Tom fought the wheel as the big tractor lumbered up another rise, and the huge plastic bubble of Sun Lake City came into view far down the valley below. Off to the right was the space port, with the tall spires of the shuttle ships rising up in sharp relief against the dark sky. One of the ships was landing now, settling down on a mushroom-shaped cloud of fire after its run out to the travel lanes where the huge interplanetary orbit ships made their endless circuits between Mars and Earth.
Tom clung to the shock bar and rode the tractor down the slope. Seeing the ships made him think of Greg. Had Greg been summoned too? He closed his lips tightly as a wave of anger passed through his mind. If anything had happened, no matter what, he thought, Greg would be there. Taking over and running things, as usual. He thought of the last time he had seen his brother, and then deliberately blocked out the engulfing bitterness. That had been more than a year ago. Maybe Greg had changed since then. But somehow, Tom didn’t think so.
The Sloppy Joe was on the valley floor now, and ahead, the bubble covering the city was drawing closer. The Sun was almost gone; lights were appearing inside the plastic shielding. Bom and raised on Mars, Tom had seen the teeming cities of Earth only once in his life, but to him none of the splendors of the Earth cities could match the simple, quiet beauty of this Martian outpost settlement. There had been a time when people had said that Sun Lake City could never be built, that it could never survive if it were, but with each successive year it grew larger and stronger, the headquarters city for the planet that had become the new frontier of Earth.
The radiophone buzzed, and the airlock guard hailed him when he returned the signal. Tom gave his routine ID. He guided the tractor into the lock, waited until pressure and atmosphere rose to normal, and then leaped out of the cab.
Five minutes later he was walking across the lobby of the Interplanetary Council building, stepping into the down elevator. Three flights below, he stepped out into the office corridor of the U.N. Interplanetary Council on Mars.
If there was trouble, this was there he would find it.
He paused for a minute before the gray plastic door marked MAJOR FRANK BRIARTON in raised stainless steel letters. Then he pushed open the door and walked into the anteroom.
It was empty. At a desk in the corner an automatic typer was clicking busily, and green lights blinked on the secretary robot. “Yes, please? May I help you?” the metallic voice asked.
Tom picked up the speaker to answer and felt a touch on his shoulder. Behind him, a familiar voice said, “Hello, Twin.”
At first glance they looked like carbon copies of each other, although they were no more identical than identical twins ever are. Greg stood a good two inches taller than Tom. His shoulders were broad, and there was a small gray scar over one eye that stood out in contrast to the healthy tanned color of his face. Tom was of slighter build, and wirier, his skin much more pale.
But they had the same dark hair, the same gray eyes, the same square, stubborn line to the jaw. They looked at each other for a moment without speaking. Then Greg grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“So you got here, finally,” he said. “I was beginning to think I’d have to go out on the desert and find you.”
“Oh, I got here, all right,” Tom said. “I see you did too.”
“Yes,” Greg said heavily. “Can’t argue with the major, you know.”
“What does he want?”
“How should I know? All he said was to get down here fast. And now he isn’t even here himself, and his squawk box here isn’t any help.”
The secretary robot was repeating its mechanical question for the fourth time. Greg kicked at the foot pedal, cutting it off in mid-sentence. “Whatever he wants, it had better be good. Of all the times to drag me down here.”
“Well, somethings happened, that’s sure.”
“Like what?” Greg snapped. “For three months I’ve been working to take that ship out, and now they’ve sent Morton out in my place. Well, now I’m here. There had just better be a good reason.”
“Is Dad on Mais?” Tom asked.
Greg looked at him. “I don’t know.”
“We could check the register.”
“I’ve already checked it. He hasn’t logged in, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“I suppose not,” Tom said glumly.
They were silent for a moment. Then, “Look, what are you worried about?” Greg asked. “Nothing could have happened to Dad. He’s been mining the belt for years.”
“I know. I just wish he were here, that’s all. If he’s in some kind of trouble. . . .”
“What land of trouble? You’re looking for spooks.”
“Spooks like Jupiter Equilateral, maybe,” Tom said. “They could make plenty of trouble for Dad.”
“With the U.N. in the driver’s seat here? They wouldn’t dare. Why do you think the major rides them so hard with all the claim-filing regulations? He’d give his right arm for a chance to break that outfit into pieces.”
“I still wish somebody had gone out to the belt with Dad,” Tom said.
“You mean somebody like me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, why me?” Greg said angrily. “You think just because you always need somebody to look after you that everybody else does, too. Dad doesn’t need a baby sitter.” He broke off and jammed his hands in his pockets. “All right, maybe one of us should have gone with him, I don’t know. But if he’s gotten into trouble, having one of us around wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. You know Dad as well as I do—”
He broke off as the door opened. The newcomer was a tall gray-haired man with U.N. Council stripes on his lapel, and major’s rockets on his shoulders. “Sorry I’m late, boys,” Major Briarton said. “I’d hoped to be here when you arrived.” He pulled off his cap and gloves and looked up at the twins. “Now, then, what were we shouting at each other about?”
“Nothing,” Greg said, flushing.
“Well, come on in and sit down.” The major led them into the inner office and sank down behind his desk. He seemed thinner now than when Tom had seen him last; his eyes looked tired, and his face was heavily lined. “I’m sorry to have to pull you in here like this, but I’m afraid I had no choice. When did you boys hear from your father last?”
They looked at each other. “I saw him six weeks ago,” Tom said. “Just before he left to go out to the belt again.”
“Nothing since then?”
“Not a word.”
The major chewed his lip. “Greg?”
“I had a note at Christmas, I think. But what—”
“What did he say in the note?”
“He said Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Dad isn’t much of a letter writer.”
“Nothing at all about what he was doing?”
Greg shook his head. “Look, Major, if there’s some sort of trouble—”
“Yes, I’m afraid there’s trouble,” the major said. He looked at them and spread his hands helplessly. “There isn’t any easy way to tell you, but you’ve got to know. There’s been an accident, out in the belt.”
“Accident?” Greg said.
“A very serious accident. A fuel tank exploded in the scooter your father was riding back to the Scavenger. It must have been very sudden, and by the time help arrived—” the major broke off, unable to find words.
For a long moment there was utter silence in the room.
Outside, an elevator was buzzing, and a typewriter clicked monotonously somewhere in the building.
Then Tom Hunter broke the silence. “Who was it, Major?” he asked. “Who was it that killed our father?”