Fire with Fire(38)
Earth. He’s pointing at Earth. He knows I’m from—
Caine spun around: Mr. Local was gone. As if he had never been there. Caine swallowed, heard the great mechanical gulping noise it made in his throat, and turned back. Earth. Of course: Earth.
And then, all the pieces started to fall into place—
Chapter Ten
ODYSSEUS
Caine, alone on the observation deck of the interface liner Tyne, had to admit that there wasn’t any concrete evidence that the new second engineer was actually an assassin.
Indeed, the image on Caine’s bug-linked palmtop showed the bridge crewman merely carrying out the same routine duties he had been performing for five days now. If anything, he sat his post more easily than ever, pitched back in a casual slouch, checking monitors, occasionally glancing toward the starboard viewport.
Caine stole a starboard glance of his own: the Tyne’s gallery window framed a craft shaped like a cubist kraken of deep space. She was the shift carrier Commonwealth, her mile-long keel capped by a boxy sleeve that resembled the mantle of a giant squid. However, this mantle was rotating and comprised of four long panels: habitat nacelles. Less than fifty meters aft of the slowly spinning mantle, hundreds of cold-sleep modules—or “cryopods”—were clustered as tightly as the facets of an insect’s compound eye, staring at him with bone-white pupils: the pod doors.
He forced himself to return their stare, and thought: there’s no way I’m going to use a cryopod again. Not now; not ever. Common sense countered: You may have to. If there is an assassin on this ship, a cryopod may be your only chance. So, you choose: pseudo-death—or the real thing?
The rotation of the Commonwealth’s habitation nacelles was slowing: that meant the end of spin-gravity and the start of docking preparations. Soon Caine’s hab module would be transferred to the shift carrier and he’d be another step closer to Earth. Which is probably why I’m so nervous: because I’m almost home. So not only am I starting to see danger everywhere, but beginner’s paranoia is adding to the problem, spawning false threats. So calm down: the second engineer is just a second engineer. You can go back to your module, strap in, relax—
The negation was swift: no, you can’t—not until you’re sure. And if Caine couldn’t be sure, then he might have to initiate an escape plan that bordered on lunacy, and depended entirely upon the contents of his shoulder-bag.
He zipped open the bag: a big-handled aluminum Thermos, a multi-tool, a bottle of antidiarrheic tablets, and his shipboard transponder. He dug out the transponder: the silver-gray face of the metal card flashed at him, and he thought: If you bail out, you have to leave the transponder behind. If he didn’t, the second engineer would certainly use its signal to locate him, track him down. So don’t take any chances; drop it here, now.
But Caine held the silver card tight. Dropping the transponder was the final step. It meant he was committed—at least symbolically—to executing an escape plan that had to—had to—conclude with him reentering a cryopod. Except this time will be even worse. Because—unlike thirteen-and-a-half years ago—you won’t be cold-celled by someone else. This time, you’ll have to do it to yourself.
The speakers toned twice. “All passengers: please return immediately to your staterooms. Counterthrust will end in fifteen minutes.” On his palmtop, Caine saw the XO snap off the shipwide, nod to the junior flight officer: “Prepare to rig for zero-gee operations.”
Caine watched the second engineer closely: the end of thrust meant the end of pseudo-gravity on the Tyne. If the new second engineer was an assassin, he would have to start after Caine soon: movement about the ship was “at need only” during weightlessness.
But the second engineer’s only movement was a hand raised to cover a yawn.
Caine checked his watch. He doesn’t have enough time to get to me anymore—not before my hab module and I are transferred to the Commonwealth. Whether he’s an assassin or not, I’m safe now—but Caine felt his stomach rise up: no; something’s still wrong.
As he left the observation lounge, a quick double-tone signaled another general announcement. “Attention. Counterthrust will terminate in thirteen minutes. All personnel and passengers must be secured in acceleration couches.” A brief pause, then: “Passenger Riordan, please proceed immediately to hab module DPV 6, or report your location to a steward if you are in need of assistance.” Caine swallowed, checked his palmtop yet again. If the second engineer was an assassin, that had to get him moving: in addition to killing Caine, he’d now have to find him first.