“I’ve heard the name,” Livia said. “But you’re wrong on one account. Rumpelstiltskin isn’t a man but a deformed midget.”

  Dawnstar actually winced, which Livia disliked seeing.

  Livia found it foolish the way people didn’t like certain words because they found them objectionable, or not right. Did it matter what word one used if the meanings remained the same? Many did not feel this way. Livia thought it a weakness. Was Dawnstar one of those?

  “Continue,” Livia said, perhaps with a touch of disapproval.

  “Manfred Huber is a gifted polymath,” Dawnstar said. “That means he is a genius in several areas. He is able to knit various facts from different directions and combine them into clever ideas. With his extremely competitive nature, Petty soon grew aware of Huber’s genius. More importantly, Petty understood Huber’s usefulness.”

  “Go on,” Livia said.

  “From earliest childhood, Petty had an intense desire to win at whatever he did.”

  “I know about that,” Livia said. “Skip to the next point.”

  After a half beat, Dawnstar sat forward. “Because of Petty’s great desire to win, even though the man is naturally arrogant, he has learned that if he operates arrogantly or in a prideful manner, he will lose more often than not. Therefore, Petty forces himself to think in a humble manner, or more humble than is his natural wont. That means he accepts suggestions from others and is even willing to listen when his own plans appear to be failing or in the wrong. That ability gives him a rare power.”

  “Interesting,” Livia said. “Are you suggesting that in his lust for winning—?”

  Dawnstar raised her hand, almost as if to interrupt Livia.

  The Director frowned before she decided to take a leaf from Petty’s modus operandi.

  “You desire to make a point?” Livia asked in a brittle voice.

  Dawnstar nodded. “All this is a hint into Petty, which should help us in destroying him.”

  “…I’m still listening.”

  “I’m afraid I need to discuss his youth, as it is germane to the topic.”

  “Fine,” Livia said. “But don’t make it too long.”

  Dawnstar nodded. The young woman seemed to possess nerves of steel, as she didn’t appear intimidated by Livia’s clear displeasure. Was that a source of inner strength or was she simply too stupid to realize her danger?

  Whatever the case, Dawnstar began to explain. “In his youth, Petty played something called war games. They were not video games, but complex board games he played with those like him. The rule booklets were quite complex for high school-aged individuals. In those games, Petty learned to read the rules closely and beat the other players more often than not. Then he met another individual like him, and their intensely competitive war-gaming bouts trained each of them to see what was, and not what they wanted to see. Only in that way could they keep beating each other.”

  “Are you suggesting I see what I want to see?” Livia asked sharply. “And that such a thing is a weakness for me?”

  “By no means,” Dawnstar said smoothly. Her nerves of steel were truly amazing, as she didn’t even flinch or hesitate. This young Londoner might have been chiseled from ice. “I am merely relating what I have learned about Petty.”

  Livia debated with herself, finally nodding, as she recognized that this Dawnstar was something special “Continue,” she said.

  “Moving forward to the here and now,” Dawnstar said, “we find that Petty’s thirst to win has caused him to lean heavily on Huber. The small man has many clever ideas, and either Huber found an agent in your employ, or came to a similar conclusion as you, and counseled Petty to send the Orion ships farther into space. I do not know this next fact for certain, but I suspect Huber realized they could no longer disguise the fact that the alien projectiles were hitting your factories more often than anyone else’s. Thus, they ceased playing that delicate game.”

  “You have proof they knowingly let projectiles through that would destroy my factories?”

  “Not that I could show other CEOs, but I think the evidence points to the conclusion. That means you were correct in your suspicions.”

  “I knew it,” Livia said, her eyes narrowing. A few seconds later, she looked up. “What then is your suggestion?”

  “To weaken Petty, we should kidnap Manfred Huber and possibly use him as Petty does: as an idea man.”

  Livia did not know if that was a slap in the face. Did Dawnstar think she couldn’t come up with her own bright ideas? Still, this was Dawnstar’s first try. It was best not to be too touchy…for now. Could Dawnstar’s small organization kidnap Huber? Petty guarded the midget almost as well as he guarded himself.

  “What would you need to complete the mission?” Livia asked.

  Dawnstar began to describe her needs. That entailed how they would lure Huber onto unsafe ground—or, in this case, water.

  “Once you capture him,” Livia said, “do you have any place in particular where I should hold the disgusting creature?”

  “Your retreat in the Himalayas seems the most suitable,” Dawnstar said.

  “Ah,” Livia said, liking the idea for her own reasons. “Begin the operation. You have my full authority. I want to see what you can achieve.”

  Dawnstar sprang to attention, inclining her head. “Thank you for this opportunity, Director. I hope to please you completely.”

  “Yes,” Livia said. “I want the same thing.”

  -3-

  ORBITAL STATION APHRODITE

  MAY 2072

  They were waiting for John Steele as he came through the airlock. He turned around in his bulky spacesuit and nearly empty thruster pack and saw the station security chief, one of the depot managers, and Demetrius Garvey. All three were frowning at him.

  The airlock had hissed, the green all-clear light had lit up, and he had come out. John now twisted the helmet and pulled it off, grinning at them.

  He had been outside, spacewalking across the orbital station and practicing his thruster-pack flying. He had not used a security harness or line while practicing with the thruster pack, and he was sure he’d been flying too fast according to safety protocols.

  “Do you see this?” the station security chief complained. The chief was an older man: bald, scowling, and thick. He wore a brown station security uniform. If it had just been John and him, the chief might have tried to rip John apart for what he’d done. The chief looked like an old-time mob boss and often acted the part.

  No one replied to the chief’s accusation, which seemed to bother him. He turned to Garvey, a lithe black man in his 40s wearing a black leather jacket. Garvey was a top-level security operative for CEO James Petty.

  “The punk stole the spacesuit and thruster pack,” the chief said. “Those are both experimental models kept under lock and key.”

  Garvey glanced at John.

  John Steele was the twenty-three-year-old son of the late Colonel Mike Steele, the space marine who had gone out in the stealth ships, in stasis, and inflicted a devastating defeat on the aliens by destroying the railgun on Iapetus. The iron projectiles had finally ceased striking Earth 25 days ago. Hopefully, the reign of terror from the projectiles was over forever. The supply situation on Earth was chaotic, ripe for rebellions and other social disasters.

  John was lean and athletic, of average height, with blue eyes and a blond brush cut.

  “Get out of the suit,” Garvey told John. “Then come with me.”

  “That’s it?” the security chief growled at Garvey. “You’re just gonna talk to him?”

  “I’m going to do more than that,” Garvey said.

  “Like what?” asked the chief.

  “Give him unpleasant duties for one,” Garvey said.

  “Like what?” the security chief said, maybe more angrily than before.

  “Are you demanding an accounting from me?” Garvey asked, with the first faint hint of displeasure.

  If the chief noticed that, he didn’t show it. “The kid can’t keep doing this kind of shit. He’s always getting into things, doing something crazy, something nobody else does. Why are you letting him get away with it?”

  Garvey shook his head. “He’s not getting away with anything. He’s in training.”

  The chief’s eyes widened, perhaps with outrage. “He did this at your orders?”

  Garvey stared at John. “No, but I know why he’s doing it.”

  “The why doesn’t matter,” the chief said. “He’s putting everyone in jeopardy with these stupid stunts.”

  Garvey turned to the older man. “I said I’ll take care of it. You don’t think I will?”

  The chief hesitated before saying, “I don’t know. You got a soft spot for this jerk-off. I don’t know why that is.”

  “His father was Colonel Mike Steele,” Garvey said.

  “I know who his father was,” the chief said. “His old man was a hero. The kid is a punk.” The chief faced John. “You think you can get away with these kinds of stunts, punk?”

  John put a stupid grin on his face. The security chief reminded him of Ivan Blagojevich. He never got a chance to pay Ivan back for the drubbings in high school. Maybe the old security chief could stand in for Ivan.

  The grizzled chief nodded. He must have outweighed John by seventy pounds. “You want to fight me, huh? You think you can take me?”

  “As a matter of fact,” John said, “I do.”

  “Do you hear that?” the chief asked Garvey. “The punk thinks he can take me.” He faced John again. “Any time, any place.”

  “Any place?” asked John.

  “You heard me,” the chief said. “I’m going to kick the shit out of you, punk.”

  John grinned wider.

  The chief stepped up and poked a blunt forefinger against John in the spacesuit. He did it twice, knocking John back each time. The third time the chief jabbed, John dropped the space helmet and grabbed the hand and twisted. The chief laughed as he twisted his hand free. Then he hit John in the face hard enough to knock him onto the deck.

  “Enough,” Garvey said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The mob-looking chief glanced at Garvey. “I’m teaching him that he can’t do whatever he wants. Somebody has to.”

  John climbed to his feet, his head ringing. That hurt more than he had expected. He was used to being hit during practice bouts, but this was unexpected. He tried to leap at the security chief, but the bulky spacesuit kept him from getting far enough.

  The chief hit him harder.

  John reeled back and slammed against the hatch, and once more collapsed onto the deck.

  “Any time, any place,” the chief said, stepping up and standing over him.

  John’s lower lip was bleeding, and he had a loose tooth. This was like old times in high school. John blinked several times and got angry. He began to unlatch the spacesuit while he was still on the deck, thinking that if he got up again in it, he would get another blow in the face.

  Instead, the chief hauled off and kicked him in the gut with a steel-toed boot. It hurt, but the bulky spacesuit protected him from much of that. The security chief laughed and hauled back to kick again.

  From the deck, John cringed as if he was terrified. The chief lashed out, kicking. John lunged, wrapped his arms around the foot and pressed hard, using leverage as he surged forward. The chief might not have been expecting that. The older, heavier man fell back onto the deck, and there was a distinctive crack.

  The others understood. The ankle broke. The chief was furious, shouting because of the pain.

  “Enough of that,” Garvey said. He pried John’s arms loose as the chief tried to grapple with the youth. “Help me with this. We’ve got to keep these fools from tearing each other to pieces.”

  The depot manager hurried forward, barely keeping the chief back. The chief had already turned white from the broken bone and panted at the pain.

  “That little bastard broke my ankle,” the chief shouted.

  “Any time, any place,” John shouted at him.

  “Shut up,” Garvey told John. “Don’t make this worse.”

  Because John liked and respected Garvey, he shut up after a moment’s consideration.

  The manager helped the panting chief upright. The older chief then hobbled on one foot while he had an arm draped around the smaller man’s shoulder.

  “This ain’t over, you little punk,” the chief yelled at John. “You wait.”

  A hard look from Garvey kept John’s mouth shut.

  The manager helped the chief around the corner and away.

  John climbed to his feet and wiped a hand across a bloody lip.

  “When are you going to learn?” Garvey asked.

  “You mean how to stop someone from hitting me by surprise?”

  “No, from stupid stunts that make others livid.”

  “Are my stunts stupid?” John asked.

  “I just told you they are. You went spacewalking without telling anybody, without using a harness. I scanned a security video. You were using the thruster pack without a line, and you made mistakes out there.”

  “But I recovered from them,” John said.

  “Are you an idiot or what?”

  “No, I’m learning.”

  Garvey snorted.

  “How does someone learn unless he takes risks and does things?” John asked. “You did that. My dad did that. You think I’m not going to do that, too? You think I’m going be a weakling, a coward who doesn’t try stuff?”

  “No one’s telling you to be a coward.” Garvey stared at John and shook his head. “Why am I saying anything to you? None of it helps. Get out of the spacesuit. You have your delusions of grandeur. You think you’re Charles XII?”

  “Of Sweden,” John said. “No, I’m not Charles XII. I just use him as encouragement.”

  “You need a new role model then,” Garvey said. “I looked him up the other day. Charles XII of Sweden was a fool. He made reckless decisions all the time, almost getting himself killed. He practically destroyed Sweden with his stupid wars because he didn’t know when to stop fighting.”

  “That’s all true,” John said. “But he also was one of the most courageous and gallant commanders of history.”

  “Gallant,” Garvey said. “Did he win? That’s Petty’s motto. Don’t tell me about stupidity, being brave and putting up a false front. It’s winning at the end that counts.”

  “Agreed,” John said. “But how am I ever going to do well in a hard situation if I don’t practice? That’s what I’m doing. I’m practicing spacewalking, practicing my knife throwing.”

  “Knife throwing? Do you hear yourself? When are you going to throw a knife in space?”

  “Who knows when a guy is going to use a weapon? I’m trying to become good at all kinds of things: knife fighting, pistol shooting, unarmed combat. I broke that bastard’s ankle, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, that was a cheap trick. Did you mean to break it?”

  “Not really,” John said. “I just grabbed it too hard and pushed wrong. Besides, he’s old. When you’re old, your bones are brittle.”

  “Get out of that suit. Get out of it now. Let me help you with it.”

  Garvey helped Mike Steele’s boy take off the thruster pack, get out of the spacesuit and put the stuff away. “Now, follow me.”

  “Where are we going? To see Petty?”

  “I’m not going to bother him with this kind of baloney,” Garvey said. “We’re going to the bar.”

  “You like what I did?” John asked, surprised.

  “If I thought it would help, I’d spar against you myself and teach you a few lessons. Teach you you’re not as tough as you think you are.”

  “No one said I was tough,” John replied. “That’s the point. I’m not tough. I’ve been practicing all my life to get tough, ever since Ivan thrashed me.”

  “That bully in high school?” Garvey asked. “When are you going to get over that?”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “When do you think?”

  “Forget it. You’re such a smart aleck. Come on. Let’s go to the bar. I have an idea of what you can do. If I didn’t know better, you’re going stir-crazy on Aphrodite. It’s time to get you off the station.”

  “What gave you that idea?” John asked.

  “Shut your mouth, punk. Let’s get our drinks.”

  -4-

  They sat at the same bar where they had drinks before Mike Steele boarded the stealth ships and left on his crazy mission over four years ago. Mike Steele was the only man who had beaten the aliens twice. Unfortunately, even though he had done so, Earth was losing the space war.

  “The news people call this an interstellar war,” John said. “But it isn’t. It’s an interplanetary one, wouldn’t you say?”

  “The Valiants come from outside the Solar System. Doesn’t that make it interstellar?”

  “It was an interstellar war,” John said. “I don’t know if it is anymore, though.”

  John was on his fourth beer. He wasn’t as heavy or as tall as some were. In fact, he was lean with almost no fat. As a result, with the fourth beer, his speech changed, and his eyes looked different. He also seemed more relaxed.

  Normally, John didn’t relax as much as others did. He hadn’t necessarily had a rough childhood, but he had spent most of it at the Leningrad School for Troubled Boys. His mother had never been able to handle him, and he had not seen his dad except for those few weeks before the colonel left on his mission to Saturn.

  “Give me another,” John said, pushing the empty glass.

  The bartender looked at Garvey, who gave him a slight nod.

  “Eat some peanuts,” Garvey said, sliding the dish to John.

  John grabbed a fistful and dribbled them into his mouth, chewing loudly. The bartender set another beer before him. John picked it up and took a good swallow, wiping the foam from his lips.

  “Easy there,” Garvey said. “We’re not in a competition.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” John said. “What do you think is going to happen now that the security chief broke his ankle and has it in for me?”