was to make contact with

Kate Williams and stay with her, wherever she went. Nobo's reasoning

was that even if Clan and Malik failed to reach Jane, the only

reason that Kate had left Alphonsus was to rendezvous with Gaetano.

Therefore George was fitted out with a biochip earplug and

told to be ready to move at an instant's notice.

Yamagata personnel tracked Kate from the Nueva Venezuela

space station to Milan's sprawling busy airport. She boarded a

private plane. Satellite sensors picked up the plane as it cleared the

airport while Yamagata agents pried its flight plan out of the airport

computer. Kate was heading for Cagliari, on Sardinia.

Hasty plans were made. George and a pair of young Yamagata

agents, a man and a woman, were picked up from the yacht by a

chartered jet seaplane and flown at top speed to the airport at

Cagliari. Breathlessly searching the small airport, they found the

limousine waiting for Kate's arrival just a few minutes before Kate's

366 BEN BOVA

own plane touched down. So swiftly and quietly that no one noticed,

the two Japanese took the driver and security guard away at

gunpoint.

That was how Big George, feeling silly in an ill-fitting chauffeur's

uniform, drove Kate to the castle. The original chauffeur,

together with Gaetano's security guard, remained at the airport

under the watchful eyes of the two Yamagata people. He had

thoughtfully taped the directions to the castle onto the limo's dashboard,

saving himself an unpleasant interrogation by the Japanese,

both of whom spoke Italian.

George did not, but he was counting on the hope that a mere

chauffeur would be almost invisible to the people at the castle. He

explained to Kate along the way who he was and what was happening

at the castle. She said nothing, merely acknowledged his story

with a nod that he saw in the rearview mirror.

Big George was hardly invisible. The minute he stopped the

limo in the castle courtyard and trotted around to let Kate out, one

of the narrow-eyed guards stepped up to the pair of them, one hand

on the barrel of the shotgun he wore slung over his shoulder.

He said something in Italian, his voice suspicious.

"This is my driver," Kate replied. "I brought him with me. Good

thing, too. Your people never showed up at the airport."

The guard said in hesitant English, "What do you mean?"

"You Latin types don't know how to meet an airplane at the

time it's specified to land, that's what I mean," Kate said. "Your

people are probably still at the airport bar, ogling the waitresses."

She strode off toward Gaetano and the others clustered around

him, leaving George to fend for himself.

They clearly did not trust him, but George spoke to them loudly

in his worst Aussie accent, cheerfully let them search him until he

thought they might be falling in love with his body, and finally was

grudgingly allowed to go down to the servants' quarters. He made

a strange contrast to the dour, dark, swarthy, silent maids and valets,

a massive shaggy red-haired giant who talked loud and nonstop to

hide his anxiety at being alone among the enemy.

The food was good, at least. Lunch was large and tasty with

EMPIRE BUILDERS 367

pasta and actual veal and plenty of strong red wine to wash it all

down. George avoided the wine almost altogether. He was shown

to a narrow little room with a cot in it, and gratefully took an

afternoon nap. Soon after he woke up the women were setting the

table again for dinner.

The meal was almost finished when the lights went out. George

knew immediately that the Yamagata assault team had arrived at

last. He got up from the table amid the babble of the Italians' voices,

and headed through the sudden darkness toward the courtyard.

Sure enough, the sky outside was fairly filled with shimmering

black parasails gliding in, bearing armored helmeted figures beneath

them, each of them bristling with weapons. There was firing from

the windows and the invaders fired back while still soaring earthward,

knocking chips of stone from the walls and parapets.

One of the first men to land and disencumber himself from his

parasail ran up to George. In his armor and helmet and night-vision

goggles he looked more like a robot than a human being. A small

robot, George thought. The warrior barely came up to his shoulder.

"You are George." The warrior's voice was muffled by his

visored helmet.

Thankful for the bioluminescent paint that had been smeared

across his forehead, George said, "That's right, mate." The paint's

luminescence was too faint to see with unaided eyes; only those

wearing the low-light-level goggles could see it.

"Find a safe place and stay there," said the warrior. "We will take

care of the rest."

George gave him a grunt that might have sounded like assent,

but he had no intention of keeping out of this fight.

Guided by wavering pencil beams of flashlights, Gaetano's guards

had rushed Kate and her sister up the main staircase and past the

bedrooms on that level, and up a narrow winding staircase into a

bare circular room at the top of one of the castle's turrets.

"You stay in there until we tell you it's safe to come out," one

of them said. He slammed the door and shot the bolt home.

368 BEN BOVA

Kimberly clung to her sister. "What's happeningT" she asked.

"What's going onT"

They heard gunfire.

"Rafe is a crook, Kim," Kate said. "He's a murderer and he's

kidnapped Jane Scanwell. Clan must have set up this rescue attempt."

"Attempt? What if it doesn't work7 What if they set the place

on fire7 We're locked in here!"

"It'll be all right, Kim," said Kate with an assuredness she did not

feel. She held her sister close and kept murmuring, "It'll be all right."

Blood was running down Dan's cheek from a stone chip that had

nicked him. His back tingled from other cuts. But the firing had

stopped and the flashlight gone out. Total darkness and total silence.

And he was still alive.

Whispered voice from the top of the stairs. A couple of footsteps.

Clan started to slither down the stairs as quietly as he could,

trying to get away from the two men up above. He heard muttering

and the metallic sounds of an empty magazine being replaced by a

full one.

The flashlight winked on again and caught him in its feeble

glow. To Clan it seemed like the brightest spotlight in the history

of the world.

Pffi. A yell and the flashlight beam went awry. Another pffh somebody

at the top of the stairs grunted as if he'd been hit in the

gut. Then Clan heard the soft thudding sounds of a body falling,

tumbling down the stairs. It came rolling toward him, arms flailing

lifelessly like a rag doll thrown away by a thoughtless child.

The body hit Dan's flattened form and stopped, its sightless

eyes staring at him. Before Clan could yell or move or catch his

breath he felt hands pulling at him, helping him to stand up.

"Mr. Randolphsan?"

"Hal!" he said gratefully. Yes. He was facing a pair of figures all

in black, barely discernible in the darkness even though they were

hardly six inches away.

"We have control of the lower floors," the man told him in swift

EMPIRE BUILDERS 369

Japanese, "and the courtyard and outer walls. We have not yet

found Mrs. Scanwellsan."

"They took her upstairs," Clan said.

"So." The armored figure handed something to Clan. "These will

allow you to see in the dark."

Clan bent down and placed both his useless pistols on a step,

then took the goggles and slipped them over his head. He wormed

them into place, blinking. Night did not turn into day, but the scene

before him now looked as if he were watching it on a computer

display screen. The two figures that had been barely discernible in

the darkness now showed a clear but sickly green against a flickering

gray background. He saw that they wore helmets and armor, and

had assault rifles in hand. The guns were muzzled by silencers.

More robotlike figures were scurrying across the floor of the

central hall to join them on the staircase. Looking up, Clan saw the

slumped figure of another man, his flashlight lying beside him.

The assault team leader motioned to his men and they swarmed

up the stairs in swift deadly silence. Clan started after them, but the

team leader put a gauntleted hand on his shoulder.

"We will handle this," he said in Japanese. "There is no need for

you to risk yourself any further."

Clan shook the man's hand off his shoulder and started up the

stairs. The team leader raced up beside him.

"I'm going with you," Clan said.

"Very well then. But no heroics."

"Me?" Clan grinned. "I'm no hero."

It was eerily silent at the top of the stairs. The dead man lay

beside his flashlight, its beam splashing off the far wall of the long

corridor. The night-vision goggles somehow automatically compensated

for the light; it was not so bright that it drowned out

everything else.

Jane's up here somewhere, Clan knew. Malik's with her. And

Gaetano.

The first few rooms they looked into were empty. Then they

reached the end of the corridor. One of the assault team members

warily pushed the door open.

370 BEN BOVA

It must have been the master bedroom. It was large and deep,

lit by a table full of fat candles off to one side, beneath a painting

of the Virgin Mary and a small kneeling bench. Standing in front of

the canopied bed was Jane, with Gaetano beside and partially behind

her. He had a gun to her head.

"This nonsense has gone far enough. You will all drop your

weapons and allow me to leave with Mrs. Scanwell."

Clan was behind the assault team leader. He saw the tableau over

the smaller man's armored shoulder. Malik was in there too, a pair

of gunmen flanking him. Another couple of thugs were on the other

side of the room, covering the doorway with their short-barreled

shotguns.

Clan took it all in with a single glance. Then his eyes locked on

Jane and Gaetano and the pistol he held to her head.

"The shooting's stopped," Kate said to her sister.

They had been locked in the tower room for what had seemed

like hours. The chamber's only window was wider than those down

below, and unbarred. Kate quickly saw why. In the moonless night

she could make out a straight drop down the tower and castle wall

to the rocks hundreds of feet below.

The room was absolutely bare, nothing but a floor of warped

wooden boards and heavy timber beams half-lost in the darkness of

the high pitched ceiling.

Things fluttered and squeaked up there.

"Bats," said Kimberly.

Kate shuddered but Kim seemed unafraid of them.

"Is Rafe really a murderer?" she asked.

"He's a top member of the international crime syndicate," Kate

said. "He gives the orders and other people do the killing."

"That's what I thought," Kim said. She leaned against the rough

stone wall and slid down to a sitting position, arms wrapped around

her knees.

Kate sat down on the floor beside her. "He's been using us, both

of US."

EMPIRE BUILDERS 371

"I know," said Kim. "He likes to hurt people, make them feel

bad."

"He's been using you to control me."

Kim smiled sadly in the shadows. "And I let him do it."

"When we get out of here"

"If," Kim corrected.

"I hope he's dead before the sun comes up again."

"Maybe we'll be the dead ones."

"What was that?" Kate asked.

"What?"

"I thought I heard something."

"More shooting?" "No ... listen."

Kim heard a grunting, puffing noise. Something scraping, slithering,

like a dead body being pulled across stone.

"What is it?" Kim asked.

"It's your fooking chauffeur," Big George answered from the

window. "Give us a hand, will ya?"

The two women ran to the window where George was trying

to lift himself past the sill. They grabbed at his back and shoulders

while he pulled with both hands on the edges of the window and

finally heaved himself up onto the stone sill.

With more huffing and tugging George squeezed himself

through the window--barely--and tumbled to the floor.

"Christ! I thought I was going to have a fooking heart attack.

Been on the Moon too long to go climbing like that, that's the

trouble."

"You're George Ambrose, aren't you? The one Clan calls Big

George?" Kate asked.

"Friend of Dan's, right. Been trying to find a way into this

bloody fortress that's not filled with blokes shooting at each other.

Climbed up to the parapet and then spotted this window in the

tower. None of the others looked wide enough for me."

"How did you climb it?" Kimberly asked, her voice hushed with

awe. "It's a straight drop!"

372 BEN BOVA

Still puffing, George grinned weakly. "Looks straight to you.

But

I've climbed tougher cliffs in my day, believe me."

"We're locked in here," Kim said.

"Yes? Well, we'll see about that."

George heaved himself to his feet and marched to the door. He

leaned against it. The heavy wood groaned slightly.

"Stand back a bit."

The two women backed away. George sucked in a deep breath,

then kicked mightily at the door where the bolt was, on the other

side. It sounded like an ox hitting a stout fence at high speed.

"Is it... ?"

"Not yet." :il

George thundered against the door again. And again. On the

fourth try the latch holding the bolt against the doorjamb finally

pulled loose with a shriek of ancient nails ripping out of the wood.

The door swung open. George, panting, bowed politely to the

ladies and gestured for them to leave.

"Christ on a skateboard," he said as they started down the

narrow winding stairway. "It's blacker than hell in here."

"Be careful," Kate said, "the steps are uneven."

They were almost at the bottom when they heard excited voices

and hurried footsteps coming up toward them. They were speaking

in Italian. Then George heard another sound: guns being reloaded

and cocked.

"GO ON AHEAD," George whispered to the two women.

"Don't leave us," Kimberly pleaded.

"I won't. You just go ahead a few steps."

"Please!"

"You can trust me."

Kate took her sister's hand. "Come on, Kim."

They started down the narrow spiral stairs again, just as hurried

footsteps told them that the men they heard were coming up

toward them. George saw the glow of a flashlight bouncing off the

curving walls. He shrank back up the stairs until the two women

were out of his sight.

"Hey!" a man's shouted. "How did you get outT"

"We tried the door and it opened," Kate answered.

"I bolted that door. It was locked."

"It opened when we tried it."

Kimberly said shakily, "We were afraid, all alone up there with

all the shooting."

"I locked that door!"

"Never mind," came the other man's voice. "It doesn't matter."

"You saying I forgot to lock itT"

"It doesn't matter. You two get in front of us. You're gonna be

our shields until we get out of here."

374 BEN BOVA

The other man chuckled. "Not bad-looking shields, eh?"

George saw the flashlight glow dwindle down the stairs and

heard their footsteps going away from him. As silently as he could

he tiptoed down after them, always staying around the curve of the

wall so that they could not see him.

The women and the two gunmen reached the stone landing at

the bottom of the spiral staircase.

"What do we do now7 Those commandos are gonna be comin'

up here any minute."

"Let 'em come. We got these two redheads to protect us. We

go down to the courtyard, get in a car, and get the hell outta here."

George saw them standing there, one with the flashlight, the

other with a shotgun in his hands. He was about a dozen steps

above them, hidden in shadow.

"Come on," said the one with the flashlight. "We're not waitin'

for those soldiers to find us."

No time left. George roared out a bellow that would freeze a

buffalo herd and leaped at the guy with the shotgun. He hit him tike

a mammoth lineman blindsiding a quarterback. The man went down,

the shotgun skittering across the stone floor. The one with the

flashlight threw it at George and reached for the pistol in his

shoulder holster as the two women clutched at each other and

edged back toward the wall.

George rolled to his feet as the other man yanked the automatic

out of its holster. With a single big ham-sized paw George grabbed

the gunman's extended hand and squeezed. Hard. The man

screeched with pain. George bent his arm back and he sank to his

knees. With his other fist George smashed him in the jaw as hard

as his massive weight allowed. The man's head spun almost completely

around and he went limp in George's steel grip.

George spun to look down at the other one. He was sprawled

on the stone floor, out cold or dead, it did not matter to him which.

"You didn't leave us," Kimberly said, almost breathless.

"Told you you could trust me," said George as he bent down

to pick up the shotgun.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 375

"You didn't leave us," Kim repeated, her eyes riveted on the big

Australian.

Holding the shotgun in one huge hand, the pistol tucked into

his waistband, George made another little bow to them.

"This way, ladies," he said.

"Thanks," said Kate.

Kimberly said nothing, but her eyes were sparkling.

"I mean it," Gaetano said. "Drop your weapons, all of you, or I'll kill

Clan knew that Gaetano and his thugs would shoot the assault

team as soon as they had put their weapons down, the same way

they had when they had abducted Jane in the first place. These guys

are wearing body armor and helmets, he thought swiftly. But even

if they don't get killed, that bastard will still be walking away with

Jane.

Before anyone could reply to Gaetano's ultimatum, Clan yanked

off his goggles and stepped out of the shadows of the corridor to

the doorway, where Gaetano could see him clearly.

"Before you shoot her, you're going to have to shoot me, you

sonofabitch."

"Clan, no!" Jane said.

But Clan walked slowly into the room, straight toward her.

Gaetano's eyes were filled with fear, but his lips twisted into a nasty

little smile.

"If you want to be shot I will be happy to accommodate you,"

he said.

Clan said nothing, just kept pacing into the big room, closing the

distance between himself and Jane. His weariness was gone. His legs

felt strong and sure. He noticed every detail of the candlelit scene.

Malik staring at him with round eyes. The other gunmen shifting

uneasily, knowing that if a firefight started they would be quickly

killed. Gaetano still smiling, moving his pistol from Jane's head to

point squarely at Dan's own chest.

Ten paces separated them. Nine. Eight.

Jane grabbed at Gaetano's crotch and squeezed. He shrieked and

376

BEN BOVA

doubled over. Clan dove into the two of them, knocking them onto

the bed and then over its side to the floor as the room erupted in

gunfire. Clan grabbed Gaetano by the hair and pounded his head

against the stone floor. Again. Again. He bashed Gaetano's bloody

head against the stone until someone pried him off.

Jane was sitting on the floor beside Gaetano's inert form, his

pistol in her hand. The room was blazing with light. Gaetano's dead

face looked surprised, the back of his head oozing a pool of blood.

"Are you all rightT" Clan and Jane asked simultaneously. Then

they burst into exhausted, relieved, almost hysterical laughter and

fell into each other's arms.

Gentle hands pulled them apart and helped them to their feet.

"That was a very brave thing you did," said the assault team

leader. "But very foolish." She had removed her helmet, as had all

the other Yamagata commandos. Clan was surprised to see that she

was a woman.

"You mean I'm a hero, after allT" he said, grinning crookedly.

Then he saw that Malik was on a stretcher, his legs soaked with

blood, a plasma IV already inserted into his forearm. All the gunmen

were on the floor, dead.

"It's finished," Malik muttered as Clan went over to him. "It's all

over."

Clan shook his head. "Nope. It's just beginning."

THE ROOM LOOKED more like a conference center than a hospital

suite. Malik had cranked his bed up to a half-sitting position, the

best he could do while his legs were still in their casts. Jane and Kate

Williams sat on comfortable leather chairs beside his bed; Clan, in

white hospital pajamas, in a wheelchair between them. Nobuhiko's

lean intense face filled the phone screen set at the foot of the bed.

The big TV screen on the far wall was still showing the devastation

of New Orleans. Malik had muted the sound but none of them

could take their eyes from the scenes of the flooding, the wreckage,

the rescue workers searching in boats for survivors--and bodies.

"They're blaming us for the disaster," Jane said. "The public is

confusing this tidal wave with the greenhouse effect."

"We can thank your pirate television broadcasts for that," Malik

said to Clan.

Clan gave him a sardonic grin. "I guess you'll have to explain the

difference--and admit the truth of what I've been saying."

"All those people killed." Kate's voice sounded hollow, far

away.

"Multiply it by a million," said Clan, his grin evaporating. "All

the coastal areas on Earth will look like that if we let the greenhouse

cliff happen."

"How can we stop it?" Malik asked. "We tried and look where

378 BEN BOVA

it's brought us. We were merely arranging the world for the crooks

to take it over."

Clan gave him an exaggerated frown. "Vasily, much as I hate to

admit it, you had the right idea. Wrong implementation, but basically

the right idea."

"What do you mean?" asked Jane.

"We've got to work together, the whole world has to work

together, all of us, government, industry, the corporations, the GEC,

everybody on Earth. The greenhouse cliff is a global problem and

it can only be beaten by an all-out global effort."

"That's what I tried to do," said Malik.

"Not quite," Clan said. "You tried the old collectivist approach:

take control of everything and make all decisions at the top. It didn't

work in the old Soviet Union and it won't work now. It never

works!"

"That's not entirely true," Jane said.

"And rain makes applesauce. Look, all of you, we need to have

all the corporations work together with the GEC and all the individual

national governments--but not all locked into some grand

master plan that doesn't allow deviations or creativity or individual

initiative. Free men and women can beat the greenhouse and keep

people like Gaetano from sinking their claws into everything."

"You believe so?" Malik asked.

"I know it," replied Clan fervently.

"Then what are you suggesting?" asked Jane.

"Run this battle against the greenhouse cliff the way a good

general runs a campaign. Set out the goals that must be reached--reduce

fossil fuel burning by so much each year, replace fossil-fueled

electrical plants with fusion, build solar power satellites, make solar

cells cheap enough so private homeowners can afford to cover the

roofs with them, replace fossil-fueled cars with electric or hydrogen

fuels . . ." He paused to take a breath.

Malik mused, "Greenwell of Detroit wants to produce hydrogen

cars."

"Let him! Let a thousand flowers blossom, as an old Communist

EMPIRE BUILDERS 379 once said. As long as they're cutting down on fossil-fuel burning, let

them work out the problem in their own way."

"It would be chaos," Malik said.

Clan shook his head. "It'll take a helluva lot of coordination from

the GEC. Coordination, not control. But it can be done."

"Do you think so7" Jane asked.

"Yes."

"In ten years?" asked Kate.

"What choice do we have?" Clan countered. "If we do nothing

half the world will look like New Orleans. If we try to force everybody

into some master plan imposed by the GEC, it won't work--and

bastards like Gaetano will be just itching to take it over for

themselves. Let the people work out their own solutions, coordinated

by the GEC. That's the way to win the battle."

Malik remembered something. "That old man that Gaetano

took us to see, he's still there, you know. Neither Interpol nor the

Italian authorities have any evidence that he's ever been involved

in any crime."

"The rats are always hiding behind the walls, Vasily. That's part

of human nature. You've always got to be on the lookout for them.

But the more you centralize control the easier you make it for them

to bend everything to their own uses."

"Yes," Malik admitted, "you're right. You've been right all

along, I suppose."

"Then we can return Astro to Clan," said Jane.

Malik nodded.

"You've all forgotten one thing," Kate said. When they turned

to her she went on, "You might be able to change over all the

world's electrical power generation to solar and nuclear. You might

even be able to replace all the transportation vehicles on Earth with

ones that use electrical or hydrogen fuels. But what about the

factories? What about manufacturing and metal smelting and all the

heavy industries? They bum coal and oil and natural gas. How can

you convert them to nuclear electricity?"

The others looked at each other. Then they all saw that Clan was

grinning like a schoolkid who knew the answer.

380 BEN BOVA

"Well?" said Jane.

"You remember that asteroid we corralled ten years ago? We

never even started to use its mineral resources, but it's still up there

in a high Earth orbit."

"So?"

"We estimated it contained roughly four million tons of highgrade

iron ore. Plus a few thousand tons of impurities like platinum

and gold. And that was just a teeny asteroid, hardly bigger than a

football field."

Malik groaned. "What you would do to the world market for

precious metals by dumping a few thousand tons of gold."

"Screw the precious metals," Clan snapped. "There are thousands

of asteroids out there. Millions of 'em! Some of them are miles

wide! Enough metals and minerals to supply the whole world for a

billion years. And we can smelt them in space, as well. Use sunlight

for energy, focused sunlight for heat--"

"The capital costs would be tremendous," Malik pointed out.

Clan grinned again. "Well, if I can have Astro back in my hands

again, I'll raise the capital. Don't worry about that."

Kate said, "I don't see how you or anybody else could replace

the world's metals industry in ten years."

'/Ve can't, Scarlett. But we can get started. We can go as hard

and as fast as we possibly can. We'll have to get the leaders in the

industry to go into this with us; we want cooperation, not competition.

You'll have to sweet-talk a lot of those old farts on their boards

of directors."

"Me?" Kate asked.

"Sure, you. Who else? I'm going to be too busy with the

asteroid project to hold hands back here on Earth. You're going to

be Astro's CEO."

She gasped. "You--you'd trust me?"

Clan laughed. "Your sister's fallen in love with Big George,

hasn't she? That makes you practically a member of the family."

"You'd trust me," Kate said again, in a whisper.

Clan turned his wheelchair to face Jane. "And what about you,

lady? Are you ready to step down from your lofty position in the

EMPIRE BUILDERS 381

GEC and marry a guy who's going to be spending most of his time

in space?"

Jane raised a brow. "Such a romantic proposal, Clan. I'm swept

off my feet."

"Good. Then that's settled."

"Now wait a minute "

But he had already swung back toward Malik's bed. "Vasily, get

well quickly. We're going to need you at the head of the GEC. And

we'll do everything we can to support you."

"I never thought I'd hear such words from you, Mr. Capitalist."

"Strange times make strange alliances," said Clan. "We've got

ten years to save the world."

"Do you think we can?"

Clan shrugged. "We'd better. If we can't, then who the hell can?"

That evening Clan and Jane had dinner together on the terrace

outside his hospital room. The moon smiled lopsidedly down at

them. The Mediterranean glittered in its silver radiance.

Clan was still in his hospital whites. Jane had changed to a

peach-toned knit dress with a scalloped neckline.

"I'm serious," Clan said as he poured the wine. "I love you, Jane.

I want to marry you."

"But you're going to be dashing off to the Moon again," she

said.

"A lot farther than that, dear. The main asteroid belt is out

beyond the orbit of Mars."

"You'll be gone for years at a time."

"I'd like you to come with me. The accommodations won't be

plush, but we'll be together. Make a terrific honeymoon."

"And what will I do out there?" she asked, her voice low,

trembling. "I'm not an engineer or an astronaut."

"You--well, you could be with me," Clan replied uneasily. "You

could learn to help. You could start a new life."

She leaned across the little table and put her hand atop his.

"Clan, I'm a politician. I'm very good at it. I can get people to work

382 BEN BOVA

together. I've even gotten you and Vasily to work together,

haven't I?"

"You ... ?"

She smiled. "I'll take the credit for it. That's what politicians do."

"Okay by me," he said.

Her smile turned sad. "There won't be anything for me to do on

your wonderful space missions, Clan. But there's an awful lot I can

accomplish here."

"I don't want to be apart from you ever again."

"Me neither. But I'm needed here, Clan. Don't you see that? I can

help! I can keep Vasily on track and help to keep things running

smoothly here."

"But I want you?

"Would you give up your asteroid project to be with me?

Would you turn away from what you do best, for my sake?"

Clan looked away from her, out to the gleaming sea and up at

the moon. It seemed to be laughing at him now.

"You won't marry me?" he said at last.

"I won't go out on your space mission, where I'll only be in the

way," Jane said. "And you won't stay here on Earth when you've

got so much to accomplish out there, will you?"

He saw that there were tears in her eyes. And he realized that

his own eyes were misting over.

"You mean it'll never work out for us," he said, the words

almost choking in his throat.

"You described it best when you said that what we're facing is

a war. We are at war, against an impending disaster. You make

sacrifices when you're fighting a war."

A million thoughts ran through Dan's mind but he could not

find a single word to say.

"Clan ... I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"Maybe when all this is over. Maybe then."

He looked into her eyes and saw his own pain mirrored. "Maybe

then," he whispered.

Jane pulled her hand away and straightened up in her chair.

EMPIRE BUILDERS 383 Trying to sound more cheerful, she asked, "Do you think we'll really

beat this greenhouse cliff?"

He shrugged.

"In just ten years?"

Clan pushed away from the table and got to his feet. "I don't

know. Nobody knows. All we can do is try."

And he walked into his hospital room, went to the closet and

began to pull out his working clothes.