Careful now, Opaclass="underline" don’t scare him off. “Oh, I don’t know: it doesn’t sound all that bad. Sometimes a bit of enforced peace and quiet is just what a person needs. Hell, since Downing gave me my honorable discharge, all I can think about is diving under a rock somewhere and trying to figure out this new world at my own pace. Maybe planet Earth has always been a madhouse, but it seems more so now.”
Caine nodded, looked forward again. After a long pause, he said: “Mars is a lot less chaotic than Earth or Luna. Not too big, not too busy.”
“See? So how bad does Mars sound when you describe it that way?”
He looked at her. “Come with me?”
She wanted to smile but stomped down on that reflex. Carefuclass="underline" if you say “yes” too quickly, he might become suspicious, might start wondering if this isn’t happening just a bit too easily. “Well, no offense, but I’m not in the habit of being anyone’s traveling companion.”
“Okay-then how about being my bodyguard?”
Oh, Christ: he’s offering me the job I’m already doing. “Do you really think you need a bodyguard?”
“Maybe; I don’t know. And that’s the whole problem: I don’t know much of anything just yet. I don’t even know who I can trust.” He turned to her, and after a moment, he smiled. “Except you. I trust you.”
Damn it, this just isn’t right: “Are you sure you want me tagging along?” Say “no”-for your own good.
“If you want to come, that would be, well-wonderful.” Then his eyebrows raised a little, and the corners of his eyes crinkled, the way they did when he became jocular. The cab swerved across two lanes of traffic and up onto the exit ramp for the spaceport, just as he leaned towards her. Almost nose to nose at that moment, there was mock conspiracy in his hushed voice as he asked: “Because I can trust you-can’t I?”
She looked him in the eye-and realized that, asked so directly, she could not lie to him. She also realized that, alone in the world as she was, and as he was, she could not leave him, either. And if, one day, being loyal to him meant disobeying Downing’s orders? That was merely illegal-but it sure as hell didn’t feel wrong. On the contrary: it felt-
“Right,” she breathed out through her own sudden, surprised smile, “you can trust me.” And, still smiling, leaning back to see his whole face more clearly, she realized:
You can trust me. More than you know.
Book Two
Part Four
Mars and Deep Space
September, 2119
Chapter Twenty-Nine
MENTOR
Richard Downing waited patiently while the lieutenant-big, wide-eyed, and increasingly florid-shouted at him.
“No, sir, I don’t have to recognize your authority. And to hell with your cosmic clearance level. We’ve been on patrol in the Belt for six months now, bypassed twice for rotation off this god-forsaken boat. I’ve got a wife and kids back in Syrtis City, a mother dying on Earth-”
Downing closed his eyes. “Lieutenant Weuve-”
“-and now you just want me and my whole crew to obligingly pop ourselves into the emergency cryocells with no explanation why, and no guarantee of when-or if-we’ll wake up in this century? Not on your life-sir.”
“Lieutenant, I’m sorry-but this is a matter of national security. Actually, it’s a matter of global security: I’m here at the express orders of the World Confederation.”
“I don’t care if you’re here to announce the Second Coming, Downing. Neither I, nor my men, are hopping into the meatlockers on your say-so. I want more verification.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t accommodate that request: this must remain an entirely compartmentalized operation. No external communications, not even by encrypted lascom.”
“Then you’re out of luck, Mr. Downing.”
“Then I am afraid I must relieve you of your command, Lieutenant.”
Weuve’s shock became a smile, then a smirk. “Oh, really? Didn’t see you bring a Marine detachment on board with you from the other ship.”
“That’s because they are also, along with the rest of that crew, in cold sleep now. Besides, I don’t need any Marines.”
“No? Why’s that?”
“I think I can handle this myself.”
Weuve’s eyes went wide again, then narrowed. “Mr. Downing, I think you’ve seriously overestimated your authority and your combat power on this hull. Mister Rulaine,”-the lieutenant hooked a finger in the direction of his security chief-“please take Mr. Downing into custody and place him in the brig.”
Rulaine-tall, spare, silent-produced his NeoCoBro liquid-propellant sidearm. “Are you sure you want to do this, Lieutenant?”
Weuve turned to stare at the query. “You may be new here, Chief, but on this hull, you don’t question your orders: you obey them.”
Rulaine shrugged. “Yes, sir.” He quickly raised the gun-but aimed it at Weuve’s cheek.
Who took a drift-step back in the microgravity. “Hey-”
The NeoCoBro uttered a weak cough-consistent with the low propellant setting used for nonlethal rounds-which sent a gel-capsule splatting against the side of Weuve’s face.
Who was shouting: “McDevitt, Gross, get-” Weuve’s orders to his first pilot/XO and second engineer slurred into a groan and then a rough sigh; his feet drifted up off the deck and he floated slowly toward the bulkhead, already senseless.
Downing breathed again. “Those new tranq rounds work rather quickly.”
Rulaine nodded as he steadied his own recoil-induced drift with one hand, trained the gun on the other two bridge crewmen. He nodded at them. “Are we going to have any trouble with you two?”
McDevitt swallowed and shook his head. Gross was actually smiling. “Hell, no: I’d have been happy to pop the CO myself.”
“That’s insubordination, mister: your CO was out of line, but he’s still your CO. Be glad I don’t put it in your record. Now, take the lieutenant, and get the others ready for cold sleep.”
“Yessir.” The two of them skim-trotted off the bridge, towing Weuve. As the bulkhead door started sealing, Richard heard McDevitt ordering the ship’s complement to gather in the galley.
Downing put away the Executive Orders that Weuve had-erroneously-dismissed as forgeries. “Very well done, Captain Rulaine. Obviously, you roused no suspicions when you replaced their ‘ailing’ security chief a week ago.”
“Guess not, sir. But I have to say this is the strangest assignment I’ve ever been given: what’s it all about?”
“I can tell you what some parts are about, Captain. But I can’t tell you what it’s all about-as I suppose you have already surmised.”
“I suppose I have, sir.”
Glancing at the green beret’s patient hazel eyes, Downing wondered what unusually gifted recruiting sergeant had seen beyond the insubordination of Rulaine’s undergraduate years, and had instead discerned a spirit that would not only accept the practical dicta of a military life, but would thrive under them. As an OCS candidate, Bannor Rulaine had not been the average shave-tail-and afterward, he had not been given average assignments. To date, his battlefield choices had been frequently unorthodox and overwhelmingly successful. More importantly, his discretion was legendary, having brought him to the attention of intelligence chiefs, and hence, to Downing.
Downing shrugged. “What I can tell you about your part of this mission is that we will be consigning this hull and its complement to the care of another ship once we reach Mars orbit. From there, we will make planetfall at Syrtis City, where you will be responsible for overseeing the protection of ten extremely important persons. It is not merely their lives that you must protect, but the information that they will soon have: they must not be buttonholed, seduced, drugged, kidnapped, or otherwise made susceptible to any kind of debriefing or interrogation. Any questions?”