He looked at the globe again. The lettering formed discrete units— paragraphs— that were separated from one another by large areas of black hull. There were twelve of these paragraphs and it had already been noted by the science team that not all of them were written in Lasa. But they were all unique— except for one duplication.
He sat back, startled. One of the Lasa paragraphs was repeated, on opposite sides of the sphere. No other text was duplicated. And that duplicated text was the text from the duplicate photos.
So somebody had removed one or more of Rue Cassels's original photos of the habitat and reordered them to hide the fact. There were precious few reference points from which to tell what you were looking at: Every picture was identical to the others except for different letters splashed across the dark circle of the habitat. But if you looked closely enough, you could see the deception— and Linda Ophir had obviously looked close enough.
He should be getting back; his keepers would be wondering what he was up to. He felt a surge of anger at the thought of the spy camera on his ear, and decided to defy it. He turned his attention back to the photos.
For a while at least, Michael's attention was not on the dark ancient whisperings of the kami of Dis, but on the faint traces of another kind of more tangible spirit; those of a deadly human who hid somewhere aboard the Banshee.
"DON'T YOU HAVE anything to say to me?"
Max had tried gamely to lose her in the Banshee's corridors, so Rue had simply stood in the doorway to the cold sleep chamber until he arrived. She had waited, biting her lip and fuming, and now here he was, skulking up guiltily, but trying to look casual. He planted his feet a few meters away, dropped his satchel and squinted at her.
"What?" he said.
"Come on, Max. Weren't you even going to say good-bye?"
"Good-bye?" He scratched his head, eyes looking everywhere but at her. "I'm just taking a nap."
Rebecca had called Rue an hour ago; all she'd said was, "You'd better get over to the Banshee right away."
"Why? What's happened?"
Rebecca had sighed heavily. "It's Max."
She hadn't had to say more. Rue had never thought Max would duck out on her like this— but it was obvious in that moment, and she had simply said, "Yes," to Rebecca, and flown over.
"Six months is not a nap, Max," she said now. "Why are you doing this to me? I need you!"
He finally looked at her. "No, Rue, you don't. You never did. If I hadn't fronted this expedition, you'd be happily surveying a mountain on Treya somewhere. You'd be living modestly, but you'd have a stable relationship and a social set. And now?" He shrugged. "You're more of a natural leader than you know. You don't need me as a crutch, that's for sure."
It drove her to distraction when he talked like this. "But why?"
He rubbed his hands on his pants, shrugging again. "There's nothing for me to do here. You're perfectly happy living in a can like this. I grew up under sunlight, such as it was. Anyway, I'm no scientist and I'm certainly not starship crew." He sighed heavily. "What do you want from me?"
"A straight answer."
"If you don't want me to go, say the word. You're the captain, after all." She heard the resentment in his voice and that just made her feel worse.
"Max, you know I love you. I'd never hold you back from doing what you want to do. But this isn't healthy. You're running away from something. What?"
He laughed. "You only just noticed? Oh, couz, sometimes you're so naive."
Max picked up his satchel and moved to pass her. She stood her ground.
"Look," he said, "some of us find life easy. I have no idea how. You're one, I knew it the instant I saw you. You've got courage, Rue. But me… all my life, I felt like I've been running on water. The instant I pause, down I go." He gently put a hand on her shoulder and moved her aside. "I'm okay if I've got something to fight against. Something to do. But if I have to sit down and face myself… the pit opens. You don't understand and I'm sorry that you want to. Not all of us can be heroes, Rue. Not all of us can even face the day. There's no why to it. It just is that way."
He walked into the cold sleep chamber without looking back.
Rue watched him go. She was astonished, not at what he'd said about himself, but at what he thought of her. Courage? Courage? She had never had that. What others took for courage in her was just another kind of fear: fear of not measuring up, of failing her people.
She wanted to call him back, force him to understand that she needed his support now more than ever. But she couldn't bring herself to step across the threshold. She couldn't ruin his dignity that much.
It wouldn't do for any of her people to see her cry. Rue went to one of the Banshee's washrooms, locked herself in a stall and put her face in her hands.
15
THAT EVENING, RUE undertook yet another pointless inventory of the remaining supplies. She was in the «attic» of the cache, feeling bad about herself, missing Max. Funny how she'd turned into the sort of person who worked compulsively; she remembered how she'd had contempt for that sort of laborer at Allemagne. Well, maybe they'd known things about life that she hadn't, at that point. Once upon a time, her only task had been keeping out of Jentry's way.
Max had picked a rotten time to bail on her. He'd said that for him, life was like running on water. She understood that, more than he seemed to know. Rue had been running too, she felt, ever since Allemagne. Not running to keep herself up, maybe, but running away from Jentry, and everything that she had been raised to be, there in that little station in the middle of the void.
What Max didn't get— the idiot! — was that without him she'd have faltered and fallen long ago. Rue kept going forward, true, but she understood how less and less. Responsibility, doubt and insecurities beaten into her in her childhood all pulled at her, all the time. Max had been a rock to cling to. He seemed so certain of what to do, there at the beginning. Now he'd taken that certainty away.
Now she was arguing with him in her own mind, the sort of satisfying internal dialogue that one always wins. She had just scored a major point when she heard the airlock cycling; expecting it to be Corinna returning from the Banshee, she returned to her checklist. Across the attic space from her, Evan was running simulations on their approach to Colossus. Good for him.
Rebecca's voice floated up from downstairs. "Dr. Bequith! How nice to see you!"
Damn that woman. Rue and Rebecca had discussed the possible romantic prospects among the Banshee's crew the previous day. Rebecca had shied away from mentioning any men she found attractive, but had suggested a few prospects for Rue. It had been frivolous banter— but Rue had mentioned that she found Mike attractive. Had Rebecca invited him over?
"Please, call me Michael." It was Mike's low, soft voice. "Is your captain here?"
"Rue! Visitor!"
Rue paused, looked at her checklist, bit her thumbnail.
"Would you like a drink?" continued Rebecca. "Apparently Max hid some whisky nanospores here and Blair's been growing them in an aeration tube. We were just about to sample his first batch." Rue heard them moving into the kitchen area.
"Hardly a batch," said Blair. Rue moved to the open hatchway and peeked down at the kitchen area. Blair was holding out a small closed jar. A single large drop of amber liquid floated in its center. "I think there's enough for four people to get a taste."