“Ooooo. Cloak and dagger. Frozen men tell no tales.”
“It gets better. Before our newbie from the asteroids signs off, his buddy proposes they share a meal during the crew swap. So the next day, the Navy transport makes rendezvous with the patrol boat. But before the crew swap, the transport sends its medical officer and the XO aboard the patrol boat. About an hour goes by. Then comes the green light for the crew swap. Our newbie on the transport expects to find his friend waiting for him. What he finds is Downing, the XO, and the medical officer.”
“Just them?”
“They were the only ones he saw—awake, that is. Seems that the crew of the patrol boat—including our newbie’s pal—were all put into cryogenic suspension by the CMO and XO before the swap. Just like the clipper’s crew. Meaning that Downing built a one-hundred-percent info firewall around his activities from the time he left Earth.
“Then all the cryocells—from both the clipper and the patrol boat—were transferred to the Navy transport. Which was also given new orders.”
“Not back to the asteroid belt?”
“Nope: a deep-space rendezvous with the next outbound shift carrier. And if I was a betting man—and I have been known to indulge in that vice—I’d take decent odds that both cryoed crews are already outsystem, the whole bunch of them in some popsicle holding yard at Alpha Centauri. Or beyond.”
Jesus H. Christ: what the hell was Uncle Richard up to? “You mentioned something about my father?”
“Yeah. When they were moving the cryocells, they moved some cargo, too. One item was a coffin for space burial. Our new guy—given his EVA rating—was sent to check out its seal integrity. He recognized the occupant: it was your father. In full dress whites.”
Trevor’s first reflex was one of the most useful he had acquired during more than a decade of active service: to put on a poker face when his mind became a roiling chaos of conflicting ideas and emotions. What the hell was going on? His father had wanted to be buried around another star, if possible, but his own instructions had precluded that: after Parthenon, the outbound cargo priorities became absolutely rigid. But Dad’s body was now outward bound for Alpha Centauri—and without consulting his family? What the hell was Richard playing at?
And in the very moment that he decided to confront Richard about it, Trevor realized he couldn’t afford to. If I catch him on this, he’ll know I’m aware that he’s not coming clean with me. So he’ll ’fess up to this—but then play any subsequent cards closer to his chest. If I’m to have any chance of learning the other things he might be trying to pull, then I’ve got to play dumb. But—I’ve got to watch Richard? Him? Of all people?
“Commander?”
“Hmmm?”
“Orders?”
“None right now, Stosh.”
“Yes, sir. And, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Condolences. Your father was an outstanding man. We were on liberty when we heard. We raised our glasses and hoo-yahed him. Three times.”
Trevor kept a lump from rising into his throat. “I’m sure he heard it—and smiled.”
“Yes, sir. I’m off.”
Witkowski sidestepped away, finger-signed to Rulaine that he was ready to swap places. Trevor started back toward Elena, saw that the line had almost exhausted itself: Caine and Opal were next.
But then, four men entered, all wearing ties, two with bold corporate logos. Their leader—a balding, late-middle-aged man whose generous girth was a sad compensation for his meager height, came in with his head forward, scanning aggressively. When he saw Caine, he headed straight for him—the other three in tow.
Trevor looked at Stosh—who, of course, had seen it too—and shook his head slightly. The megacorps wouldn’t try anything here.
Or would they?
Chapter Thirty-Five
ODYSSEUS
Caine felt his palms grow moist as the elderly couple directly in front of him moved forward, hands extended toward the woman that was, he hypothesized, Corcoran’s rather stunning daughter: straight nose, high cheekbones, large eyes, and a strong jawline blended together in a concordance of sure, graceful arcs.
“Admiring the view?”
Caine started at Opal’s voice, heard the playfulness in it—but something else, as well. A hint of worry? Maybe—jealousy? He turned to confer a reassuring smile upon her—and instead found himself face to face with a tall, expressionless man. He was dimly aware that there were three other men, but could not bring himself to look away from the first one, whose features were as strangely nondescript as they were alarmingly symmetrical.
The shortest of the three men looked up. “You’re Riordan, right?”
Still looking at the unblinking eyes of the smooth-faced, almost featureless, security guard, Caine nodded. “That’s me. And I’m guessing that you’re from the megacorporations.”
“Yeah, but let’s be real clear—I’m not from CoDevCo or any of its subsidiaries.” He fixed his eyes upon Caine’s. “I’ve got a few things best said in private.”
“Okay.” Caine took two steps away from Opal, reached the wall: he stopped and looked at the shorter man.
Who shrugged and joined him. “Look, before we start—try not to stare at the guy, will you?”
“Stare? At which guy?”
“Our—security operative. His situation is—well, awkward. For everyone.”
“What awkward situation are you talking about?”
The short man’s eyes opened a little wider. “You don’t know? Really?” He saw the answer in Caine’s face. “He’s a Tube.”
“A what?”
“A Tube.” Seeing that Caine still didn’t understand, he emphasized. “A test Tube. He came to term in vitro.”
Caine felt his mouth drop open. “He’s a clone?”
“Shh. Not so loud. Christ, you want him to hear?”
“But I thought that cloning—”
“Look. You need to get out of your ivory tower a little more often. Yes, ex-vivo cloning of humans is against international accords. But not all places on Earth—or beyond—are under routine governmental supervision. Some aren’t even under national jurisdiction anymore.”
“Which is where you come in?”
“No. That has nothing to do with why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m here to tell you—first of all—that not all corporations are the same. The admiral—” he nodded at the memorial flame with a deferential lowering of his voice “—he knew that well enough. But after yesterday’s events—well, some us started to worry that maybe you new guys might forget the distinctions.”
You new guys. That was a mix of good and bad. Good in that it suggested that some of Nolan’s old acquaintances were ready to recognize a transfer of power and authority to Downing and—God forbid—himself. Bad in that this emissary had elected to contact Caine, which suggested that his connection with Nolan’s old activities was already presumed.
“Look: that last comment makes me think you’re talking to the wrong person.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because I’m not sure what or who you mean when you’re referring to ‘the new guys.’”
The shorter man looked up out of narrowed eyes, then nodded once. “Maybe not. But still, I was sent to talk to you. Even if you’re not one of the ‘new guys.’”
“But why talk to me? I’m nobody.”
“Sure. You’re nobody. You’re the ‘nobody’ who closed down CoDevCo’s site manager on Dee Pee Three and then pinned back the ears of their fancy-boy, Astor-Smath, at Parthenon.”
Caine managed not to wince at the slur. “You don’t sound sorry that I did.”
“I’m not. A lot of us aren’t.”
“Who’s ‘a lot of us’?”
“I work for an aerospace firm. And like a lot of the other industrial megacorps—well, we like working with government. We’ve got a good relationship. And I’m guessing you know that our boardrooms look like re
unions for the various service academies, right?”
Caine nodded. “I’ve been to a few.”
“So the mood upstairs in my firm—and a lot of others—is that companies must remain secondary to, and ultimately serve the interests of, nations. Period.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Yeah—but then there are the other companies. The ex-oil companies, the consumer service industries, the ‘resource extraction’ firms, and big investment and credit conglomerates. They think that the rule of nations is old-fashioned, inefficient.”
Caine looked down at the necktie and its almost heraldic design.
The shorter man looked down also, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah—it’s getting a little crazy with the tie thing. Even with us Industrials.”
“So maybe you’re not so different from the other megacorps, after all.”
“Look: this is just a stupid tie. Bottom line: there are certain things we Industrials will not do.”
“Such as?”
The shorter guy took a step closer. “Look: we—I mean the Industrials—had nothing, and I mean nothing, to do with the abduction of Corcoran’s daughter. And word on the street is that not even CoDevCo had a hand in what happened to you last night.”
“Did CoDevCo send you to tell me that?”
“I’ll tell you one more time: I’m not a messenger for those ass-lickers. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t back-channel communications between my company and theirs. And I was given to understand that they had nothing to do with your—personal mishap.”
“What about Ms. Corcoran?”
He looked away. “Can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. They contacted us about you. They didn’t say anything one way or the other about abducting Corcoran’s daughter, and we didn’t ask.”
“But you’re guessing that they did.”
“Hey.” He turned back. “I don’t guess. Guessing about things like that—then talking about them—could be very unhealthy for someone in my position. So I don’t do it.”
“So you think it was random terrorists.”
“Nah.”
“Or third-world fanatics who hated Nolan.”
“Christ, no. I hear this bunch were gang bangers.”
“So it was one of the other blocs.”
“You kidding? Among the leaders of the big powers, Corcoran is turning into some kind of folk hero. Dying at just the right moment can do that, you know.”
Caine looked at the man and smiled. “So you’re telling me that you’re pretty sure that no one was behind the abduction of Corcoran’s daughter.”
The man smiled slowly. “Yeah, I guess—by process of elimination—that’s who must be behind it. No one at all.”
“Except you really don’t know about CoDevCo.”
“Right.”
“And saying that doesn’t get you in trouble, does it?”
His smiled broadened. “Nope. Not a bit.” He straightened up, stuck out his hand. “I’m glad I was able to come and give you the inside scoop on—absolutely nothing. And on the people who have absolutely nothing to do with it.”
Caine smiled. “Your failure to impart any information has been very illuminating.”
He shook Caine’s hand a moment longer, looked at him as if he’d first seen him that very second, and then left with a chuckle and a wave.
Caine smiled. So. CoDevCo was responsible for the move against Elena Corcoran, but not the move against him. Interesting. Probably useful. He suppressed a shudder as the short man’s bland-faced security operative exited behind his employer—and then started as a hand grasped his left bicep.
“A little jumpy, are we?” Opal’s frown matched her concerned tone. “What was that all about?”
“Lots. Not much. I’m not sure.” He smiled down at her. “I’ll figure it out later. Might concern you too, since I think it’s going to concern Downing. And while we’re on that topic, how’s it feel taking a soldier’s coin working for the Prince of Lies again?”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me. But I couldn’t just keep freeloading off you.” Opal preempted Caine’s attempt to object. “Besides, duty calls: Scarecrow’s getting kind of antsy over in the corner. I think we’d better pay our respects so they can wrap things up here.”
Caine nodded, turned, found Corcoran’s daughter right there, staring straight at him with glass-green eyes. He extended his hand into hers, but before he could say anything, Trevor—who had apparently been at her shoulder the whole time—nodded after the corporate emissaries. “Friends of yours?”
He can’t be serious— And then Caine saw Trevor’s rueful grin. Caine returned it. “Yeah. Bosom buddies. Good to see you again, by the way. I wish the circumstances were different.”
“Yeah, me too. I don’t think you’ve met my sister, Elena. Elena, this is—”
Her voice was a smooth mezzo. “Trevor: I do watch the news occasionally. Mr. Riordan, a pleasure.”
He looked at her directly, a little anxiously, since he had been intermittently staring at her since entering the room.
Trevor’s voice was part intrusion, but also part hint. “And this is Captain—excuse me, Major—Opal Patrone.”
Caine became aware that he was still holding Elena’s hand, pulled his back a little too quickly, smiled to cover the awkwardness, decided that he was quite an ass and should not be allowed in public. He was vaguely aware of Opal shaking Elena’s hand and that she had just finished saying something in a sympathetic tone. Good grief, I forgot to—
“Ms. Corcoran—excuse me: I—”
“Please: call me Elena.”
“Elena, I’m so sorry. About your father. I hardly know what to say. I didn’t know him very long, but—”
She was not smiling, only nodding: was she angry? No; just very serious. “I know. Richard—Mr. Downing—has told me a little. I can tell that my father must have liked you. And trusted you.”
And voluble Caine felt his brain lock up: what response could he make that was both reasonable and truthful? Could he really claim that he had reciprocated the trust of a man who had permitted (maybe ordered?) his fourteen-year internment in a meat locker, and who then thawed him out only to perform a politically expedient task? Could Caine claim that he had liked this august figure who also covertly manipulated people and nations and facts and events? “I only knew him a day—but I will miss him. A lot. I would like to have gotten to know him better. I think he was—a good man.”
Elena had stopped nodding. Her eyes had become very grave—but he didn’t feel any disapproval in them. Then she faced Trevor. “We should go. Richard’s meeting is in five minutes.” As she turned to leave, she looked back over her shoulder. “Thank you for coming. Please excuse us.”
Trevor, with a quizzical look after his sister, shrugged an awkward farewell, and followed Elena’s abrupt exit. Opal stood looking after them.
“Soooooo—” Opal let the vowel sound drag out—“you never met her before?”
“Uh—no. Why?”
Opal smiled sideways at him. “I guess it just looked like you wished you had met her before. It also looks like you’re recovering from your injuries pretty fast. But I guess we’d still better keep your karate lessons on hold for now.”
“Yes, but you can still critique my form over dinner.”
“Oh—you mean you’re hoping I’ll give you a raincheck for the dinner you didn’t bother to buy me last night?”
“Yeah.” He hefted the softcast meditatively. “Sorry. I was . . . uh, detained.”
“Well, I guess I’ll give you another chance—but no more lame excuses about homicidal intruders and emergency surgery, okay?”
Caine nodded, saw they were among the last people in the room. “Well, I suppose we ought to head to Downing’s briefing.”
“I suppose.” Opal looked back at the memorial flame as they walked toward the exit. “So strange.”
“What is?”
&n
bsp; “Having met the admiral only once,” Opal paused as they entered the corridor and made for a nearby conference room. “He seemed like such a nice man—a fun man—”
A canny man . . . thought Caine.
“—and he seemed in good shape for his age. Amazing shape, given what I am—no, was—used to seeing when I met people who were in their mid-eighties. Did he have heart disease for a long time?”
“Well, he had cardiac problems for thirty-five years—but it wasn’t disease: it was damage.”
“Damage? How?”
“In 2083, Admiral Corcoran was the commander of the mission that went to intercept what has come to be called the ‘Doomsday Rock.’ You’ve heard of it by now, right?”
“Just that it was heading straight for us. And after that, there was a much higher commitment to space development.”
“Yeah. It gave us a good scare. The rock came straight in from the far reaches of the Kuiper belt. Normally, we would have expected a culprit from that area to be a comet. Because it wasn’t, we didn’t see it until very late.”
“Why?”
“Because comets leave visible tails of vapor and debris; asteroids do not. And it was approaching on a retrograde trajectory. Meaning less time to intercept.”
“Okay, but how did Nolan get injured? EVA accident? A crash?”
Caine shook his head. “Nothing that dramatic. Just too much acceleration. For too long.”
“So that’s what killed him, cardiac failure?”
Downing came up behind them in the hall. “No, not cardiac failure—although it looked that way at first.”
Caine glanced sharply at Downing as they entered the conference room, acoustic-damping panels lining the wall like immense gray waffles. “What do you mean? What else have you found?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
MENTOR
“We found this in Nolan.” Downing moved to the head of the conference table, dimmed the lights and snapped on the display screen. The diagram of a torso—the heart outlined in muddy maroon—faded in. A moment later—in Day-Glo green—a sinuous collection of filaments sprung into existence on the heart itself, first winding along the external walls of its chambers and then sending strands into the spine and upward from there. There was a second of silence.
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