The Ganymede Club (35 page)

As his message was passed on to Lola, Cayuga pondered the strangeness of fate. You could set a professional assassin to work. When that failed, you could undertake to do the job yourself. You took unacceptable risks, and got nowhere. And then, just when you stopped chasing, just when you had given up and were heading off for home and relative safety, your quarry might drop out of hiding—and land right in your undeserving lap.

* * *

Bat knew he was smart, knew he was different, knew that while other people seemed to love company, he hated it. He knew, however, that he was less different from others than he sometimes wished. There were things he could not do, even to protect his own privacy. For one thing, he could not tell Spook and Bryce and Lola to leave the Bat Cave and face danger outside.

That left only one alternative. Bat went out as soon as he was awake. He would stay away from the Bat Cave for as long as he could stand it. He took a deep dive to the lowest levels of Ganymede, far beyond the residential, and sought out The Belly of the Whale.

The clientele of the restaurant matched Lola Belman's description. Even in the middle of the morning the curtains were drawn on all the occupied booths. A woman who was entering at the same time as Bat deliberately looked away from his black-clad bulk. Apparently the rules that Jinx Barker had quoted to Lola were in force at all times. Rule number one: Mind your own business. Rule number two: Speak only when you're spoken to.

These levels might be more than an interesting place to visit. They might be an acceptable alternative to the Bat Cave, or even a good new home for it. They also must have formed an excellent base of operations for a professional assassin. Jinx Barker could have come and gone with complete freedom. Even if someone happened to notice his moves, that information would not be passed on to anyone else.

Bat crossed The Belly of the Whale off his list of possible information sources about Barker and his employers, and studied the menu. Every dish on it was either unfamiliar or unpromising. But he had to eat. "Hunger sharpens the mind" was a platitude for idiots. The active brain could not operate on an empty stomach, and in his eagerness to get out of the Bat Cave he had forgone his usual breakfast.

Bat placed an order for a dozen courses. Maybe one or two of them would be edible. It was another sign of the present unsettled situation that he was obliged to voyage on such strange seas of gastronomic experiment.

As successive courses were served and tasted with minimal satisfaction, Bat reviewed his progress of the previous night. The secret of Puzzle Network success was simple: Ask the right question—and question the answer. Again and again, he came back to one fact: No member of the first Saturn expedition had any direct descendants. Could it be that exposure to intense radiation fields had induced general sterility?

He had read nothing to suggest that, but it was easily checked. He could have an answer in fifteen minutes from any public-access node to the data banks. So why wasn't he rushing off to do it?

Bat struggled with a mouthful of gritty, fennel-laden rubber that he would have thrown away as an instant failure in his own kitchen (an "herb omelette," according to the menu), and provided an answer: He was in no hurry to check because it did not feel like the right question.

There were plenty of
indirect
descendants—too many of them. One hundred and two people were on the list that he had left for Lola Belman's evaluation. Surely they couldn't
all
be people who wanted Jinx Barker and Alicia Rios out of the way. How was Bat to winnow it down?

Location?

Consanguinity with the original Saturn expedition members?

Profession?

Absence of direct offspring?

Bat snorted to himself. Lack of fertility as an inherited characteristic did not appeal to his sense of logic. And then in midsnort, with a laden fork poised in front of his open mouth, another thought came sneaking in from nowhere.

Inherited.
That was the key word. Since the original Saturn team had no offspring, someone must have inherited their estates. Who? And if those people had since died, who had inherited from
them?

It was a question he could not answer, but at last it felt like the
right
question. A knowledge of inheritance could narrow a wide field of people to a small and meaningful subset. A few hours of work at a public-information node should provide an answer—or fifteen minutes of effort, with the specialized tools that he had developed for his own use in the Bat Cave.

Bat stared down at the plate that had just been set in front of him by the serving machine. It contained an amorphous slab of striped leather swimming in a yellow pool of slime. The menu advertised it as "sea bass in mustard sauce."

Fifteen minutes in the Bat Cave, versus several hours down here.
And, if Bat hurried, time to enjoy a decent breakfast while his own programs did their work.

He pushed the offending dish away from him and stood up.

Privacy was important; but so were other things.

* * *

Bat had held a faint hope that when he got to the Bat Cave, it might be deserted, but no such luck. Bryce Sonnenberg and Spook Belman were sitting side by side at the communications center as he came in.

Spook turned at once to Bat.

"Was my sister here when you left?"

"Right there." Bat pointed to the big easy chair, with its neatly folded blanket.

"Did you speak to her?"

"No. She was sleeping." Bat did not add that he rarely initiated conversation with others, whether they were asleep or awake. "Why?"

Instead of answering, Spook gestured to one of the display regions.

A message there said:
"To Spook, Bryce, and Bat. I believe that you are safe in the Bat Cave, but not when I am with you. I have reported the death of Jinx Barker to Security. They will soon be seeking me, if they are not already doing so. You know how efficient they are, and you also know that the media follow along behind them. I consider it a certainty that when I am found, my location will become generally known and even broadcast. It is much better if I remain far away from you and away from Ganymede, until this is all over."

"Away from
Ganymede?
" said Bat. But the rest of the message was already appearing.

However, this matter cannot end until we know why someone wants to kill Bryce and me. I may be able to find out, since I have been given an opportunity to examine the records of the late Jeffrey Cayuga. The trail from Jinx Barker seemed to stop there, but perhaps I can find a way to continue it. Since the records are all located on Cayuga's home on Lysithea, if I myself leave a trail, it will be to a place far from you. I am going to meet with young Joss Cayuga, who seems cooperative. I will be traveling to Lysithea, alone, aboard the vessel
Dimbula.
I have to leave at once, or risk Security finding me and stopping me.

I hope that the next time I talk to you, it will be with good news. Lola.

PS: Say thanks to Bat for a great breakfast. Tell him that his food machine is a genius.

Bat's grunt of outrage was ignored. Bryce Sonnenberg, busy at a terminal, spoke over his shoulder to Spook: "You know Lola a lot better than we do. Did she worry much about danger?"

"Danger to herself? Not much. But she worries all the time about danger to me. You'd think I was made of snowflakes and living on Venus. If she thinks anything might happen to me, she loses it. She's a you-can't-handle-it, leave-it-to-me, I-can-do-anything type."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"You think she might be in danger? It doesn't sound like it. According to Jeffrey Cayuga's obituary, Joss Cayuga is only nineteen."

"While sin and violence, of course, are strictly the province of the old?" Bryce had set up a series of pointers and was waiting for the data banks to hustle through them. "Lola might be fine, and Lysithea may be the safest place in the system for her. Me, I just like to be sure. Ah, here we go."

The information that he had requested was appearing in the display region.
Dimbula. Commissioned 2044, Miranda class. Employed by the fourth Saturn expedition, later mothballed at Callisto Base, 2066—2068.
("So it missed the whole war," said Bryce. "Clever ship.")
Brought back into regular use, 2069. Currently rated spaceworthy for travel within Jovian system and for Jovian-Saturnian transfers. Restrictions: Speedwell drive places acceleration limit at 3 meters/sec
²
. Cannot be used within a planetary atmosphere. Present owner: Jeffrey Cayuga.

"Hope the rest of it's more accurate than that last bit," said Spook. "Data base needs updating."

"No great rush." Bryce was querying for details on the
Dimbula
's communications system. "Joss Cayuga knows he owns the ship, because he must have made it available to Lola. It all looks pretty good so far. The ship is in working order. She'll be traveling alone, which is good.
This
, though, I don't like. Any idea what it means?"

The display had changed to read:
Dimbula. Restricted access.

"If I may." Bat eased past Bryce Sonnenberg, moving lightly in spite of his size. He resisted the urge to point out that he had forgotten more about system travel, communications, and communication restrictions than the other two were ever likely to learn. It pained him to see Bryce Sonnenberg struggling over trivia.

He called up a couple of his picklock query tools. They were not actually illegal, though he suspected they would be if anyone learned they existed. Results came back in a few seconds. The condensed form was gibberish to the others, but Bat had seen similar strings a hundred times. He stared at the sequence, X-58651-KY-G-ppLY, and shook his head. Suddenly he agreed with Bryce Sonnenberg. This, he did not like.

"What is it?" Sonnenberg had been watching Bat's face, rather than the display. "Do we have a problem?"

"It is not a problem, in and of itself. There are, however, possible implications." Bat pointed to the beginning of the displayed sequence. "Some of this you already know. The first symbol, X, merely indicates that
Dimbula
is a Miranda-class ship, rated for either crew or cargo. It is also capable of piloted or remotely controlled operation. The next five digits, 58651, are
Dimbula
's unique ID within its own class of vessel. The next two, KY, define the Speedwell drive type and restrictions on ship use—in this case, no travel in the inner system, or out beyond Saturn. No problem, for travel to Lysithea. The code G shows that the ship contains life-support systems for no more than seven people. Again, no problem for one passenger. The final ppLY designator is the one that causes me concern. It says that communication with
Dimbula
is currently restricted, with signals to and from the ship proceeding via and screened by a ground-based station. However, as you might guess from the code name LY, that station is located on Lysithea."

"Try sending a message to my sister. See if it goes through. That way we'll know if she's on the
Dimbula.
"

Instead of answering or attempting data entry, Bat waved a dimpled hand at the display. He had already sent a query, and a return message was appearing:
Dimbula. Not presently accessible.

Spook looked at Bryce. "That settles it. We have to go."

"If we can. But don't let's overreact." Bryce turned again to Bat. "Even before we knew that Lola was going to Lysithea, Spook and I had decided we needed to talk with Joss Cayuga. We didn't realize we'd find him on Lysithea. Is there any way you can tell if Lola is already on the way?"

"Lola as an individual, no. My data bases show only equipment, not people. But I can determine the flight status of the ship." Bat was entering another query as he spoke. "Here it is. The
Dimbula
is shown with spaceborne status. It lifted from the surface of Ganymede two hours ago, with Lysithea as its indicated destination."

"And you are sure you can't get a message through?"

"Given time, I can probably gain access to the ship's control center and drive. The communications center is more difficult. My message would surely be blocked when it reached Lysithea."

"Can you get us there?" asked Bryce.

"You mean, procure a ship for your travel to Lysithea? Almost certainly."

"Good. Can you get us there before Lola?"

"Almost certainly not. Most people on Ganymede regard Lysithea as a remote object, but in solar system terms it is no more than a hop. I can probably find you a faster ship. However, it is unlikely that you can make up for the
Dimbula
's earlier departure."

"We have to try. Find me the earliest Lysithean arrival time that you can." Bryce turned to Spook. "One other thing. Better if you don't go. You stay here with Bat. I'll make the trip alone."

"Forget it!" Spook glared. "She's
my
sister, not yours. You told me, the two of us ought to work together."

"That was when I thought we would be working
here.
Bat? What do you think?"

"I am persuaded of the truth of the maxim, 'Work proceeds most rapidly in solitude.' "

"See, Spook?" Bryce stood up. "Bat agrees. You should stay here."

"Not at all." Bat had been waiting for Bryce to vacate his favorite chair, and now he sank down into it like a broody bird returning to nurse a clutch of eggs. "I believe that Spook should go with you. When I spoke of the virtues of solitude, I was thinking of my own efforts to solve our problem by more analytical means. I have had significant new thoughts. They become more difficult to pursue when others are present."

It finally dawned on Bryce why it was useless to talk with Bat and Spook. There was a fundamental difference between him and them: They might talk worried, but they weren't. Neither of them had witnessed anything at first hand, and they mainly saw an intriguing intellectual puzzle. But Bryce Sonnenberg—who was more and more Danny Clay—had a different perspective: Danny Clay sniffed death hovering in the air.

He sighed. "We don't have time for arguments. Let's go, Spook. Bat, see what sort of ship you can find us. We'll call you from the spaceport for details."