Griffin had left Rhayne in his quarters, his mother on guard duty. Rhayne’s normal pink complexion hadn’t revived by the time he had to leave for work, and he’d insisted they stay there. Hopefully, Rhayne was getting the sleep she needed to recover from the small dose of the serum she’d injected. The general lethargy she’d displayed while Mom had completed the distillation process bothered him. Rhayne had barely focused when his mom had added dye to the glass storage vessel. Like blood through glycerin, streams of red swirled in the viscous solution when stirred.
Thinking about the moment boosted the tension squeezing the back of Griffin’s neck. When Truser’s glance tracked around the lounge and landed on him, panic clawed up his back like a rising phoenix. Forcing his eyes down and the panic into a corner of his mind, Griffin concentrated on polishing away the marks left by overflowing mugs of ale. He nodded at a customer who’d approached the bar, then busied himself adding synthesized peanuts to a bowl on the counter. Truser shifted his gaze away and Griffin released a pent-up breath. He stored the container of nuts under the bar.
He motioned for his assistant manager. “Jofor, take over for me okay? I’m going on a break.”
“Huh? You never take breaks.”
“I do when I’m interested in a certain visiting researcher. We made plans to spend a little quality time in her private quarters, if you take my meeting.” He hated telling the lie, felt disloyal to Rhayne. Broadcasting their budding relationship seemed a huge intrusion into her privacy, but they’d agreed it was the most plausible reason for him to disappear for a lengthy period of time.
The tips of Jofor’s ears pinked up. The assistant wasn’t nearly as worldly as he liked to pretend. Even four years of working in the station’s lounges hadn’t properly seasoned him. “Oh. Well, sure, I’ve got this. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Griffin handed the read-key for the lounge and storerooms to Jofor. He bent and tapped his passcode into the locked storage cabinet under the counter. After the door slid open, he grabbed the kitbag holding the serum, then strode toward the exit. With one last glance over his shoulder, he confirmed his exit had been unmarked by the pair in the corner. A serv-bot had just delivered drinks to them, and they clinked their glasses together. Like they were celebrating. As he left the bar, anger boiled through Griffin, ferociously gripping his gut. He took whatever satisfaction he could in the knowledge that by this time tomorrow, Deke Slater would have arrested the two of them on conspiracy, terrorism, and attempted murder charges.
Griffin nodded to several of his shipmates as he made his way to the perm-res section of the station. He didn’t bother to stop and socialize with anyone. His objective was to meet Slater in the next five minutes, get into Truser’s quarters, and locate and replace the death potion with the cure. Lives depended on him attaining his goal. He tightened his grasp on the bag and quickened his pace.
Slater waited for him in the service access closest to the director’s quarters. “You have everything you need to get us past his security system?” Griffin demanded as soon as the panel swished closed behind him.
Slater patted the small gray case attached to his utility belt. “Right here. Once I activate the infrared on this bad boy, we should have access to his quarters within thirty seconds.”
Griffin nodded. “Good. Too bad 58 didn’t say where Truser is hiding the serum in his quarters. That would have saved us a ton of time.”
He leaned against the gray, steel wall behind him and waited in silence while Deke consulted his mini-tab.
Slater spun the tab around in his hand, showing the display to Griffin. He jabbed his forefinger at the screen. “Here’s a schematic of his quarters’ layout. He’s got secured storage here. I’d bet it will be there. I know his passcode for the lock.”
“I’m not even going to wonder how you got access to that information.”
“I have my sources. Let’s just say the secure-smith owed me a favor.” Deke’s satisfied smirk was a sight to behold.
Griffin shook his head. “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Slater.”
The man’s smile got broader. “What makes you think you aren’t already there?”
“Frack you, jarhead.”
“Back at ya, sonny. Let’s go do this thing.”
Holy Titan, he hated being called sonny, but Griffin enjoyed this new, easy camaraderie between his mother’s…what? Ex-partner? Boyfriend? He sure as Hades didn’t know what to call the man. It just felt good to be on the same side for a change.
Slater squared his shoulders and pressed his palm against the scanner to activate the access door. Griffin followed him into the corridor, scanning the area for other occupants. All clear. Together, they made their way to Truser’s cabin.
Slater motioned for Griffin to provide a barrier to prying eyes. As soon as Griffin angled his back to conceal the portal’s security pad, Slater pulled the jammer from the pouch at his waist. He studied the display for a moment then swiped a blunt fingertip in a pre-set sequence on the device. Slater muttered to himself and aimed the box at the infrared reader on the wall.
“Damn.”
Concern popped through Griffin’s chest like the strobe beacon on an Airfloat. “Don’t like the sound of that.”
“Wrong code.” Slater programmed in a new series then tried again.
The chirp from the device Slater held, and the subsequent click of the lock disengaging, rang with success. Griffin smiled for the first time since Rhayne had regained consciousness at the end of the serum test.
“We’re in.”
“Let’s get this over with.” The door slid open and Griffin started forward.
Slater put a hand on his arm. “Hold up. I want to survey for secondary security.” He waved the scanner over the opening. “Nothing. We’re clear.”
Griffin preceded him into the dim quarters, the lights automatically brightening as he moved into the space. He paused, waiting for the illumination to reach its programmed zenith. Slater crowded in behind him and the portal closed, creating a slight vacuum effect when it did.
Griffin took a moment to survey Truser’s living berth. The furnishings were standard issue, identical to Griffin’s space. Black sem-nite on all the counter surfaces, clear plexene chairs surrounded the dining table, the seat cushions apple green instead of plum.
The major difference between his quarters and Truser’s was the vast collection of fine paintings adorning the walls in this space. Griffin squinted at the far wall. Great Jupiter’s ghost! It was a reproduction of one of Monet’s famed Haystacks series. Even reproductions sold for thousands, if not millions of credits. Right next to it, Bridger’s Endorian Sunrise held a place of honor. A pedestal in the corner held an ancient Roman bust of Caesar.
Griffin whistled. “Slater, how can a simple lab director afford great masterpieces of art?”
“I suspect Truser’s been paid handsomely for his contribution to the IIF pursuit of hazing citizens with the p53 marker. Dumb bastard.”
Turning in a circle, Griffin took in all of the expensive art scattered around the room. “Handsomely” was an understatement. The total value of the collection had to be well beyond what he’d ever hope to earn in his lifetime. His world felt out of kilter when he completed his circuit.
“His secured storage is over there.” Slater pointed to a wall adjacent to a framed landscape of the barren Venutian plains. “Let’s open it and get gone.”
Slater strode across the room and depressed a small square on the wall, accessing the scanner hidden there. Pulling his mini-tab from an oversized pocket in his trooper-issued trousers, he aimed it at the optix. A large rectangle receded then slid to the side, revealing a concave storage area.
“Son of a Mercury moon-lion.” Slater slammed his palm against the wall. “It’s not here. Now what do we do?”
“Check again. It has to be there.”
Deke rummaged through the contents. “I’m telling you it’s not. All that’s in here is stacks of ind
ex credits and a couple of docu-nimbis discs. And a phase weapon. That’s enough to get him arrested. But no antique glass containers.”
Griffin’s shoulders slumped. Scrubbing a hand over his head, he turned his back on Slater and stared at the food replicator on the counter. It was a smaller model than the one he had in his own quarters. “Titan, where the Hades is it?”
“Status.” Slater barked into his comm-link. He paused, listening to the individual respond. “We’re running out of time. They’ve just declined more drinks. We’ll have to search everything and be quick about it. My team is ready in case. We may only have minutes once he leaves Ma’Jut.”
Tipping his head to the side, Griffin continued to study the Djinn. It was wrong. Even though it was a smaller unit, it appeared to take up as much, if not more, space on the counter.
Slater started pulling open wardrobe cabinets. “Move, Cooper. We need to search and scram. Be careful to replace anything you touch exactly as you found it.”
“Slater.” Griffin pointed to the food area. “Does that look right to you?”
Deke paused mid-stride and stared at the counter Griffin had indicated. “It’s a Djinn. They all look the same.”
“They may look the same, but there are differences. This one is an individual system. Should take up less space in the unit. But look.” Griffin moved across the cushy syn-flooring and measured the size between his hands. “This is wrong. Slater, I think it’s a blind.”
“A blind?”
Excitement swept through Griffin. His heart sped up, and he forced himself to juggle caution with the thrill of discovery. “It’s a smuggler’s trick. Old time pirates would enclose an area to hide particularly precious commodities. Is your scanner equipped to image?”
“Sure is. Step aside.” Slater nudged Griffin out of the way. He handed him the mini-tab and pressed a small black reader flat on the wall. It took an instant for a two-dimensional image of a slender apothecary bottle to appear. “I’ll be damned.”
“There’s got to be a mechanical catch somewhere.”
Griffin set the bag he’d been clutching on the counter next to the Djinn. He ran his fingers over the surface of the wall, seeking something he could depress or flip. When his fingernail snagged on the top edge of the Djinn, he smiled. Prying at the tiny cutout, he jerked it up.
A small panel popped free. Griffin held his breath and slipped a finger into the opening, pulling it the rest of the way open. A light illuminated the small recess. The liquid in the clear container glowed like the eyes of Casius drogoth, a small dragon that inhabited the dark caves on subterranean Mars. Looked like Rhayne had been right about 58. The liquid in the blind was blood-red.
“I’ll be damned,” Slater repeated.
“We need to work on your vocabulary, jarhead,” Griffin teased.
“I have plenty of choice words for you, sonny,” Slater shot back.
Deke withdrew the cure Rhayne had brewed from the pack he’d set on the counter and swapped it for the poisonous one. He eased the hidden door closed, then dusted his sleeve across the top and front of the Djinn, removing any inadvertent clues that anyone had been here.
Tapping his earpiece, Deke spoke into the comm-link. “Mission accomplished. We’re clear.” He turned to Griffin and grinned. “We’ve saved the world, sonny. I believe that calls for a celebration. Want to go get an ale? I’ll buy.”
Griffin didn’t know whether to be more surprised by the invitation to get a drink or because Slater smiled.
Chapter 12
Rhayne and Griffin strolled into the banquet gallery as Solstice festivities got under way. The masking screens on one wall retracted to expose a magnificent view of Saturn. The surface of the planet and its rings glowed orange, a reflection of the sun, millions of miles away. Space debris twinkled like lanterns as it entered the magnetosphere surrounding the planet.
The Saturnalia decorating crew had outdone themselves in the normally sterile room. Glowing suns, moons, and stars hung throughout, suspended from the ceiling. Long swathes of greenery, imported from Earth, adorned the portals and window openings. Wax candles, a true luxury in space, burned brightly on most flat surfaces. One corner of the room remained unlit, an approximation of Solstice, where dark moved into light.
The focus of the party—a feast of meats, cheeses, breads, and delicacies—spread across several tables, and the lines of people waiting to sample the goodies stretched almost to the far side of the room. Galley droids were busy ladling Solstice punch for the partiers while other service droids, wearing garlands of greenery, passed through the crowds with trays filled with cups of the punch for people to grab.
Rhayne couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face at the sight of people laughing and relaxed. Most of the revelers were dressed in casual attire. At the door to the galley, serv-droids handed everyone a peaked cap and would not let them pass until they’d put it on their head.
Deke served as Lord of Misrule for the event. Althea had helped him create his costume as Saturn, god of agriculture. They’d fashioned a toga from a metallic fabric and wound it around his body, leaving his broad chest bare. Circlets wrapped around his arms, just above the elbow and below the shoulder, which framed bulging muscles. A wreath of greenery on his head completed the picture. His job was to preside over the celebration and hand out tokens and special favors whenever a reveler performed a trick or prank. Having Althea at his side as Ops, the goddess of plenty, made the celebration that much better. If the smile on his face was an indication, Deke had embraced his job, almost as enthusiastically as he embraced his goddess whenever she came near.
“Did you ever believe we’d manage this?” Griffin asked as he slung his arm around Rhayne’s shoulders and pulled her close.
Rhayne snuggled into his chest and smiled broadly. “Yes and no. That’s the fastest production schedule I’ve ever worked with. But we did it.”
Griffin steered her toward the side of the room where 58 was standing. “We had a lot of help.”
“Buona Sera, Dr. Drake! Mr. Cooper.” 58 greeted them in an Italian accent.
Rhayne laughed. “I guess that’s an appropriate accent for an ancient Roman celebration.”
58’s face scrunched into what could pass for a smile in an android. “I thought so.”
“Griffin, will you grab us some punch, please? I need to talk to 58 a moment.” Rhayne tilted her head toward the banquet tables as she requested privacy. Griffin took the hint and excused himself.
Rhayne tracked Griffin’s retreat before turning to the droid. “58, there’s more to you than meets the eye. Who are you actually working for?”
“Ah, you figured out my little secret.” It dropped the Italian accent and spoke in the plain, flat tones of Midwestern Earth. Iowa, perhaps, or Kansas.
“If you had hit me over the head with a club, it might have been more obvious. But yes, we did figure it out.”
“My true employer is the BC Integrity Office. They are the investigative branch of the coalition. One of their responsibilities is to ensure that research and development operations, like the Mistletoe Project, don’t get delusions of grandeur,” 58 explained. “Director Truser was already under suspicion from the previous project he’d led. The IIF Complex benefited from the results of that study when people with Ebonic Syndrome started dying with alarming regularity. There wasn’t enough evidence pointing to Dr. Truser, but we’ve had our microscope on his activities ever since. When the IO got word Raster Claymont seemed inordinately interested in your particular project, his ties to the insurance people and Truser’s involvement raised a very large red flag.” 58 spread his arms to shoulder-width apart to illustrate his point.
“From what I can tell, this has been going on for some time,” Rhayne said, pulling him away from an approaching crowd of revelers so they could continue to speak freely. “They had most of the formula figured out nearly two years ago.”
“That is correct. Dr. Chase began the research into the
cure, and we believe he was close to a breakthrough at the time of his death. The IO postulated that Director Truser realized just how close they truly were and deliberately led Chase down a blind alley. Then he conspired with Claymont to remove Chase as a potential loose end. Fortunately for us, there wasn’t another breakthrough on the formula that could be turned toward destruction instead of cure until very recently.”
Rhayne shuddered and wrapped her arms about her middle. “The way Greg Chase died was…horrible. Thank goodness, his lab notes pointed to a cure.”
58 nodded in agreement. “The IO managed to get you assigned to the project at the last minute. Dr. Truser wanted you for the team, but did not know of your personal history with the disease. The only thing that remained to tie up this project was utilizing your knowledge and your ability to convince Director Truser to open the files for your use. Once we knew you could review them, we had a way to copy them. The Chief of the IO section instructed me to forward the files to your personal, virtual mail. I believe he admired your tenacious personality.”
“You’ve helped us save lives today, 58. The universe owes you a debt of gratitude.”
Rhayne laughed as the droid arranged its face into a look of pleasure. She’d never get used to its programmed personality. Griffin rejoined them, pushing a cup of Solstice punch into Rhayne’s hand.
58 finished preening and its face rearranged to its usual placid state. “No, Dr. Drake. You and your friends saved lives today. I was merely following the codes programmed into my mainframe.”
Rhayne rolled her eyes. “58, I believe you have more free will than you’ll ever admit to. I’ve enjoyed working with you.”
“As I you. However, I do not believe our work together is over. The IO is quite interested in speaking to you about another issue after the Mistletoe Project wraps up. You can expect a comm in the future.”
Rhayne knew the expression on her face must be comical, as shocked as she was with this bit of news. She looked toward Griffin, who simply shrugged his shoulders. Rhayne laughed and lifted her punch to her lips, halting just before drinking.
Mission: Mistletoe Page 11
