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“It can’t wait. Our burst line has failed and a chunk of grid’s down.”
“We have orders,” Leon said. His voice sounded hesitant. “Maybe after the show …”
“Dr. MacIntosh is Orbiter Command,” Soleus said. “He has direct orders from Flattery to open that grid now. We need your burst line for a transmission. We need Beatriz Tatoosh for advice. I’mreminding you that all power relays switch through Current Control and we can shut you down.”
“Wait a blink,” Leon said, his voice calming, “I’ll see what we can do.” He switched off the intercom and pressed his forehead against the bulkhead.
“Shit!” he said, and bumped his forehead against the plasteel. His headset kept him from cartwheeling backward across the studio. “Shit!”
Good for Spud! Beatriz thought. He’d lied to Leon about the circuitry. Some, but not all, was routed through Current Control. She and MacIntosh had set up the studio, and no one knew it better. But Leon didn’t know that. Besides, he had enough problems. And Leon didn’t dare move without orders from Brood. He couldn’t alert Brood without alerting the entire Orbiter.
Beatriz’s heart tripped hard against her ribs and she blotted her damp palms against the thighs of her jumpsuit. In spite of the danger, she enjoyed Leon’s dilemma.
Anything to make them squirm, she thought.
Leon tripped the intercom switch again.
“No one’s coming in here until after—”
“We can transmit on your burst line with our own carrier frequency,” Spud said. “We don’t even need to get in your way. Dr. MacIntosh is in charge here and he said—”
Leon slapped the switch off, unplugged his headset and thrust himself back toward his editing cubby. He crashed, out of control, into the other two techs. They disentangled limbs and cables, then hovered over each of his shoulders and whispered together heatedly.
Beatriz slipped the two meters to the hatch and plugged in her headset. She switched the intercom back on and left the set to float beside the hatch only a couple of meters away. They didn’t see her, and the move took fewer than four seconds by the big chronometer.
Back at her console, Beatriz opened her com-line and punched out Mack’s number. The telltale light would flash on consoles in each of the editing cubbies, this she knew. As she expected, it brought Leon to her nose to nose in a red-faced fury.
“I told you not to try anything!” Leon snapped. He was no longer the meek videotech at an editing console. Now he was ranking officer of a security assault squad that was in a tight spot.
“I’d slap the shit out of you if we didn’t need your pretty face. We do have a backup plan, sister. Try that again and you’ll get your own ride out the shuttle airlock—understand?”
Beatriz had to hide a smile for the first time all day. He’d yelled at her—something that would have gone unheard elsewhere in the Obiter if she hadn’t opened the intercom first, if she hadn’t plugged in the headset just a step from where Leon stood. It did not take the best of her screen abilities to feign the terror that she’d already felt many times since waking this day.
“I’ll do what you say,” she said, as loud as she dared. “I don’t want to die like the others. I’ll do what you say.”
Leon pushed back to his companions, but before he reached them the general alarm sounded with four long bursts from a klaxon overhead.
Though startled by the noise, Beatriz was overjoyed. She recognized the signal from exercises in the past. Those four blasts meant “Fire, total involvement, Current Control sector.” That sector included the HoloVision studio.
While Leon and the other two flurried around the studio, asking each other, “What the hell’s going on?” Beatriz whispered to herself, “Spud, I love you.”
Chapter 38
Power, like any other living being, will go to infinite lengths to maintain itself.
—Ward Keel, The Apocryphal Notebooks
The first thing Rico saw when he stepped through the hatchway into the galley was the still, open-eyed form of Crista Galli lying in her harness beside the plaz. Her pupils pulsed with a green brightness that Rico had never noticed before, and somehow he knew that whatever she saw now was not of this world. His first impulse was to run, to lock the hatch behind him, but he checked it.
Ben sprawled on the deck beside her, one hand clutching her ankle and his legs quivering like a child’s in a nightmare. To Rico, the whole scene was a nightmare.
“Ben!” he called from the hatchway, but Ben didn’t answer. He rushed to his best friend’s side and saw that Ben’s eyes, too, were open. Both of them were breathing, though Crista Galli’s head was bent slightly forward and he heard a gurgle with each passage of air. Rico heeded Operations’ warnings and didn’t touch either one of them.
“Shit!” he snapped, and fumbled in his left breast pocket for a slapshot. It was a red, tiny ampule about the size of the end of his little finger. Two needles jutted from one end, covered by a plastic case. He flipped the cover across the galley, careful to hold the prongs away from his own body.
“Dammit, Ben, Operations said this toxin might be triggered if she got wet.”
This shot was titrated for his own body weight, the one he’d most hoped never to use. In one swift jab he stuck it into Ben’s thigh.
“Do
n’t stop breathing, man,” Rico begged. “Just don’t stop breathing.”
He turned to Crista Galli, trying to control the sudden flash of anger burning in his chest. He knew it was more frustration than hate, but his body didn’t know the difference.
If she killed him …
The better part of his reason wouldn’t let him finish the thought.
A strangled moan surged from Crista’s throat, an otherworldly moan that put the hair up on the back of Rico’s neck.
“Crista? Can you hear me?”
Rico saw that she had some ability to move. She turned her hands palm upward in a gesture of helplessness, and her lips kept trying to form the words that wouldn’t come.
“Flattery …”
The word was barely intelligible. She still looked straight ahead, and in a dreamlike slow motion finished her effort with, “… drugs.”
“Flattery gave you drugs?”
She blinked her eyes once, slowly.
“He gave you drugs to make you toxic? It’s not the kelp?”
Again, the slow blink and a nearly imperceptible nod.
The Flying Fish took another lurch that sprawled Rico across the deck. He grabbed for a handhold and pressed himself against the bulkhead as the foil rolled onto its side, then righted.
The foil’s metal skin shrieked as something twisted it to its limits, then backed off. The kelp’s pulling us apart, he thought. It knows she’s in here!
Crista was strapped in just as Ben must have left her, soaking wet, her disguise discarded. Rico made a jump for the seat next to her and strapped in just as the foil righted again and all was quiet, as though the kelp had one last spasm run through it before it could relax.
