The Ganymede Club (17 page)

But you would have to be crazy to ask.

The negotiators, at that time still based on Earth, were astonished when they were approached by a small and exclusive group known as the Ganymede Club. The Club's representatives inquired about leases on Lysithea, a frigid mountain of rock that circled twelve million kilometers from Jupiter. Is it available?

It certainly is. No one else had ever made so much as an inquiry. How much of Lysithea do you wish to lease?

The whole satellite.

No problem. And how long a lease are you talking about?

The General Assembly team heard the answer and chuckled up their sleeves. A good chunk of change now, for thousand-year future rights to a small piece of nothing; the Ganymede Club members must have more money than sense.

When the same Club representatives went on to inquire about an additional lease for Helene, the General Assembly team changed its mind: The Ganymede Club members didn't have more money than sense—they had no sense at all. If Lysithea was worth nothing, then Helene was worth a negative amount. It was a major pain even to reach that tiny world in its far-off libration-point orbit in the Saturn system. But if that's what the Ganymede Club wanted . . .

The negotiators were all set to write the deal when a junior Club member pointed out one irritating detail. Some wild-eyed crank in the General Assembly, convinced that the Saturn system was going to become the promised land of the twenty-second century, had insisted on adding a supplemental condition—no lease for a Saturn moon could run for more than thirty years.

The team swore, apologized to the Club representatives, and drafted a new agreement. When it was ready they asked if a few of the Club members would like to come to the ceremonial signing. It seemed only right that the Club should get
something
for its money, even if it was no more than a free drink and a group video.

The offer was politely declined. The Ganymede Club, it was pointed out, was not merely exclusive; it was also reclusive. Signature would be performed by proxy. The Organization of Outer Planets agreed. They took the lease fees; held the signing party by themselves, handed over the figurative keys to Lysithea and Helene, and put a note in the tickler file to think about the leases again in 2074. Then they forgot about both worlds. They were sure that no development of Lysithea would take place for centuries, perhaps not ever.

A flyby of the planetoid twenty-eight years later would have confirmed their opinion. But a visit to the interior would have astonished them. Where Jeffrey Cayuga was sitting, in the main control room at the center of the habitation bubble, he could review all the little world's communication and defense systems. They were considerable. The array of antennas on the surface station provided continuous contact with every world in the Jovian system. The forty-second signal travel time was a small price to pay for a high level of privacy.

The antennas of the communications system were visible from space. The defenses were not. They had been designed and installed by armament specialists from the Belt, all of whom had died in the final spasm of the war. Cayuga had not been responsible for that but he did not grieve for their passing. The discretion of the designers was now assured forever.

Beam and projectile weapons resided in a dozen hidden pits carved into Lysithea's surface. They could be activated in a second from where Cayuga was sitting. If the attack was too much for them, another option had been provided. Half a dozen small but high-acceleration vessels sat in their own concealed caverns, well away from the weapons. They were ready for liftoff at all times. Cayuga could leave his seat in the control center, throw himself into a high-gee ascent shaft, and within a couple of minutes be away into space using any one of the escape ships.

There was enough escape capacity for the whole Ganymede Club, but that was a gross design overkill. The other Club members preferred to live on Ganymede or Callisto and visit Lysithea and the Saturn system only occasionally. Cayuga was the exception. Lysithea was his home. He did not travel unless there was good reason to do so.

That would shortly be the case. He was alone on Lysithea making final travel plans. Normally his life was not so solitary. Partners selected by Alicia Rios were imported regularly from Ganymede. Each one was strawberry blond, leggy, energetic, and terminally unimaginative. Each was treated well and offered every consideration on Lysithea. Each was convinced that her relationship with Cayuga was different from that of any predecessor. Each one was sure that she was winning his heart in a special way. And each one, after no more than three months on Lysithea, found herself heading back to Ganymede, laden with gifts but left in no doubt that she would not be returning to share Cayuga's bed and company.

If anyone had asked her about the internal workings, computer facilities, or fortifications of Lysithea, she would have had no idea what the person was talking about. She could give only the vaguest description of where she had been—to many Jovians, anything beyond Callisto was nowhere. Most likely, she would do no better than explain that the place itself was pretty neat, but it had a moldy smell and Cayuga needed better cleaning machines.

Cayuga's most recent companion had departed two weeks ago. His outbound trajectory had finally been approved by the outer-planet transportation board. He would travel a constant-acceleration path to the Saturn system, with a final destination stated as Rhea, the fifth, and second largest, of the major Saturnian moons. Movement beyond that point would be Cayuga's own affair, not controlled or monitored by the central authority.

He confirmed the trajectory and notified the board that there would actually be two people traveling outbound on the
Weland:
Jeffrey Cayuga himself and a nephew who had shipped in to Lysithea from the Belt. The round-trip signal delay was something he was accustomed to. He waited patiently until the confirming return message came from Abacus, the artificial world circling Callisto, where the central Jovian computer complex was located. Finally he switched to a Ganymede connection, private and coded against tapping or outside interference.

Again, he had to wait. Ganymede was occulted by the mass of Jupiter itself when the call went through, and it was not worth using a relay station. He sat through the few minutes of delay until line-of-sight communication could be established. Patience in communications was necessary for anyone who chose to live as far away from the inner moons as Lysithea. At last Alicia Rios popped into view in the display volume.

"I thought you would be calling round about now," she said at once. She was staring hard, presumably at the screen, which would normally have been showing an image of Cayuga. "Why no picture?"

"I must be leaving soon. I am closer than I thought to the change, and it would be disastrous if anyone were to see me."

"Isn't this a maximum security line?"

"Naturally. But visual signals have such high redundancy that unscrambling is not impossible. Audio alone is better for transmission from this end. Can you summarize the current situation? I am eager for a report before I leave."

"Sure. Things are going very well. I saw Jinx this morning, and he's already made contact with Lola Belman. He says in another week or two he'll have her eating out of his hand. She's twenty-seven years old and definitely heterosexual. Jinx describes her as the sort of intellectual who likes to think she's in control, but she'll go overboard when her juices start flowing. Her last affair was eleven months ago with one of her haldane instructors. He judges that she's more than ready for another. Certainly, she was starved for company. She wanted to talk his ear off."

"Maybe. And to listen. Let us never forget that she is a haldane. What did
he
tell
her?
"

"Nothing that could possibly point in our direction. Or even in his. Relax, Cayuga. For this job he's using a different persona. So far as Lola Belman is concerned, he's not Jinx Barker—he's Conner Preston, visiting for a while from the Belt and in need of some kind-hearted person to show him life on Ganymede." Alicia laughed. "A nice touch, don't you think?"

Cayuga's delay in replying was due to more than signal travel time. "I don't like that," he said at last. "He's overconfident, trying to be too clever."

"Don't blame Jinx. The Conner Preston idea was mine. And you are the one who insisted that no matter what happened, Lola Belman must not be able to trace anything back to us."

"I also don't want her suspicious. She's a
haldane
, Rios. I can't make that point too strongly. And Jinx Barker is lying to her."

"What man doesn't, when he's interested in a woman? Lola Belman isn't some twelve-year-old virgin. She's been around. She'll expect him to embellish a bit if he's interested in her. And it works both ways. 1 doubt if she's being totally honest with him. It's all part of the game."

"This is not a game, Rios. I seem to have trouble persuading you of that. Next time that you talk with Barker, I want you to emphasize once again his real objective. The seduction of Lola Belman is no more than the means to an end. That end is our understanding of the data file showing a person falling to his death on Mars, and our assurance that the event is unrelated to the Ganymede Club. If Barker can achieve that result more quickly and safely by other means—persuasion, or bribery, or torture, of Lola Belman or some other—then he should do so."

"You mean her brother, Spook Belman? Jinx has already ruled him out as a source. He and somebody called Battachariya were around when Jinx met Lola, but the other one's a kid, too, big and fat but only sixteen years old."

"I am not worried by the presence of children. Neither would I put any trust in what they say: I am thinking of the possible use of one of Lola Belman's patients."

"That's something that so far she hasn't talked about. She won't even say who her patients are. That's why Jinx and I think that bed will work best. You can't beat pillow talk. And don't worry about it going the other way. Jinx is a real professional, he won't tell her a thing. Anything else I need to know before you head out?"

"Only that my will is now signed, and I have deposited it in the central files on Ganymede. My entire estate is bequeathed to my nephew, Joss Cayuga. The
Weland
is scheduled to leave for the Saturn system tomorrow. It will make a visit to our usual destination, but that is not on the flight plan. The
Weland
will return to Ganymede in five weeks' time."

"So I'll see you then."

"Not exactly."

"You know what I mean, Cayuga." Alicia Rios smiled. "I'll see Joss, if you prefer to put it that way. And don't worry. By then Jinx Barker will have results. I have every confidence in him.
Bon voyage."

Her image disappeared, leaving Jeffrey Cayuga staring thoughtfully at the blank display region. After a few seconds he keyed in another destination. The high-gain antenna on the surface of Lysithea turned slowly, to lock onto Callisto. That connection took a little more time to establish. The ancient, cratered moon surface was more difficult to work with than Ganymede, and the population of both humans and service machines was far less. The communication system was primitive by Ganymede standards. When Lenny Costas's pitted, impassive face finally appeared in the display volume, the engineer's image wavered and wobbled for a few seconds before it stabilized.

"Who is that?" Like Alicia Rios, Costas was peering at his own blank display region.

"This is Cayuga, audio only."

"I thought you were on your way."

"I will be. Very soon. But I have just concluded a disturbing conversation with Alicia Rios. I would like to summarize and hear your opinion."

Costas listened in silence as Cayuga spoke, and at the end he grunted and shook his head. "No surprise to me, any of that. I told you a long time ago that Rios is too close to Jinx Barker. She puts over-much trust in him, tells him too many things she doesn't need to. My bet is he knows a lot more about the Club than we think. She acts as though he is a member, but he isn't, and if I have any say in it he never will be. That Conner Preston stunt was just plain dumb. All Lola Belman would have to do is meet somebody who remembers the
real
Conner Preston, and she could be led straight to Jinx Barker and Alicia Rios. And maybe to us. What do you want me to do?"

"For the moment, nothing active. Just keep a quiet eye on them. Get Polk and Dahlquist and Munzer to help you. Go to Ganymede yourself if you have to. When I return the five of us will get together and reassess things. Then we may have to act."

"It will be a pleasure."

"I wouldn't bet on that, Costas. Don't underestimate Jinx Barker. Whatever else he is, he's a professional. He'll handle you and Polk and Dahlquist together without raising a sweat."

"No, he won't." Costas smiled for the first time. "Not one of us would ever be stupid enough to get near him—we have too much to lose. But there are other ways. It raises a good question: Who do you hire to kill an assassin?"

"You'll have five weeks to think about that while I'm away. And don't forget that our actions might have to include Alicia Rios as well as Jinx Barker. She seems to be showing dangerously bad judgment. Form your own impression, and we'll talk about this as soon as I get back." Cayuga studied the image of Lenny Costas for a few more seconds.

"I think the time is getting close for you, too," Cayuga said as he gave the command to break the connection. "You'll have to make a trip in the near future. Another year, and not even makeup will be able to disguise the changes."

12

Spook was running along a long, spiraling corridor, in a dream-dark world. He could see clearly, more clearly than usual, but everything was muted tones of charcoal and grey. The air was chokingly thick and hot, and as he ran, an acrid smoke swirled from a jagged crack in the ceiling ahead. It made his eyes water and his lungs burn. He could still run, but it was the flight of nightmares. Although he was on a path that turned steadily upward, his feet made so little contact with the floor that no amount of effort would increase his speed.