“But what if it gives us full manual control over the Meniscus Field?” Singh countered hotly. “What if it lets us shut down the failsafe and make the modifications we were discussing earlier? Isn’t that what we came here to learn how to do?”
“Dev’s right. We have to try,” Smith told them. “It’s why we’re here. If anything goes wrong, we’re all wearing PLS suits, and Ruby’s safe inside the ship.”
O’Malley broke in then, his voice half an octave higher than usual, “But what if it changes the atomic composition of our exosuits? What if it turns Devil Bug into plexiplast?”
“All right,” Smith decided. “We’ll do it this way: everyone get into the shuttle and remove to a safe distance from the station. I’ll wait until you’re out of range, then I’ll open the casing and slip the device into the generator, and we’ll see what happens.”
“No, I’ll do it,” sighed Gouryas. “We need an expert observer inside the station. No disrespect, Jason, but I’ve already hooked up my recording gear, and I’ve spent more time studying the paintbrush than you have.”
“Are you sure about this?” Smith demanded. “It’s alien technology, remember. Against all logic, it could blow up in your face.”
“In which case, we’re all equally expendable, aren’t we?” Singh pointed out drily.
“All right, then,” said Smith with a grim nod. “Gouryas, it’s your show. The rest of us will fall back to the shuttle.”
Ruby watched them file back up the ramp and into Devil Bug, then wordlessly closed the hatch and lay down at the controls, preparing to leave the docking bay.
“As soon as we’re clear of the gravity field, open a comm channel to Gouryas’s suit,” Smith instructed her.
Still wearing their exosuits, the rest of the team sat down at the viewport and fastened their restraints. Then Holchuk remembered Bonelli. He glanced backward and saw the Ranger’s motionless form, tethered to the deck at the rear of the cabin. He was unconscious. That wasn’t good. He’d lost a lot of blood, and they wouldn’t be returning to Daisy Hub for several hours. Any threat that Earth had posed to the Hub in the past would be nothing compared to what they’d have to deal with if a Ranger captain died on their shuttle, especially if the Authority ever found out what they’d been doing on Zulu in the first place.
Monkeys with typewriters. Nandrian tests. Tekl’hananni. The words spun and blurred together inside Holchuk’s head as he stared at the Ranger station through the viewport. Gavin ban Samuel had already passed his Nandrian test. Now, all he could do was watch as the others took theirs. He mustn’t share what he suspected, what he knew, what Nagor had told him. Cheating on a test would bring dishonor to both their Houses.
The mushroom wearing an overcoat was revolving lazily in space, looking more and more like a chunk of scrap metal trapped in orbit. Whatever happened now, whatever Zulu became, it would be what the Nandrians wished for Daisy Hub; and what the Nandrians wished, Daisy Hub didn’t dare reject.
Gouryas was wearing his bubble helmet. His voice echoed slightly as he replied to Ruby’s hail, “I hear you, Devil Bug. I’m about to lift the lid of the generator casing and insert the paintbrush. Recording devices are active. Let me know if you see anything interesting out there.”
In the silence that followed his words, Holchuk kept his gaze fixed on the viewscreen. So did everyone else. Nothing.
Abruptly, Gouryas gasped with surprise. “Hah!” the engineer crowed. “Hey, out there, are you seeing this?”
“Seeing what, Spiro?” asked Jason Smith.
“The emitter gave off a flash of purple light, and now the entire landing deck is purple. Deck, bulkheads, everything. It’s as though the paintbrush has become a paint sprayer. If Devil Bug were parked right now, she’d probably be purple too.”
Singh’s lips were moving. At first, Holchuk thought he was praying. Then he realized that the other man was counting down: three, two, one. Right on cue, the image of the station on the viewport went gray and grainy, then began to waver… And before their eyes, Zulu seemed to burst into purple flame before abruptly winking out.
The Zoo had disappeared.
O’Malley was in shock. “Oh, my gawd,” he breathed.
Singh sat grinning happily at the space on the viewport screen where Zulu had been.
“Son of a—!” Smith reached over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Was that what I thought it was?” he demanded. “Has the paintbrush just made Zulu and everything on it transparent?”
Singh shook his head. “Not transparent. If Spiro were transparent, he would be blind, and we haven’t heard him screaming, have we?”
Holchuk could think of many possible reasons for not hearing Gouryas scream. Before he could share any of them, however, Ruby got on the comm.
“Spiro, are you all right?” she demanded urgently.
“I’m fine,” he assured them. “Still seeing purple. Has there been any change out there?”
“You might say so,” Singh replied. “From our perspective, the Zoo is invisible. A purple flash and it was gone.”
“Are you serious?” Gouryas demanded excitedly. “Our theory was correct? Excellent!”
“Actually, it was my theory,” Singh corrected him.
Smith was visibly losing patience. “Would one of you be good enough to let me know what the hell is going on here?”
“The color purple was the key,” Singh explained. “Back on Daisy Hub, I hypothesized that the generator would create a field around Zulu, and that the paintbrush would establish its parameters,” said Singh. “Apparently, I was right. The paintbrush creates its palette of colors by altering the refractive index of whatever it’s aimed at. If the refractive index is such that it bends light around the affected surface, then the color becomes—”
“—invisible!” Smith’s face lit up with understanding. “So it’s an invisibility field. And we can recreate it on Daisy Hub?”
Singh nodded.
“Not so fast, Jason,” warned Gouryas. “Invisibility may come at a price. Remember what the paintbrush did to our bulkheads? Let’s see what happens when I disconnect it from the generator.”
Chapter 36
Teri Martin was still a star. The transformation from resident wildcat to visiting celebrity that Drew had witnessed on Zulu had been no more than a tantalizing glimpse. Onstage, in a succession of sequined and feathered costumes and spotlighted against a cleverly designed moving set, she was clearly in her element. Teri Martin glittered. She sparkled. She sang and danced and joked and strutted. She radiated an energy that was positively contagious. And for two and a half hours, she had fifteen Rangers and thirty-three of her crewmates eating out of her hand.
In AdComm, Drew, Lydia, and the Doc watched the show by remote vidcam. Even on a forty-centimeter surveillance screen, it was impressive. Quan might suspect that the invitation was part of a con, but he would still have to admit that Teri’s performance that evening had been worth the trip.
She had planned to do one encore. As it began, Lydia sent a signal to the incursion team. They would have to coordinate their return to Daisy Hub with the departure of the Rangers’ shuttles in order to remain undetected.
Ten minutes later, Teri’s encore was over. As she took her final bow, the audience rose to their feet, applauding enthusiastically. All but one — Nestor Quan. Major Cisco remained firmly seated, arms crossed over his chest, an expression of mild annoyance on his face.
“He’s just a ray of sunshine, isn’t he?” Drew muttered, only half to himself. “We feed them, we entertain them…”
Beside him, the Doc snorted, “He’s probably upset because there really was a stuffed toy rat in the show.”
“You said earlier that they were research partners, Doc,” said Drew thoughtfully. “Equal partners?”
She nodded. “Nayo shared everything with him. He was a very gene
rous man.”
“So the patents were jointly owned. That means Quan couldn’t have sold them by himself; Naguchi had to sign them over as well. I’m curious, Doc.”
She gave him a regretful smile. “You have many questions. I wish I had the answers, Mr. Townsend. All I know is that three representatives of the purchasing corporation paid Nayo a visit at home one evening. When they left, they had his thumbprint on a sales contract. Nayo wouldn’t talk about what had happened that night, and I would rather not try to imagine it. He meant a lot to me. One week later, he was on his way to Daisy Hub, with Yoko. I never saw him again.”
Now, finally, the pieces were starting to fall into place. “So, when you learned that Nestor Quan had been appointed as Daisy Hub’s Disease Control Officer…?”
“I knew exactly what he was after,” she said, her lips a hyphen of remembered determination. “Nayo Naguchi was deeply respected by his colleagues in the scientific community. I called in some favors on his behalf and got that little predator detoured before he could arrive here.”
Interesting. So Drew Townsend wasn’t the only one on the Hub with friends in high places.
“I would still like to know how a research scientist representing the interests of a Greater European genetics corporation ended up in command of this particular Ranger detachment. That took connections.”
“He’s using an assumed name,” the Doc reminded him. “Maybe he conned someone.”
Or maybe, just maybe, Quan’s appointment had come from the same place as his own — the covert security branch of the Space Installation Authority. Turn him or terminate him. Drew’s instructions had been clear. But the timing, the timing was everything.
“Maybe. And maybe he ran the con because after five years of trying, he finally realized that Nestor Quan was being actively prevented from reaching Daisy Hub,” Drew remarked. “However he did it, Doc, he’s here now, and he’s given us a major problem.”
“Drew!” Lydia cut in excitedly. “We just received a commburst from Devil Bug. The team found Captain Bonelli on Zulu, gravely wounded. Ruby managed to stop the bleeding, and they’re bringing him back here for treatment, but she’s afraid he may not make it. Before losing consciousness he told her that a ninja tried to kill him.”
So much for taking the “spy and traitor” back to Earth for trial.
Drew and the Doc exchanged a meaningful look. “You know,” he said, “if Quan does have the authority to search the station, we’re going to have to find another hiding place for Yoko, and probably for Steve Bonelli as well.”
“First things first, Mr. Townsend,” she advised him. “First, I have to get some of Bonelli’s stem cells out of cryo and save his life. Then we can worry about hiding him from Nestor Quan.”
Behind them, Lydia cleared her throat. “Our guests are leaving, Drew, but Major Cisco is hanging back.”
“Waiting for the host to say a formal goodbye, no doubt,” he sighed, heading for the tube car. As the Doc had said, first things first. First, they had to send the ninja back to Zulu so that the mission team could return, hopefully undetected.
Quan was waiting for him on A Deck, either unaware or unconcerned that he was being closely watched by ten burly men and several surveillance vidcams. As Drew stepped out of the tube car, the little man bowed and said, “On behalf of the entire detachment, I wish to thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Townsend. It was a delicious dinner and a very entertaining performance. Please give our compliments to your crew for a fine evening.”
He certainly knew the right words to say. It was a shame that was all they were to him — words.
“We’re glad you enjoyed yourselves, Major.” Automatically, the rest of the formulaic response rose into his mouth — ‘Please come back again soon.’ — but Drew bit down and swallowed it.
“The next time I visit, I’ll come alone so that we can conclude the business that remains between us.”
“There is no business between us,” Drew corrected him pleasantly. And therefore no need to visit.
Quan began again, in a sterner voice, “The people we both work for—”
“Wrong again, ‘Major’,” Drew informed him coldly. “I answer to the Space Installation Authority, and I can’t imagine you working for anyone but yourself.” Behind him, he sensed Orvy Hagman and his men, sniffing trouble and forming up once again to head it off. If necessary, this guest would be bodily delivered into the airlock of his ship.
The ninja spent a moment considering his options. Drew could practically hear him mentally checking them off. Then, “What a shame that such a cordial evening must end on a discordant note,” sighed Quan. “Good evening, Mr. Townsend, gentlemen…” And he wheeled and stepped through the docking archway.
First things first, Drew reminded himself. First, get Quan off the station and on his way back to Zulu. Get the mission team back on the Hub and Bonelli into Med Services. Later, there would probably be hell to pay. Right now, however, Townsend had other things to worry about.
As the archway door slid shut on their final guest, Drew heard noisy exhalations behind him. And the dominos keep falling.
Chapter 37
Lydia spun in her seat as Drew stepped off the tube car in AdComm.
“They’re away,” she told him. “And Devil Bug is on its way back home. Ruby sounded excited. They must have discovered something besides Captain Bonelli.” A pause, then, “You look tired, Drew. It’ll be a three-hour wait, at least. Why don’t you go grab a nap? I’ll let you know the second they dock.”
He didn’t even have to think about it. Sleep? Not a chance. When Quan returned to Zulu and discovered that Bonelli was gone, he would put two and two together — and probably get twenty-two. Lydia might have to send that mayday to the Nandrians after all.
“I think I’d rather grab a java,” he decided. “Have the shuttle dock first on A Deck — Bonelli may not have the time it’ll take for the Meniscus Field to cycle.”
It had been a very long day for everyone on Daisy Hub; and for anyone involved with Teri’s show, it wasn’t over yet. K Deck had to be transformed back into a storage area. All those seats had to be returned to the caf. If Fritz and his assistants had been in Teri’s audience, they still had to clean up after the buffet dinner and prepare the kitchen for breakfast. Fortunately, Drew was the boss and could ask for a cup of java whenever he wanted. Of course, he would probably have to drink it standing up, but under the circumstances, standing would probably be easier for him.
Drew stepped out of the tube car on D Deck, thumbed the enter switch beside the caf door, and stood poised on the threshold, blinking in confusion.
This late at night, the caf should have been empty, or close to it. Instead, the room was full of people, sitting in groups of three and four around Fritz Jensen’s round tables. Many of them were holding java mugs. All of them had fallen silent and turned curious eyes on him the instant he appeared in the doorway. For an uncomfortable moment, all he could do was stare back at them. Then one of the dockworkers — Racine? Kowalski? — jumped up and wordlessly offered him a seat.
With a nod of thanks, Drew took it. At the same time, a cup of steaming hot java seemed to materialize in front of him. As he eased himself wearily into the chair, Drew swore he could hear the entire room exhale.
“Any word, Mr. Townsend?” called out an anxious female voice.
Still not daring to believe what was apparently happening here, he replied, “They’re on their way home, and so far the Rangers haven’t detected them.”
“No news is good news, then,” declared the man across the table from him. A second later, Drew recalled who he was — Mossman, External Hub Maintenance.
Drew lifted his cup halfway to his mouth, then changed his mind and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, people, but… What are you all doing here at this hour?”
Nervous laughter rippl
ed through the room. Across the table, Mossman flashed him a grin. “Waiting for the young’uns to get home from their date, of course,” he said. “We wouldn’t be able to sleep until we knew they were back safe.”
Of course. He should have known. And if Drew’s teen years had included such ordinary things as going on dates and returning home late to concerned parents, he would have known. Mustering a responding smile and forcing lightness into his voice, he asked, “Are you going to do this every time someone goes out on a mission?”
“That depends,” came the reply from somewhere behind him. “Are there going to be more missions?”
Drew was spared from having to answer by the sound of the caf door opening. Teri Mintz strolled into the room, fresh-faced and clad in a dressing gown. The entire caf burst into spontaneous applause, prompting her to take a couple of bows.
“Great show, Teri!”
“Encore, encore!”
Beaming, she sashayed over to Drew’s table, where Mossman had pulled up another chair for her and someone had produced another cup of java. Teri took and savored a sip of Jensen’s brew, then said quietly, “So now we wait. Is everyone all right?”
“What she really means is, is Gavin all right,” declared Lu, triggering a chorus of whistles and catcalls as he broke into an off-key rendition of ‘That Man of Mine’.
Teri’s eyes were dancing. Turning to face him, she got to her feet and, chin elevated in a parody of royal dignity, announced, “The peasants had better be careful what they say about a member of the Fifth Shield.”
A roar of laughter erupted briefly and subsided as she sat down again. “So, did you get to watch any of the show?” she asked Drew. “Tell me what you thought about it, honestly.”
For the next while, the Daisy Hub crew sat in the caf, chatting and drinking java and losing track of the time until Drew’s wristcomm bleeped at him.
It was Lydia. Two words. “They’re home.”
The Genius Asylum: Sic Transit Terra Book 1 Page 23
