“Right. But that’s how many years ago? And how did they—whoever ‘they’ are—manage to get the organism to respond, to cause his cardiac failure, so soon after Parthenon?”
Elena was staring at the strange tendrilled mass on the screen. “It would mean that someone had to be able to send commands to this ‘thing.’”
Opal shrugged. “Which makes it an even more amazing piece of bioengineering. And that still doesn’t explain how none of Nolan’s interior tissue shows any of the signs of thermic trauma that would be consistent with electric discharge.”
Trevor had nodded at each separate point. “Okay—so let’s assume this ‘organism’ didn’t kill my father. Which means it was put in for a different reason.”
Caine pulled closer to the table. “And, therefore, maybe by entirely different persons with entirely different motives.”
“Okay.” Trevor kept nodding. “But either—or both—of those persons would have to know about his cardiac weakness. And both can use his treatment visits as either a way to insert a foreign body—the organism—or to fiddle with his coronary controller.”
Opal leaned forward. “Well, at least you can find out who performed the last surgery for his controller upgrade. Someplace in that file, there is the name of a person we can interrogate: if not the surgeon, then a nurse or technician or somebody who—”
Downing shook his head. “No.”
Opal and Trevor looked at Downing in surprise. Elena just looked. Caine didn’t bother: he was the one who answered: “Because an investigation would reveal to them that we’re aware of their actions. And that we know what to look for from this point forward. And that will render this knowledge useless: they’ll change their game. Besides, we don’t know that this organism was malign. For all we know it was benign—or even beneficial. Maybe Nolan’s cardiac weakness would have been more profound without it. Maybe the organism was turned off along with the controller—”
Downing blinked: Crikey, he has a point—
“—But even if the organism was beneficial, it’s pretty clear that whoever put it there wanted to remain anonymous. And something else is pretty clear: whoever did either or both of these things has access to some technology that defies the boundaries of what we generally consider possible. That’s got to be factored into all future operations.”
Elena had half risen. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this seems a likely point for me to excuse myself. From the sound of it, you are about to begin secret discussions with persons who are evidently going to be the new ‘insiders,’ Uncle Richard.” She looked around the table meaningfully.
Downing waved her back down. “That is true. And you need to be a part of those discussions.”
“Uncle Richard, I haven’t the qualifications or the desire—”
“Actually, for what I’m announcing today, you have urgently needed qualifications. And as for what you desire—I’m afraid that doesn’t really factor into our decisions.”
“So now you’re telling me what to do, Richard? On what authority?”
She’s got her father’s anger, too. “Let’s not call it authority; let’s call it an invitation—which you must accept because of your obligations.”
That stopped her. “My obligations? To whom, or what?”
“To your father: his life, his work, his legacy.”
“Richard, you’ll have to come up with a more compelling recruiting pitch than some vague—”
“Elena, this isn’t my idea, and this isn’t my pitch.”
“Oh? Then whose is it?”
Richard allowed himself to smile. “The request was made by a group calling themselves the Dornaani.”
Silence. God, how I do love shutting them all up. And those priceless, confused expressions. Except Caine, damn him. Those suddenly wider eyes: he’s already half-guessed what I’m leading up to. Nolan was right about him.
Opal was the first to speak. “Who or what are the Door-Nonny? Secret society? Rock band?”
“No, Major. The Dornaani are exosapients.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ODYSSEUS
Exosapients. Of course. “That’s why you had this meeting scheduled right behind Nolan’s memorial service. And that’s why you had it on Mars. It’s all cover for this briefing, and puts us in a spot where there’s far less press and far fewer possibilities for intelligence leaks.”
Downing nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Judging from Trevor’s face, Nolan’s son still wasn’t sure that he had heard what he had just heard about exosapients. Opal was that much further behind the leading edge of the culture-shock wave. “What do you mean, ‘exosapients’? You mean, the critters—er, folks—that Caine met on Delta Pavonis?”