“Just ones you can’t answer, sir.”
Downing wondered how much Bannor’s unconventional brain had already answered on its own. Certainly, he had inferred the extreme sensitivity of the mission from the outré secrecy precautions he was witnessing. Downing had arrived via a special military clipper, its crew put into cold sleep before docking with Weuve’s patrol boat. A third craft—a navy transport—would soon make rendezvous and, after depositing Downing and Rulaine on Mars, would then tow the other two ships to an outbound shift carrier. Which, upon arriving at Alpha Centauri, would inter their crews in a secure facility for a long, secrecy-assuring sleep. Hardly standard operating procedure.
Rulaine glanced at the internal monitors, frowned when he saw some of the crew becoming restive in the galley, turned up the sound: surprised complaints, but nothing mutinous. Yet. He turned back to Downing. “Not to rush you along, sir, but—orders?”
Downing nodded. “Seal the bridge. Route all controls directly through here. Engage the antitamper failsafes, if they are not already active.”
Rulaine double-checked the control panels. “Already active, sir. Switching all control to bridge; auxiliary is now deactivated.”
“Very good. And be sure to keep one eye on the crew.”
“I’ll keep both eyes on them, sir.” Rulaine drifted closer to the monitor. Without looking back toward Downing, he asked, “Sir, am I allowed to know the identity of the ten persons I’ll be babysitting?”
“Eventually. But right now, we need to focus on the one who’s likely to attract—and possibly cause—more trouble than the other nine combined.”
“A rabble-rouser, sir?”
“Nothing of the sort. But he does resent me—and for good reason.”
ODYSSEUS
Caine pried open the malfunctioning door sensor he had removed: hair-thin fiber-optic connectors coiled around chips that should have been called “specks.”
The doorbell’s secure tone announced a recognized “friend” rather than an “intruder.” Opal breezed into the suite, then his room—and stopped, surprised. “Is that sensor busted again?”
“Yep, which is damned odd, considering it was just repaired. This time, I’m running the diagnostics myself.”
Opal frowned at his tone. “Do you think that someone has been tampering with it?”
Caine smiled. “No, probably not. As Napoleon said, never ascribe to malice what which can be adequately explained by incompetence. But either way, the only way to be sure the sensor works is to fix it myself.”
“Can I help?” she asked brightly, sitting down very close to him.
He looked at her. “You’re very cheery. Too cheery. So I’m guessing today’s news is bad.”
Opal’s smiled faded. “Well—yeah. Just as we expected; the Scarecrow will be here soon. Sorry.”
Caine went back to examining the sensor. “It was only a matter of time before Downing came sniffing around. And with Nolan’s memorial being held on Mars, he has the perfect excuse.”
Opal responded in the flat, utterly reasonable tone that signified she was digging her heels in. “Well, just because Scarecrow is almost here doesn’t mean we have to waste the afternoon. I was thinking that, before he takes our lives away from us again, perhaps we could—”
“Yes?” Caine looked up, trying not to look hopeful or lecherous or shallow.
“I was thinking that we could get in one last visit to the dojo.”
“Oh.” Caine tried to sound enthusiastic. “Sure. Great.” Not the direction I hoped our activities would take during our last day of privacy.
But that hope was, Caine admitted, pure fancy. After months of uncertainty regarding where his relationship with Opal was headed (if anywhere), it beggared belief that she’d initiate a change now, in a few final hours.
When they’d left Earth, Caine had hoped their traveling together would segue into their being together. But the frenzied rush of their departure hardly set the tone for budding romance. Getting off Earth had meant getting through security before Downing—or anyone else—thought to red-flag their IDs. Fortuitously, the back-to-back deaths of Nolan and Tarasenko had generated enough chaos to prevent that.
Or so Caine had thought. But he began to question that hypothesis when they made the journey to Mars without interference or even a message from Earthside. It wasn’t as if they had vanished without a trace: they’d had to use their own IDs to get to orbit, and then to book passage to Mars. So maybe Downing had left them alone because he couldn’t risk sending orders through his leak-prone intelligence net. If so, that might explain why he was now coming himself.