Sten nodded. She had shown him several items already that Mahoney had marked with an S so Sten would pay particular mind.
Haines smiled, remembering. "Oh, yeah. Something about a ‘Bravo Project" She looked at Sten. "Do you know what that means?‘
Cind saw Sten draw back in shock. Saw his face drain of color. What was wrong? She reached over to touch his hand. It was cold.
"Yes," Sten said. Grim. "I know what Bravo Project means."
Then he saw the worry on Cind's face. And Haines's. Even the unflappable Sam'l‘s brow was furrowed.
He forced cheer into his voice. "But I'll have to do some double-checking on my memory," he said. "With Rykor."
His insides were far from casual—Yeah, he had to see Rykor, all right.
About a nightmare.
He was back on Vulcan.
Karl Sten. A Mig kid turned Delinq with only hours to live before Thoresen's exterminators tracked him down.
Bet was with him. So lovely. So young. And Oron. That odd, brainburned genius who knew only the present.
Mahoney loomed up at him. A much younger Mahoney. Strong and confident. But the adolescent Sten wasn't sure he was to be trusted.
"I must have confirmation of Thoresen's plan," Mahoney said. "I've blue-boxed into the exec and central computers, and there was nothing on Bravo Project except inquiry-warning triggers."
Bravo Project! There it was again. Sten felt a wrenching at his chest. A sob bubbled up, and broke.
Easy, Sten, came Rykor's voice... It's past. It's over. It's all been mourned... He felt a faint sting. Then calmness as the tranquil took affect. He heard faint scratching sounds. Rykor manipulating the keyboard. Coaxing up images. And Mahoney's big, cheerful face was torn away...
One of Thoresen's guards paced along his beat. Sten floated in behind him. His hand circled the man's throat. His knife lunged forward. And he heard the gasp and felt life draining away. There was no remorse in him. Only an odd flicker of joy.
... Self-disgust welled. And then flooded over... So many deaths by his hand Murders. Rykor's soothing voice crept in: Let it go, my friend. Let it go.
But he couldn't. The man was dead. Snuffed out. No better than an insect. Sten moaned—God, forgive me... and there was another sting... and the tranquil lies spread through his veins... And the image flipped to—
They were inside the Eye. Thoresen's hidden safe revealed. Sten sprayed the touch lock. Liquid at Kelvin-Zero crystallized the steel. Bet stepped forward with a hammer and tapped. The metal shattered. The door came open. They were in! Sten felt the long-ago thrill. Looked up at Bet and Oron. Grinning like maniacs for beating Thoresen at his own game.
... Again, the sting of tranquil. Sten struggled against the terror that would follow. Shouted away the bat wings rustling in his darkest memories. The hammering of his heart eased. He took comfort in the sensation of the hard table under his body. The electrodes attached to his head, arms, and legs. He heard the splash of liquid. It was Rykor, shifting in her tank. No. There was nothing to fear. Trust Rykor. With Rykor operating the brainscan, he was safe. Sten let the images move on...
Flip. Flip.
Sten reached into Thoresen's safe. Found the file amid the jumble of paper and bundles of Imperial credits. The folder. Thick and red. Titled: Bravo Project.
The images came slower now. Flip. Flip. Flip... Oron taking the folder. Flip! The papers spilling to the floor. Hip! And Sten was scrabbling for the papers. Stuffing them into the folder. No particular order... And he saw... Flip! Oh, jesus, one of the Delinqs was falling... chest blasted away... And...
The image froze. Sten felt vomit rise. Heard Rykor mutter, Too far... reverse... Sten shuddered at the sting of the tranquil and...
Flip!
Back to the papers... scrabbling for them... slower... Flip! Slower... And he could see them, now. A page at a time. Flip! A title leaping up—RECREATIONAL AREA 26: A SUMMARY OF ACTIONS... Flip!
... Wait. Have to stop. Have to see. Go back... And Rykor's voice called to him, It's no good, Sten. Put it behind you. Go on... Sten refused. He fought the voice. The kind coaxing voice. A stinging sensation. And now there was the tranquil to fight.
Sten pushed the veil away. Forced the image forward. He was in control, dammit!
And the agony of Recreational Area 26 came tumbling back.
The Row.
Riotous voices. Barkers and shills plying their trade. Joyboys and joygirls out in force, emptying Mig pockets for Thoresen's coffers. And there was more. Gambling machines hooting enticements. Drunks brawling. Sociopatrolmen charging into the melee, clubs swinging.
There were 1,385 beings on the Row that day.
Among them—
Sten felt a cry of joy burst from his lips. There was his father, Amos. His mother, Freed. And his brother and sister, Jobs and Ahd. He shouted. But they didn't hear him.
Stop this, Sten, Rykor hissed. But he wouldn't listen. Couldn't listen... because he knew what was going to happen next...
Sten tried to shout for his family again. Fear clutched hard as his voice feathered into a whisper. He saw them enter the Row. Saw the big lobby doors shut tight behind them.
He stood there. Frozen. Waiting.
More voices.
"Then dump Twenty-six," Thoresen said.
The tech protested, "But we've got almost fourteen hundred people—"
"You have your orders."
Explosive bolts fired around the dome panels.
In sympthetic reaction, Sten's body flailed against the operating table. At the brainscan's controls, Rykor watched, helpless. If she interfered now, the damage would be so severe Sten would be fortunate to merely die.
Sten jumped again as he heard the typhoon roar of air blasting into space. And he was a forced witness—trapped by his own fool self—as...
Almost in slow motion, the escaping hurricane caught the shanty cubicles of the Row—and the people in them—and spat them through the holes into blackness.
He heard a tech's voice: "Come on. They were only Migs."
Then the chief tech: "Yeah. You're right. That's all they were."
Sten wept.
Rykor worked over him for hours, using all her psychiatric skills as well as her vast pharmacopoeia to bring him back into something vaguely approaching normalcy.
Then she took him back. Past the nightmare of the Row. Back to Bravo Project.
And the secret Thoresen himself later died for.
The secret of synthetic AM2.
Sten huddled in a blanket. Sweat streamed from him, but he was cold. He felt as if he had been pried open, emptied out and discarded.
He took the mug Rykor offered, and sipped at thick, hot, nourishing broth. Rykor's flipper brushed a control panel and soft music swelled. Cleansing music. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him for a long time.
Then he opened his eyes and took another drink. He saw Rykor's large, empathetic eyes studying him.
Sten made a face. "Never again," he croaked.
"I am very sorry, my dear friend," Rykor said. Her rich voice gave meaning to empty words.
"Me, too," Sten said. "At least... now we know. Not only is it possible to make AM2... but, we have the formula and procedure. I'm not a chemist, and it sounds like the process is a pain, and expensive as hell. But so what? Production cuts prices."
He stopped, thinking.
"And this just turns the whole clotting universe around and around, doesn't it? Or does it?"
"What do you intend to do with the knowledge?" Rykor asked.
"I'm not sure," Sten said. "This changes a great many things."
He lifted weary eyes to plead with Rykor. "Don't say anything," he said. "I need time to think."