The man was not cut out to be a physician. Fortunately for all concerned, he’d realized it, as well. His career change to biochemistry had been a source of huge relief to Sam.
“You still think he did it deliberately,” Linnet persisted, and Sam gave her friend a reluctant nod while continuing to stare at the two men.
“Yes, I do. I saw the malice in his eyes, Lin. He masked it quickly enough, but the patient he was treating that morning during rounds was a real bitch, and we all kind of wanted to strangle her.” Sam shrugged. “He very nearly did it.”
“You’re sure the medical nano he had loaded into that ampoule would have killed her?”
“I’m sure. He knew it, too, although he covered quickly enough when I called him on it,” Sam replied absently, her eyes still narrowed on the man they were discussing.
Twice, now, Janus had looked away from Peres, his manner distracted. To Sam’s knowledge, the man had never behaved like that before. She’d learned long ago that one of Janus’s little tricks was to appear riveted by whomever he wanted to impress.
He was not acting that way now. His distraction was so out of character, it was like a beacon that drew Sam’s curiosity. She followed the direction of his gaze, but the only person she saw was a member of the catering staff the Institute had hired for the event, tucked into a shadowed alcove.
How odd. It’s not like Janus to waste his time on people who can’t further his career.
But as she watched, he turned back to Peres, clapping him on the shoulder jovially. Sam couldn’t repress a smile at Peres’s expression.
“He looks about as enthusiastic as I would be, under the same circumstances,” Sam told Linnet. “Seriously, Lin, maybe you should go rescue him.”
“Okay, fine. Twist my arm.” Linnet flashed her an impish grin. “Come on!”
Sam hesitated, not wanting to come face to face with Janus, but then she saw him step back. With another glance toward where the server stood quietly in a shadowed recess, the man turned and walked away. Sam’s brow wrinkled in confusion as she followed in Linnet’s wake.
What is it about that server that held Janus’s attention?
Sam caught a better look at the woman when the crowd briefly parted. She looked innocuous enough, dressed all in black like the rest of the catering staff, and holding an empty serving tray to receive used glasses.
She was a study in browns otherwise, with a caramel complexion and matching hair that fell forward, partially obscuring her face. It looked like there was something woven in the long strands, beads perhaps. Or maybe braids. It was hard to tell from this distance.
Sam nearly bumped into Linnet when her friend came to an abrupt halt to avoid a gaggle of scientists talking animatedly.
“Oh, goody, he’s alone,” Lin said with a sly smile.
Sam held back another laugh as Linnet plowed forward, but then quickly caught up to her friend as suspicion began to grow.
“Oh no, you’re not. Are you?” she asked, pulling Linnet to a stop and eyeing her disbelievingly.
“I’m not what?”
“Going to pump him for classified information on whatever that probe found.”
Linnet blinked and averted her gaze, but her lips quivered as she repressed a grin. “First, it’s classified,” she said primly. “And you know as well as I do that he won’t spill anything he can’t share. Second, I’m not trying to get him to tell me anything he shouldn’t, but that’s okay; I’ll take a hint. A suggestion. Even a slight eye twitch, if I guess right.”
Sam shook her head. “Just don’t get into any trouble while doing it, okay?”
Linnet shrugged unrepentantly. “You only live once. I say go for all the life you can grab with both hands. And if it’s rumors about that probe are the things I choose to pursue in my spare time, who’s to stop me? It’s a whole lot sexier than plasma and sunspots, Sam. You ought to try it sometime.”
Sam laughed and held up her hands. “Okay, fine, you win.”
Linnet pulled up short of the man and then waited for him to glance her way. When it became apparent that he hadn’t noticed her, Linnet cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Doctor Peres?”
The man turned, a politely questioning look on his face.
“Linnet Thompson,” she said, proffering her hand. Sam suspected her friend had used the gesture to push her personal token to him over the Institute’s net. “I just wanted to welcome you to Hawking, and thank you for agreeing to deliver our keynote.”
His expression cleared. “Ah, yes, Doctor Thompson. It’s nice to be here.”
“Linnet, please,” she said. “You know, I’ve read several of your papers.”
The man’s brows rose. “My apologies.”
Sam stifled a laugh.
“I’d love to hear about the work you do for the Navy.” Her eyes took on an expectant light and Sam saw the man’s expression turn resigned.
Sam leapt to his rescue. “We realize a lot of your work must be classified, so of course, you wouldn’t be able to talk about it. Isn’t that right, Linnet?” Her eyebrows lifted as she shot a warning look toward her friend.
Bill smiled, and Sam sensed relief behind the look he sent her way. “That’s true,” he told Linnet. “I’m sorry, I can’t talk to you about it until it gets declassified.”
Undeterred, Linnet gave a little wave of her hand. “Totally get that. But in case the rumors are true—”
Linnet broke off as Sam grabbed her by the arm and began to drag her away. Linnet’s voice sped up.
“—if they’re true and you found chiral life, and if you need any assistance from a fellow biochemist,” she raised her voice so that it still carried to him, “I just want you to know that I’d totally volunteer to help out with that!”
The man laughed and Sam knew her friend had won him over with her cheerfully breezy attitude.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he called after them both, chin lifting in a friendly goodbye.
“Why’d you do that?” Linnet demanded in a whisper after Sam had come to a stop several meters away. “I had him eating out of the palm of my hand!”
Sam snorted. “Sure you did. That guy wants to be anywhere but here right now.”
Linnet frowned. “He does not.”
“Does, too. Look,” she nodded in Peres’s direction. As if on cue, the man looked around one last time, then turned decisively, and headed toward an exit sign hanging above a door Sam was sure lead to a stairwell. “See? He’s making his exit now.”
Linnet sighed. “Fine. You’ve made your point.” She waggled her half-empty wineglass in front of Sam’s face. “Let me get rid of this and then we can get out of here, too. There’s a great tapas bar just down the street. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be karaoke night.”
Sam groaned at that, but allowed her friend to lead her toward the lifts. It wasn’t until much later that she realized the woman in black had turned and followed after Peres.
* * *
The woman watching Peres saw him stop at a nearby park bench, shoulders hunched. She stepped into the shadows and waited. The warm glow of a streetlight bathed the man’s face in golden tones, casting long, soft shadows under his eyes.
He must have adjusted the temperature of his suit, for after a few seconds, she saw him relax as if the cool night air no longer bothered him. He looked left and then right in indecision, his expression gaining the faraway look of someone querying the local public network for information.
After a moment, he turned and strode purposefully toward the area locals called restaurant row. She allowed a few pedestrians to pass between them before she stepped into the flow of foot traffic and began to follow.
There were a group of three separating her from her quarry. From their words, it was clear they were a maintenance crew. The conversation carried to her easily. She listened unashamedly, interest piqued.
“How’s the refit going?” she heard one of them ask. The one in the middle grinned, bumping
shoulders with the man on her other side.
“Smooth as silk,” she declared, “despite ol’ Tracy’s dire predictions.”
“That plasma tube we’re swapping out is the first of eighty,” the man muttered darkly. “Plenty of time for things to go wrong.” That just made the woman in the middle chuckle.
“So, how much longer, you think, before we’ll have Thirty-Two back online?” the one on the end persisted.
The woman shrugged, flicking blonde hair over one shoulder. “Tomorrow around noon, is my guess. Owen said to take our time. The mag-field tubes on either side are rock-solid, so it’s not a rush job. I want to climb inside while it’s empty and get a good look at those baffles before we pump her full of plasma again.”
“It needs to be sealed by midnight,” Tracy warned, “or you can kiss goodbye any hope of getting her online by noon.”
“Don’t be so gloom-and-doom,” the blonde in the middle chided good-naturedly. “It’ll be fine.”
The woman trailing behind them listened avidly as she monitored Peres’s progress. By the time the man turned into a French restaurant, she was ready for her next move. A quick glance at the brasserie’s sign assured she would know where to double back.
Waiting for a break in oncoming foot traffic, she sped up, brushing against the man named Tracy with a murmured apology. She made sure that her hand came into contact with his exposed skin.
The man jerked back, shooting her an irritated glance. All he caught was the impression of a woman in a hurry and the glint of a bead, braided into brown hair as she rushed past.
FIVE
NCIC Offices
Nimitz Base
Portsmouth
Hawking Habitat
Early evening settled upon Nimitz Base, bringing with it a stillness that only came after hours.
The light rapping of knuckles against her office door frame startled Ell, pulling her attention away from Quinn's most recent report. She looked up to see Rafe leaning against the jamb, hands shoved casually into his pockets.
She spared the chrono on her overlay a quick glance. Slanting him a curious look, she set her stylus down and pushed away from her desk.
“I thought you had a poker game to win and a round of drinks to extort from Thad,” she said.
“I did,” he agreed, and then jerked his chin in the direction of his office. “Stopped by to pick up a data packet for Wraith to take back to Humbolt.”
He pushed away from the opening and nodded toward the empty chair across from her desk. “Got a minute?”
Ell stared at him, wondering if this had something to do with today’s exercise. Shrugging, she gestured to a nearby chair. “Be my guest.”
As he crossed the distance from door to chair, she indicated the built-in chiller behind her.
“I've got a couple of beers left over from that batch the Portsmouth Brewery made for the Munich Oktoberfest last month,” she said. “Want one?”
The left side of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “Won't say no to that.”
Sliding her chair back, she retrieved the bottles, handing his over before opening her own. She waited until he'd taken his first drink before squinting at him questioningly.
“All right, I’ll bite. What's on your mind that couldn't wait until tomorrow?”
Instead of answering, Rafe gestured with his bottle in the direction of Quinn's office. “Your sidekick gone for the day?”
She nodded, reining in the impatience that flared as he deflected her question. Rafe nodded, tipped his bottle back for another long drink, then cradled it in his hands.
Eyes fixed on the beer, he asked, “You okay after today's op?” The look he sent her from under lowered brows held a veiled concern.
Ell pressed the heel of her hand hard against her upper thigh, massaging the juncture where the cloned limb had been attached just above her knee, as she considered how to respond.
Her doctors had been shocked to learn she could identify the surgical site just by feel alone. They’d been quick to point out that the bulk of the cloned leg was bioidentical to the one she’d lost.
The nerves responsible for propulsion and balance, though, those had been too fine to 3D print. Instead, medical nano had been injected into the printed leg while it was still encased in a hydrogel scaffold. It was there that the tiny machines had painstakingly assembled the complex network of fibers that sent and received messages to her brain.
Her new nerves were made of the same stuff that formed the web of military-grade SmartCarbyne lattice injected into every soldier at the onset of their first tour. The artificial endoskeleton, made of a carbyne nanofloss, wrapped around bone, organs, and sinew.
It hardened automatically during high delta-v maneuvers, forming a protective shell around critical structures. It enhanced a soldier’s strength, speed, and agility when on the battlefield.
Her lattice had become a natural extension of her physical body long ago. She’d assumed the new leg would be no different, yet the signals from the new limb held a brittle, hard edge. Worse, the synthetically-woven nerves triggered a transient neuropathy, a pain that never truly went away.
Rafe knew all this. It wasn’t his Helios that had flown her team on that particular op, but the teams were close-knit.
He knew about the explosive decompression that had taken her leg, on a platform not too much different than what today’s pirate station had been set up to look like. He knew about her slow road to recovery, as well.
“Am I okay,” she repeated his question back to him in a deliberately neutral tone, and then blew out a slow breath as she fought to contain her exasperation. “Don’t I look okay to you?”
Rolling the beer between his palms, he studied it as if it held the answer to all life's mysteries. He answered her question with another one.
“Why'd you do it, Ell?”
She wasn’t going to dignify that with an answer.
She took a sip of her own beer, and then set it down on her desk, fingers rubbing at the condensation as she waited for him to make the next move.
After a moment, he looked up at her and tried again. “Your role was to be a prisoner. The exercise would have been plenty effective without an escape attempt.”
When she still didn’t speak, he gave her a small shrug. “I just wanted to know if you did it because Thad was there, and Asha, and Boone. You don't need to prove anything to them. You know that.”
Ell gripped her beer, hard. It was either that or lose her shit, and she didn’t want to go there with him. Misguided as it was, his concern came from a good place.
She opted for mild reproof.
“The objective of the exercise was for it to be as realistic as it could possibly be.” She arched a brow. “Are you telling me that you wouldn't have done everything you could to escape, if the situation had been real?”
Rafe brushed her comment away. “Civilian hostages wouldn't have,” he countered. “You know as well as I do that most people would either freeze or shut down under those circumstances. They sure as hell wouldn't have the skill to pick a lock. Where'd you learn to do that, anyway?”
He seemed genuinely curious.
Ell shrugged, relieved he’d given her an opening to shift the subject away from her leg.
“It was covered in one of my criminal history classes, when I was certifying to become a special agent at New Quantico. One of those things that just sticks with you, you know?”
Disbelief crossed his face. “And you're telling me you just happened to have a wire with you.”
She shook her head. “Actually, it was Quinn who had it. Somehow, he remembered I knew how to pick a lock. I only mentioned it to him in passing, several months ago.” She shook her head. “Guy's got a wicked sharp memory.”
Rafe flashed a grin at her. “Fletcher tells me you’ve got a wicked sharp choke hold, too.”
She grinned back at him, happy the air was clear between them once more.
“By the way you’re talking,
I assume Fletcher’s that Navy kid that was guarding us, and not the man whose legs I swept out from under him?” she asked.
At his nod, she lifted her beer and pointed it at him before taking a swig. “Kid needs to learn to own how he looks,” she stated firmly. “Underestimating a person is an advantage he won’t always have. It’s something he shouldn’t discount.”
“I told him as much in the after-action report.” He rubbed a finger across the bottle’s Oktoberfest label before adding, “The whole exercise took them down a few pegs.”
Ell snorted. “Hopefully, it’ll keep them from getting too cocky out in the field.” She gave him a direct look. “Any other reason you came by? You know, aside from playing mother hen?”
Rafe kicked his chair up, balancing it on its back legs. Ignoring the scowl that action earned him, he admitted, “Yeah, there is one more thing. Remember that civilian I mentioned to Case, the one who’s going to hitch a ride back on Wraith?”
Ell nodded. “The one headed for some mysterious black location you neglected to mention?”
“Noticed that, did you?”
Ell smirked and spread her hands. “Well, I am NCIC. We’re trained to notice things like that, you know. So, what about him?” she prompted.
Rafe dropped the chair back down. “He’s gone missing.”
Ell’s brows rose at that. “Not responding to pings, I take it?”
“And not showing up on any public networks, either,” Rafe said. “We conducted a sweep of the habitat, and we’re not picking up his security token anywhere.”
“Gone off the grid, then,” she murmured. “I wonder why.”
“I was hoping you could help me answer that question,” he said. “I reached out to Marisol, too.”
“Marisol Asato? Hawking’s Chief of Police?” she asked, and he nodded.
“She’s opening a missing persons case on him, but we’re not operating on a standard law enforcement timeframe,” he explained. “That guy needs to be on a Navy ship by end of day, tomorrow, the next morning, at the latest.”
The Chiral Conspiracy – A Military Science Fiction Thriller: A Biogenesis War Prequel (The Biogenesis War Book 0) Page 5