“Then all the cryocells-from both the clipper and the patrol boat-were transferred to the Navy transport. Which was also given new orders.”
“Not back to the asteroid belt?”
“Nope: a deep-space rendezvous with the next outbound shift carrier. And if I was a betting man-and I have been known to indulge in that vice-I’d take decent odds that both cryoed crews are already outsystem, the whole bunch of them in some popsicle holding yard at Alpha Centauri. Or beyond.”
Jesus H. Christ: what the hell was Uncle Richard up to? “You mentioned something about my father?”
“Yeah. When they were moving the cryocells, they moved some cargo, too. One item was a coffin for space burial. Our new guy-given his EVA rating-was sent to check out its seal integrity. He recognized the occupant: it was your father. In full dress whites.”
Trevor’s first reflex was one of the most useful he had acquired during more than a decade of active service: to put on a poker face when his mind became a roiling chaos of conflicting ideas and emotions. What the hell was going on? His father had wanted to be buried around another star, if possible, but his own instructions had precluded that: after Parthenon, the outbound cargo priorities became absolutely rigid. But Dad’s body was now outward bound for Alpha Centauri-and without consulting his family? What the hell was Richard playing at?
And in the very moment that he decided to confront Richard about it, Trevor realized he couldn’t afford to. If I catch him on this, he’ll know I’m aware that he’s not coming clean with me. So he’ll ’fess up to this-but then play any subsequent cards closer to his chest. If I’m to have any chance of learning the other things he might be trying to pull, then I’ve got to play dumb. But-I’ve got to watch Richard? Him? Of all people?
“Commander?”
“Hmmm?”
“Orders?”
“None right now, Stosh.”
“Yes, sir. And, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Condolences. Your father was an outstanding man. We were on liberty when we heard. We raised our glasses and hoo-yahed him. Three times.”
Trevor kept a lump from rising into his throat. “I’m sure he heard it-and smiled.”
“Yes, sir. I’m off.”
Witkowski sidestepped away, finger-signed to Rulaine that he was ready to swap places. Trevor started back toward Elena, saw that the line had almost exhausted itself: Caine and Opal were next.
But then, four men entered, all wearing ties, two with bold corporate logos. Their leader-a balding, late-middle-aged man whose generous girth was a sad compensation for his meager height, came in with his head forward, scanning aggressively. When he saw Caine, he headed straight for him-the other three in tow.
Trevor looked at Stosh-who, of course, had seen it too-and shook his head slightly. The megacorps wouldn’t try anything here.
Or would they?
Chapter Thirty-Five
ODYSSEUS
Caine felt his palms grow moist as the elderly couple directly in front of him moved forward, hands extended toward the woman that was, he hypothesized, Corcoran’s rather stunning daughter: straight nose, high cheekbones, large eyes, and a strong jawline blended together in a concordance of sure, graceful arcs.
“Admiring the view?”
Caine started at Opal’s voice, heard the playfulness in it-but something else, as well. A hint of worry? Maybe-jealousy? He turned to confer a reassuring smile upon her-and instead found himself face to face with a tall, expressionless man. He was dimly aware that there were three other men, but could not bring himself to look away from the first one, whose features were as strangely nondescript as they were alarmingly symmetrical.
The shortest of the three men looked up. “You’re Riordan, right?”
Still looking at the unblinking eyes of the smooth-faced, almost featureless, security guard, Caine nodded. “That’s me. And I’m guessing that you’re from the megacorporations.”
“Yeah, but let’s be real clear-I’m not from CoDevCo or any of its subsidiaries.” He fixed his eyes upon Caine’s. “I’ve got a few things best said in private.”
“Okay.” Caine took two steps away from Opal, reached the walclass="underline" he stopped and looked at the shorter man.
Who shrugged and joined him. “Look, before we start-try not to stare at the guy, will you?”
“Stare? At which guy?”
“Our-security operative. His situation is-well, awkward. For everyone.”
“What awkward situation are you talking about?”
The short man’s eyes opened a little wider. “You don’t know? Really?” He saw the answer in Caine’s face. “He’s a Tube.”
“A what?”
“A Tube.” Seeing that Caine still didn’t understand, he emphasized. “A test Tube. He came to term in vitro.”
Caine felt his mouth drop open. “He’s a clone?”
“Shh. Not so loud. Christ, you want him to hear?”
“But I thought that cloning-”
“Look. You need to get out of your ivory tower a little more often. Yes, ex-vivo cloning of humans is against international accords. But not all places on Earth-or beyond-are under routine governmental supervision. Some aren’t even under national jurisdiction anymore.”
“Which is where you come in?”
“No. That has nothing to do with why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m here to tell you-first of all-that not all corporations are the same. The admiral-” he nodded at the memorial flame with a deferential lowering of his voice “-he knew that well enough. But after yesterday’s events-well, some us started to worry that maybe you new guys might forget the distinctions.”
You new guys. That was a mix of good and bad. Good in that it suggested that some of Nolan’s old acquaintances were ready to recognize a transfer of power and authority to Downing and-God forbid-himself. Bad in that this emissary had elected to contact Caine, which suggested that his connection with Nolan’s old activities was already presumed.
“Look: that last comment makes me think you’re talking to the wrong person.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because I’m not sure what or who you mean when you’re referring to ‘the new guys.’”
The shorter man looked up out of narrowed eyes, then nodded once. “Maybe not. But still, I was sent to talk to you. Even if you’re not one of the ‘new guys.’”
“But why talk to me? I’m nobody.”
“Sure. You’re nobody. You’re the ‘nobody’ who closed down CoDevCo’s site manager on Dee Pee Three and then pinned back the ears of their fancy-boy, Astor-Smath, at Parthenon.”
Caine managed not to wince at the slur. “You don’t sound sorry that I did.”
“I’m not. A lot of us aren’t.”
“Who’s ‘a lot of us’?”
“I work for an aerospace firm. And like a lot of the other industrial megacorps-well, we like working with government. We’ve got a good relationship. And I’m guessing you know that our boardrooms look like reunions for the various service academies, right?”
Caine nodded. “I’ve been to a few.”
“So the mood upstairs in my firm-and a lot of others-is that companies must remain secondary to, and ultimately serve the interests of, nations. Period.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Yeah-but then there are the other companies. The ex-oil companies, the consumer service industries, the ‘resource extraction’ firms, and big investment and credit conglomerates. They think that the rule of nations is old-fashioned, inefficient.”
Caine looked down at the necktie and its almost heraldic design.
The shorter man looked down also, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah-it’s getting a little crazy with the tie thing. Even with us Industrials.”
“So maybe you’re not so different from the other megacorps, after all.”