The captain was incredulous. “He sabotaged the quarantine?”
Kellean’s eyes glazed over to an almost catatonic state. “He wanted to destroy them,” she said in a monotone. “He said it was the only way to break the curse. When that didn’t work, he grabbed a cryobottle and used it to smash the console.” She looked down. “I tried to stop him.”
Pitch shook his head. “Insane,” he muttered. “Right off the fucking deep end.”
Nathan ignored him. He kept his focus on Kellean and the way she subconsciously stole glances at the camera—playing to an audience, selling her story.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she babbled. “I just grabbed him, and tried to pull him away from the containment sphere—but he was too strong. He just kept pushing me and hitting me. I must have scratched him at some point, because I remember him screaming like he was hurt…holding the sides of his head and stumbling around. I thought he needed help, so I reached out for him.” She touched her swollen lower lip, as if offering proof of the encounter. “He punched me in the face. I fell down on the floor…maybe I crawled toward sickbay. I’m not really sure. Somehow I ended up there, and the doctor…”
All of them waited in an anxious silence.
“What?” Farina prompted.
“I saw it all happen,” Kellean said, miming all the motions but disconnecting herself from the memory. “It was like watching myself from the outside. I saw a scalpel in his hand…I knew he was going to kill me…we fought…somehow I got it away from him. He lunged at me again…” She jabbed at thin air. “…and I stabbed him.”
She withdrew into her chair, exhausted from the telling.
“I kept stabbing and stabbing. I don’t know how many times. Even after he fell, I just couldn’t…I couldn’t stop—”
Kellean then saw the blood on her hands.
“He’s dead. I killed him.”
Nathan expected a collapse into hysterics, but this time Kellean dodged him. Instead, she threw herself on the captain’s mercy.
“I should have been able to control the situation,” the lieutenant confessed. “I failed, sir.”
With that, she awaited punishment. Farina, for her part, reserved her judgment—at least outwardly. Like Nathan, she watched Kellean closely for a tell, any reason at all to doubt her version of events. In the end, the captain appeared ambivalent.
“That’s enough for now, Lieutenant,” she finally said, rising from the table. The two guards used that as their cue to return, each flanking Kellean while Farina headed for the exit. “You’ll stay here while we assess the situation.”
“Aye, sir. Thank you.”
Farina studied her a moment longer, waiting for more, but nothing happened. Kellean went dark, retreating into herself.
“Nobody lays a hand on her,” she told the guards, and left.
Pitch leaned against the bulkhead as the captain appeared. Nathan, meanwhile, stepped forward the second she closed the hatch.
“Your thoughts, Commander?” she asked immediately.
“No way it went down like that, Skipper,” Nathan answered. “Masir called me not five minutes before I found him dead. He sounded pretty damned lucid to me.”
“What about you, Lieutenant?” Farina asked Pitch. “I asked you here because you’ve spent a lot of time with Kellean. You have anything to add?”
Pitch released a long breath. He hated this and made no effort to conceal it.
“With all due respect, Skipper,” he told her, “it’s a real charlie foxtrot right now. You ask me, I’d say anything’s possible.”
Nathan started to argue the point, but Farina stilled him with a tilt of her head. Not now, she signaled, with all the authority of a spoken command.
“Very well,” she said to Pitch. “You may resume your duties. As this remains an ongoing investigation, you’re under orders not to discuss any details with the crew. I’ll make an announcement later.”
Pitch gave Nathan a dubious look, as if he didn’t trust either one of them.
“Aye, sir,” he said, and left.
Farina made sure he was gone before speaking up again.
“So it begins,” she said.
Nathan saw the metamorphosis as the captain let her façade slip. She looked frightened—both for her ship and for her people, but mostly at the prospect of losing control.
“Sir?”
“The crew is losing confidence,” she stated, almost as a matter of fact. “Once that happens, you can’t get it back.”
“It’s not your fault, Lauren. Nobody saw this coming.”
“It’s my command, Nathan. That makes it my fault.” Farina went over to the monitor, where Eve Kellean maintained her quiet vigil in shackles. “I never had to deal with a murder on board my ship.”
“What are we going to do with her?”
“We find out if her story holds up,” the captain decided, reasserting an air of confidence—even if it was only an illusion. “Until then, the lieutenant will be confined to quarters pending a return to duty.”
Of all the things Nathan expected to hear, that one was dead last.
“Are you serious?”
“As we don’t have a brig, it’s the best I can do,” Farina told him, switching off the monitor. She then started back toward the bridge, with Nathan in close tow. “If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions.”
“Directorate regs are very clear on the subject. At the very least, you need to convene a captain’s mast to get all this sorted out. We have to record testimony, preserve evidence, establish a chain of events—”
“In deep space under combat-stress conditions?” Farina laughed bitterly. “That’s ambitious. We don’t even have a forensic team to process sickbay, for God’s sake. And in case you missed it, Commander, we’re a little short on lawyers out here.”
“Then we go back in there and lean on Kellean until we get some real answers.”
“She’s already in irons. You want me to have her flogged as well?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
She stopped, icing him down in that way of hers.
“And what will you do if you beat a confession out of her? Take her down to the hangar deck and execute her?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It’s where you’re heading,” the captain warned him. “This crew is already on edge. You put on some misguided crusade for justice, things will really fall apart. What they need to hear right now is that everything is under control.”
“Even if it isn’t true?”
Farina half smiled. “Especially if it isn’t true,” she said, resuming her walk. “It isn’t what the crew knows, Commander—it’s what they feel. Don’t forget that.” They continued on for a while, as Farina worked out the situation in her head. “So how’s the quarantine holding up? It looked pretty bad in there.”
“Could’ve been worse,” Nathan mused. “I don’t know how, but none of the critical subsystems were seriously affected. Containment is stable, along with cryogenic support. Most of the damage appears to be confined to imaging and remote biopsy.”
“Why does that sound bad?”
“It means we can’t get any more detailed scans inside the sphere—not unless we crack it open and move some new coils in there.”
“Any more good news?”
“It’s the control console,” he went on. “A lot of components got fried during the fire. To replace them, we’d have to pull another one off the reactor stack and cannibalize it for parts.”
Farina sighed tiredly. “How feasible is that?”
“Engineering is already raising hell. The chief says he needs to keep the remaining units online for backup in case one of the primaries goes down. He won’t do it unless you go down there and give him the order yourself.”
“Can’t blame the man for doing his job,” Farina remarked, “especially with the run of luck we’re having.”
“So no repair option?”
“Not at that price. The safety of this ship is still top priority.”
“Then we’ve got a problem,” Nathan countered, as the two of them stopped outside the access hatch to the bridge. “Without imaging, we can’t run any more tests on those bodies. That by itself is running a pretty big risk.”
“Only if the Mons virus is present. And if I’m not mistaken, the last batch of tests already cleared them—didn’t they?”
Farina wouldn’t have asked him that if she didn’t already know the answer.
“It just isn’t right, Lauren,” he said. “It doesn’t add up.”
The captain read his suspicions before he could speak them out loud.
“You think Kellean sabotaged the console.”
Nathan took a step back and tried to sound reasonable.
“The damage was way too specific,” he said, “almost like it was targeted. There’s something she doesn’t want us to see, Lauren.”
Farina swung the hatch open.
“Find me proof,” she said, and left him.
Trevor Bostic—in his office, in his element—read the situation report on his desktop display, slowly enough to commit every detail to memory. Even before he finished, he had used the information to map strategy and allocate resources, formulating a plan the way any general would on the eve of a great battle. That Bostic waged his campaigns from high atop a tower in Manhattan didn’t make any difference. Power was power, no matter how you projected it.
“Interesting,” he said, scrolling to the end. “You’ve been busy.”
The man on the other side of his desk remained a blur, veiled by the mists of the display. “It’s all there,” he replied, seething with latent hostility. Bostic knew that the man disliked him, as most men did. “I grabbed the data right after the initial findings.”
“Verification?”
“My sources at T-Branch were unable to confirm any recent activity there, but CSS puts high confidence in the intel based on what they know.”
“Which amounts to?”
“Not much,” the man admitted, “but it all fits—and if Lea Prism believes it, that’s good enough for me.”
Bostic smiled at the mention of her name. He also noticed a certain affection in the other man’s tone, which was no surprise considering the nature of his assignment. Bostic had expected no less.
“She is rather remarkable,” the corporate counsel said, “isn’t she?”
His reluctant friend didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. As Bostic killed the display, he could see it clearly in the man’s eyes.
“Stick to business,” Eric Tiernan said.
“Of course,” Bostic replied. With practiced efficiency, he burned the report out of his desktop node, erasing any evidence of its existence. Doubtless, Tiernan kept copies of his own for leverage—it was the price Bostic paid for dealing under the table—but the counselor had many other spies on the payroll who could help with that situation later. “Still, you have to give the girl some credit. She kept us in the dark for a long time.”
“She’s good at it.”
“More than I would have thought,” Bostic marveled. “All this time, I thought Cray Alden was dead. Phao Yin must be spinning in his unmarked grave right about now.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Tiernan said. “From what Lea told me, Alden’s personality is only part of the picture. There’s a lot of Lyssa in there with him—and she’s one mean bitch. Lea doesn’t know how much longer Alden can hold out.”
“Any prognosis for the long-term stability of the unit?”
“She didn’t say.”
“I’m paying you for answers, Lieutenant.”
“And I’m trying not to blow my cover,” Tiernan shot back. “For the first time Lea trusts me, and that’s not an easy thing for her. I start sniffing around with a bunch of questions, she’ll catch on to your little game—and believe me, you don’t want to piss this woman off.”
The lieutenant’s reaction amused Bostic. Then again, the thought of Lea Prism coming after him was a dangerous possibility.
“Point taken,” he agreed. “Still, this puts me in a difficult position.”
“What are you going to do?”
“For now, wait. I advise you to do the same.”
“That still leaves Rapa Nui.”
“Yes,” Bostic drew out, getting up from his chair. He walked across his office, arms clasped behind his back, surveying a panorama of Manhattan that erased the farthest horizon. The city, its towers bathed in stratospheric light, was his for the taking—if only he made the right moves. “How determined is she to carry out this plan of hers?”
“It’s already happening,” Tiernan said. “Even Novak couldn’t talk her out of it.”
“Then perhaps we should let Major Prism have her way.”
Even with his back turned, Bostic could sense the lieutenant scowling at him.
“You’re just going to let her go?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the counselor replied, turning around. “How soon can you put together your own insertion team?”
“By that, I take it you mean off the books.”
Bostic said nothing.
“I know some people,” the lieutenant said. “But it won’t be cheap.”
“Mercenaries never are.”
Tiernan chafed at the implication, rising from his chair. For a moment, Bostic thought that the man was girding for a fight—a reaction that smacked of hypocrisy in the counselor’s view. Tiernan was himself a rented soldier, his uniform little more than a disguise. That he took such offense forced Bostic to reassess him.
Perhaps he means more than he’s letting on, Bostic thought. Is that what this is about, Lieutenant? Split loyalties?
Or is it something else?
Bostic made his living off reading people’s motives and intentions—and with Tiernan, the conflicted emotions beneath the surface left no room for doubt.
It’s Lea.
The irony was delicious.
“Money is no object,” the counselor assured him. “You’ll get whatever you need.”
Tiernan cooled off, collecting the remains of his pride.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, then turned to leave. Bostic allowed him to get all the way to the door before calling him back, unable to resist temptation.
“How was she anyway?”
Tiernan stopped. He leered over his shoulder at Bostic.
“Spectacular, I bet,” the counselor pressed. “The passionate ones always are. I can’t say I blame you, Lieutenant. Lea has a way of getting under a man’s skin.”
Bostic waited on his reaction, hoping to force a display of weakness—or at the very least, a dose of outrage and frustration. Tiernan, however, retained an outward calm.
“Yeah, she does,” he answered, then slipped in like the point of a dagger: “Not that you’ll ever find out.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Tiernan was gone.
Andrew Talbot looked like hell. Or, more precisely, he might have been in hell, surrounded as he was by his nanopsychologists. While they prattled on and on about the theoretical implications of Lyssa’s condition, debating science and philosophy as if they were one and the same, Talbot made no pretense of hiding his boredom, releasing a yawn loud enough to drown out the conversations around him. Scratching his head afterward, he observed the silence that descended and took in the stunned countenance of his colleagues.
“I’m sorry,” he told them, “you were saying?”
They resumed the deliberations with even greater enthusiasm. As she watched from the entrance to the lab, Lea had to laugh—not a very joyous sound, but one Talbot seized upon the moment he heard it. Seeing her there, he wrapped his hands around his throat while his eyes rolled back. Clearly, he wanted someone to put him out of his misery.
All too willing to help, Lea motioned him over.
Talbot bounded away from the crowd, which barely noticed his departure. Taking Lea’s h
ands into his own, he drew her into a friendly but enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. “I was beginning to wonder if there was a God,” he said with great relief, “and now here you are to rebuke my heresy. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” she said. “Still know how to work a room, I see.”
“Those cafflers?” Talbot waved them off dismissively. “They’ll be fine. I figure they’ll just keep talking until someone awards them a grant. You wouldn’t happen to be in a generous mood, would you?”
“More than you might expect.”
Talbot raised an eyebrow. “Sounds mysterious.”
“My middle name,” Lea said, taking her voice down a notch. “We need to talk, Drew.”
His lips peeled back into an impish grin.
“I was hoping you’d say that. Give me one minute.”
Talbot quickly broke up the group, sending them off with the promise of a full tour of the place if they behaved themselves. The squabbling continued as the guards ushered them out, with Talbot helping every step of the way. He gave the last one a shove for good measure.
“If you please,” he said.
Lea followed Talbot into his office, a cramped little cubicle stacked with obscure texts and mounds of paperwork, a quaint throwback to a predigital age when knowledge amounted to more than a collection of stray electrons. Most of the material was classified—so highly that taking it off premises was a capital offense—but that was classic Talbot, carving out a spot for them amid a pile of state secrets.
“Before we go any further,” he said, angling himself in behind his desk, “I’ll have you know that any sort of treasonous activities you might have in mind have no place here. For that, you’ll have to take me to the pub down the street.”
“Always knew I could count on you, Drew,” Lea replied, reaching into her uniform jacket and pulling out an integrator. She slid it across the desk toward him. “That’s why I picked you for this.”
Talbot glanced down at the device, hesitant to touch it.
“What’s that?” he asked.
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