Waypoint Kangaroo (28 page)

I frown at him. “Wait a minute. You want to use my shoulder-phone, but you don't want me on the call?”

“I'm sorry, Rogers, Chief,” Santamaria says. “Neither of you has the security clearance for this discussion.”

*   *   *

Before Jemison and I leave, we work out how to securely tie my shoulder-phone into
Dejah Thoris
's internal wireless network. Now I can go about my business anywhere on the ship, and it won't interfere with the captain's communications link to Paul.

Jemison says good-bye to me in the corridor outside the briefing room. “Don't stay up too late. We're going to have some more fun with the prisoner tomorrow.”

“Can we talk about the nanobots?” I ask. “I just need a list of names. That's all. I can take care of the rest myself.”

Jemison grabs a handrail and stops her motion down the corridor. “Fine. I'll get you the damn names. Tomorrow morning. And you're going to walk me through your crazy medical procedure before you do anything to anyone.”

Sure, I'm going to let you believe that.
“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“What?”

Jemison doesn't like talking about the war. She's made that abundantly clear. She also doesn't like chatting with me. I'm hoping the combination of the two will repel her long enough for me to get my nano-business squared away without interference.

“Why did Bartelt call the captain ‘Hades'?” I ask.

We're floating at least three meters apart, but I swear the temperature drops by a good five degrees in the moment before she responds. “We're not going to talk about that right now.”

“Are we ever going to talk about it? Sounds like a great war story.”

I flinch as Jemison snaps up her left arm, hand clenched in a fist. She bends her elbow and uses her other hand to work her wrist controls for a few seconds.

“You now have thumbscan access to the crew sections,” she says. “Captain might need to see you again later. I don't want to. Stay out of trouble.”

I watch until the elevator doors close, then rush back to my stateroom, pull the centrifuge out of the pocket, spin down the newly multiplied nanobots into the Red Wine, and fill two drink bulbs with the dosed alcohol. I hope I haven't made Ellie wait too long. My tuxedo takes forever to put on. Why didn't I ask for the clip-on bow tie?

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Dejah Thoris
—Deck 10, Promenade

20 minutes late for dinner, dammit

Not every place name on this ship is a terrible pun, but most of them are pretty bad. I suppose that's to be expected aboard the Princess of Mars Cruises flagship
Dejah Thoris.

The fake-jade dragon's-head gateway into the Fête Silk Road restaurant glows green on the upper level of the Promenade, between the Joy of Specs and Hats in the Belfry shops, both of which sell exactly the accessories you'd imagine. I arrive at 1950 hours, breathless after my bumpy flight down the crew stairwell, and give my name to the maître d', an excessively glamorous woman wearing a red qipao and iridescent chopsticks in her hair.

“Ah, yes, welcome, Mr. Rogers,” she says. “Your dining companion arrived a few minutes ago. She's waiting for you at the bar. If you would care to join her, we'll come fetch you both as soon as your table is ready.”

I thank her and float past the green dragon's teeth and into the bar area. There's quite a crowd here, and it takes me a minute to locate Ellie. Mostly because she looks so stunningly different in a glittering black-and-white ball gown. She's still wearing her duty wristband, and a pair of flat black zero-gee slipper-socks, but she makes the whole ensemble work.

I haven't had any time to think about how I'm going to excuse my lateness. I can't tell Ellie the truth, obviously; I can never tell her about the nanobots or my security errands. I've made my peace with that. But who do I need to be to accomplish my current objective? How is “Evan Rogers” going to get her to drink this fancy Red Wine without appearing to be a creeper?

How about don't be an idiot, Kangaroo. Let's start there.

It doesn't matter what this woman thinks of me. In less than four days I'm off this ship, and then I'll probably never see her again. Hell, depending on how tonight goes, I may not see her again for the rest of this cruise. And that doesn't matter, as long as I get her to drink this nanobot potion.

It's all about the mission. It's always about the mission.

Not tonight.

Ellie doesn't notice me until I'm floating right next to her at the bar, holding out the two bulbs of wine.

“Buy you a drink, lady?” I say, sticking my feet to the floor.

She looks at me with those brilliant eyes and smiles. “Hey, stranger. About time you showed up.”

“Sorry. I had a longer than expected talk with the sommelier. I wanted to select the perfect wine for tonight.”

“And I'm sure he or she encouraged you to spare no expense.”

I hand her one of the bulbs. “Judge for yourself, mademoiselle.”

It occurs to me that
I
haven't tasted this wine. Ellie puts a hand on my arm to stop me before I can bring my drink bulb to my lips.

“Hold on there,” she says. “You can't drink fancy wine without making a toast first.”

“Okay. What are we toasting?”

She raises her bulb. “To meeting new people.”

I tap my bulb against hers. “To new friends.”

Ellie takes a sip of her wine. I blink my eye into scanning mode and watch as a fuzzy column of false-color green descends into her torso and diffuses outward, like branches of lightning crawling through her dark blue figure. I suddenly realize it probably looks like I'm staring at her chest, and quickly turn my head away.

Mission accomplished. Now what?

I don't know.

She sticks her drink bulb to the bar and grimaces. “Well, that's different.”

I quickly take a swig of the Red Wine and wonder if it might have gone bad. The airtight seal was definitely intact—I watched the sommelier verify the holo code, and I also checked it with my eye—but maybe it was a bad batch to start with? Maybe the radiation in Airy Crater did something to it?

The liquid washes across my tongue and seems to evaporate, just a little, before I register the mixture of fruity and bitter flavors and familiar tang of ethanol. It tastes like wine, and I have to admit, I've never actually tried anything this expensive. How do I know what it's supposed to taste like? The agency doesn't train us to be food critics.

“It's not that bad, is it?” I ask.

This doesn't matter. The nanobots are in her system now. They'll start repairing her radiation-damaged cells within the next few minutes. They'll replicate themselves until they finish the job, and then they'll self-destruct. I've finished the job. I could leave right now and get back to work, tracking down murderers and hunting spies.

But I don't want to.

“Tell you what,” Ellie says, “the next drink's on me.”

“Fine,” I say. “I'll let you order it, but I'm paying.”

“Evan—”

“I have an expense account.” It's not a lie.

She narrows her eyes. “Okay. You can pay for dinner tonight. But next time, I'm buying.”

I can't keep the smile off my face. “So what's good here?”

Ellie launches into an in-depth critique of the new menu at Fête Silk Road, which debuted on this sailing and has apparently been the subject of some discussion among the crew. I'm only half-listening as she describes the exotic ingredients, some of which are actually grown on board the ship in hydroponic gardens.

She said “next time.”

*   *   *

Dinner with Ellie is the longest single meal I've ever had, and it's still over too soon. We close down Fête Silk Road at eleven o'clock, after taking our time ordering and then consuming each spectacular course. I can tell it's closing time because our server, who has been a paragon of courtesy all night, brings our check without even asking if we're ready, and with the barest hint of a smile.

I sign the check to my room without looking at or caring about the amount. As we leave our table, I grab both of our half-empty Red Wine bulbs. Ellie gives me a funny look.

“Hey,
I
like it,” I say.
Who doesn't like experimental nanotech?

She shakes her head, smiling. “There's no accounting for taste.”

We float to the crew elevator together, holding hands. I can tell from Ellie's body language that she thinks our evening is over—she's becoming less relaxed, stealing glances at her wristband more often—but I still have to make one last attempt.

“I don't think I mentioned it earlier,” I say, “but you look beautiful tonight.”

“Thanks.” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I was worried you'd gone blind or something.”

“I suppose you'll need to change back into uniform now.”

“Yeah. A mermaid gown doesn't exactly command respect in Main Eng.”

I give her what I hope is a sly smile. “Want any help getting out of that dress?”

She laughs, puts her mouth right next to my ear, and whispers, “Having sex in zero-gee is very difficult.”

“I'm a fast learner.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that. But I'm on duty in less than forty minutes.”

“Can't the boss be a few minutes late?”

“First of all, no. We need to do a full systems check before turning up the reactor for our deceleration burn. Timing is pretty important if we want to remain on course. And second”—now she's whispering again—“forty minutes isn't nearly long enough for what I want to do to you.”

“You are a terrible person.”

“Yeah, I know.” The elevator arrives. “I think you're terrible too.”

She releases my hand and drifts forward. Time slows to a crawl while I stare, wanting to remember every detail of this moment: the shimmering curve of the dress covering her hips, her shoulder-length brown hair sailing past her face as she turns around, her teeth showing in a smile and her eyes twinkling as they catch the light.

“See you tomorrow,” she says.

“Tomorrow.”

The elevator doors close, and the entire world seems dimmer.

I stare straight ahead for a moment, then look down at the drink bulbs in my hand. Time to get back to work. There are several more people who need to try this lousy Red Wine.

First, I go back to my room and change out of the tuxedo. I've only ever worn it when I'm with Ellie, and that's the way I want to keep it. Maybe it's a silly sentiment. I'm allowing myself to be silly this week. I'm on vacation.

*   *   *

I head up to the crew sections carrying the bottle of nanobot-laden Red Wine in a complimentary Princess of Mars Cruises duffel bag. All the senior officers need to have a drink. Maybe if I can get one of them tipsy, I'll have an easier time tracking down the other crew who were exposed.

One thing at a time, Kangaroo.

I arrive at the briefing room behind the bridge just before midnight. Galbraith and Logan are the only ones there, bobbing at opposite ends of the conference table. They've divided the tabletop display into two halves, and each of them is tapping and dragging data boxes and occasionally sliding them across the table to the other person.

“Hello, Mr. Rogers,” Galbraith says. “Couldn't sleep?”

“Something like that,” I say. I'm still giddy from my dinner with Ellie.

“We're going to start decelerating soon,” Logan says. “You might be more comfortable in bed.”

Depends on the company.
“I'll be fine. Thanks for the warning.”

“Something we can help you with?” Galbraith asks.

Yes. I need you to drink some wine so you don't die of cancer. Long story. Just trust me?

I open my mouth to speak and hear a
bong
noise. I start to look around, then hear it echoing—an acoustic effect that wouldn't happen in this room—and realize it's prerecorded. It repeats, sounding like an old analog timepiece striking its hour chimes.

“Is that a grandfather clock?” I ask.

“Audio recording,” Galbraith says. “The captain likes antiques.”

Just as the clock strikes twelve, a band of red lights up all around the room where the walls meet the ceiling. The red lights begin pulsing. A shrill sound erupts from hidden loudspeakers, blasting five times in quick succession.

“Something's wrong,” Galbraith says. I imagine that's for my benefit.

The door to the bridge slides open, and Santamaria flies into the room. He catches himself against the edge of the table.

“Rogers,” he says. “You stay. Erica, Jeff, we've got a situation.”

He slaps his hand against the table, and Jemison's face appears. She looks like she's ready to go to war.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

Dejah Thoris
—Deck B, officers' briefing room

Just past midnight and more than halfway to Mars

Jemison feeds us a vid from the security camera in main engineering. It shows Ellie Gavilán floating into the room at the start of her graveyard shift, wearing her work jumpsuit, waving to greet her crew. I see half a dozen people and at least as many robots working the control stations surrounding the ionwell. Apparently that wasn't just for show during the tour. Xiao, the self-appointed bouncer and arboretum enthusiast from this morning, pulls himself around the ionwell railing to meet Ellie and hands her a tablet.

Then a man dressed in black from head to toe—including gloves, a mask that covers everything but his eyes, and a small backpack—slams into Ellie from behind, and all three of them crash into the railing and bounce upward. The attacker throws his arm around Ellie and kicks Xiao away, pushing himself and Ellie off the bottom edge of the screen. Xiao crashes into another crewperson before he can reach his jetpack controls and stabilize himself.