"Yes." The official glanced at his wrist-chron. "We know that he will
be on the Venus transport X-1143--the _Aphrodite_--which leaves in
three hours. Probably the woman, too. Whatever happens, they must not
reach Venus alive."
* * * * *
Coran caught an implication in the words. "What do you mean 'Whatever
happens?'"
"The _Aphrodite_ is an emigrant ship. It's a government secret that
she's carrying plutonium for the power plants on Venus, but we're
afraid the information may have leaked out. You may as well know that
we're on the spot. It's too late to cancel the shipment without serious
economic repercussions. And we haven't found any way to protect the
passenger-carrying ships. Even if we armed them, which is against
Interplanetary Law, they're too slow to run and too unwieldy to
maneuver. Too much mass."
"What about convoy?"
"We tried that last time. The ship was disabled and driven off-orbit.
Then a group of fast cruisers of unusual design showed up. The space
patrol drove them off and gave chase. It was a trick, of course, to
decoy our ships into space, then the main body of pirates moved in and
cleaned out the ship."
Coran laughed. "When you're catching rabbits you have to be smarter
than the rabbits."
The official flushed. "We're handicapped by lack of ships and lack
of competent personnel. This is your chance to be smarter than the
rabbits. The man you want is obviously a member of the same group. If
there is trouble, he will try to contact his friends. It's up to you
to find him first, and if you fail that, to make sure that he does not
escape or turn over the documents to anyone else. We'll have an ISP
squadron following six hours behind the _Aphrodite_. If you need help,
get a signal to them--by helioflash, if you can. I suggest you find the
man first, and through him, locate the woman. From there on, you know
what to do...."
"It's a dirty job. Even with frosting, it's simple butchery--no trial,
no evidence. Now I know why the Martians consider an ISP man just a
hired thug."
"That's all he is. You have your orders and, whatever your private
opinions may be, I'm sure you'll agree that lives are unimportant when
we're playing for such stakes."
"Lives never are when politicians start dealing from the bottom of the
deck," Coran snarled bitterly.
The official shrugged. "I wouldn't know about that. I'm just a yes-man.
You can discuss it with Paul Jomian--your politician friend--when you
see him. He'll be on the _Aphrodite_."
"Have you figured out how I'm to get on the _Aphrodite_? If she's
an emigrant ship, they'll take only married couples. The altruistic
Company wants settlers to colonize Venus and build up their plague-spot
plantations for them."
"That's your problem. Marry someone if you have to, or hire a fake
wife. It's been done. Anything, just so you don't give away your
official position. Now get going. You've less than three hours till
take-off time."
Coran bent over the desk and signed his resignation with an elaborate
flourish, put an inked thumbprint beside the name, then stalked to the
door clothespinning his nose between thumb and forefinger. "That's time
enough to blow this stink off me," he said carelessly, wiping the inky
thumb on his uniform jacket.