Serpent's Gift (43 page)

"You think it was Heather?"

"No, actually I don't. If Doctor Blanket was right about why the
Night Storm
crashed, then my instincts tell me that what happened early yesterday is more akin to that incident than it is to the Khuharkk' one."

"Doctor Blanket has been monitoring Heather just about every waking moment, and seloz tells me that the kid gets panicky at even the bare thought of going back into the AI," Rob said.'

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It took her some time before she was even able to work at a terminal manually again. I can't believe it was Heather."

"Unless all three accidents were caused by her, but she only did the first one deliberately--the other two came as a result of her meddling, but they happened inadvertently, as a by-product of her financial wheelings and dealings."

"I don't think so," Rob said. "We haven't noticed anything else malfunctioning. This has been too
aimed
to be random."

She sighed and sat back in her seat, brushing her hair off her forehead. "I agree with you," she said. "I think it's Andrea Lynch's doing."

"Why?"

"I saw her face when I told her that I felt it was deliberate sabotage, Rob. If I ever saw guilt, it was on her face."

"That's not proof."

"I know."

Rob leaned back in his chair, looking at one of his holovid posters, which, at the moment, displayed
The Treasure of the Sierra Madre.
He felt a sudden
need
for a drink, for the first time in a long time--an urge so powerful that he held his breath until it passed. "Why would anyone want to do this?" he asked.

"I don't know. There are radical groups that oppose StarBridge Academy and all it stands for. Maybe Lynch is one of those fanatics. Or maybe she thinks that if she can frighten us off this asteroid, she can save the radonium and get some of it for herself. It wouldn't take many of those big crystals to equal a year's salary for someone."

"True," Rob said. He could almost taste the way a cold beer felt as it went down his throat in great, splashing gulps. With an effort, he wrenched his attention back to the here-and-now. "What do you think we ought to do about it?"

"I think we need to speak to someone from the League Irenics," Janet said.

"Someone who could do background checks on Lynch, get some answers--

and fast."

Rob took a deep breath. "The moment the last kid leaves here, I'll make some calls. But until then, I'll need to help Kkintha supervise the evacuation.

That's my first priority."

"I agree."

Rob hesitated. "I think maybe Jeff knows something's wrong about his crew boss," he said finally. "He looks like hell, and do you remember the way he spoke to her the other day?"

Janet nodded.

"I'm still wondering if all of this started when Lynch covered 254

up some kind of error six months ago. Think about it. Who was on the
Night
Storm? Andreiovitch,
that's who. A radonium expert. If anyone could have spotted a cover-up, he would have."

"But what about Jeff? Wouldn't he be able to spot one, too?"

Rob nodded. "I hate to suspect a friend, but.. . I've been wondering if Jeff didn't recently discover that Lynch pulled a fast one six months ago--but couldn't bear to expose her because it would mean disaster for his company." He ran a hand through his hair. "What if Jeff found out, then decided to try and undo the damage without saying anything--and now that things have gone
really
sour, he's afraid to tell, because Lynch's fall would take him down, too? Thinks he'd be charged with complicity or something?"

She considered. "Possible," she said finally. "It's one scenario that makes sense. You're right in saying that Jeff looks like he's been under an awful strain."

"That's putting it mildly."

Janet pushed herself out of her chair with a quick, decisive motion. "We can speculate all day, Rob. What we need is an investigation, by experts."

"You're right. I promise, the moment that last shuttle pulls out, I'll start. From what I've heard, they should be gone by tonight."

Janet nodded. "I saw Serge," she said. "He's piloting."

"How did he look?"

"Better than I would, under the circumstances. Brushed me aside when I offered condolences, saying, in essence, 'I'll think of that tomorrow.' " Her voice grew strained. "Every time I think about Hing .. ."

"Don't," said Rob firmly. "It took me nearly an hour to get myself back together after I talked to her parents."

"Dios,"
she whispered. "That must have been
awful."

"It was pretty bad," Rob said dully, "especially when they told me that they knew the school had done everything we could, and thanked me ..."

"Don't!" Now it was Janet's turn to say it. Seconds later she was gone.

Rob stared at the door sliding shut behind her, and wanted a drink so much that he bit his lip. Realizing that he actually might lose the battle this time, and knowing that he couldn't afford to take a chance on his own willpower, he hastily went into his bathroom, then pressed a small medical patch against his arm. The effects would last for a full month.

Then he sat quietly on the couch, eyes closed, until the medicine took effect.

The urge was gone, but he felt almost as bad at having

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to resort to his medicine, as if he'd actually taken that drink.

Opening his eyes, the first thing the psychologist saw was his cat, sitting beside her empty dish. In all the confusion, he'd forgotten to feed poor Bast.

When she saw him looking at her, she meowed pitifully, managing to look, despite her sleek, rounded appearance, like a poster-child from the late twentieth century.

"Sorry," Rob mumbled, and hastily fed her. He had to get back to the evacuation area, check on how that was going, give poor Kkintha a break.

He was halfway out of his office when Resharkk' buzzed him. "Honored HealerGable, there is a personal call for you," the Simiu said.

"Who is it?" Rob asked, hoping fervently it wasn't another parent.

"She identifies herself as Angela Morrow. She seems very upset, and insists she must speak to you immediately. Will you talk to her?"

Rob slowly turned back to his desk. "Put her through," he instructed.

When the woman's tear-stained features and disheveled hair coalesced, it was all he could do to recognize the pretty, well- groomed young woman he'd seen before. "Angela!" he exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

"Rob," she said, controlling herself with an effort that was painful to see, "I've been trying to get through all morning! Have you seen Jeff recently?"

"Not since the day before yesterday," the doctor told her. "Why? What is it?"

"He called me last night, and he was drunk"--she bit her lip-- "and he said awful things,
terrible
things about him and me, and about everything! He scared me, Rob! He was angry one moment, and so depressed the next that I was afraid of what he might do to himself! He respects you, Rob--he thinks the world of
you.
You have to try and help him!"

"Of course I'll try," Rob said instantly. "He's my friend."

"Oh, thank you . . ." She looked ready to burst into tears again.

Hastily Rob asked, "Have you noticed these bouts of depression before?

And the drinking?"

"Yes, of course. His drinking was what split us up, mostly. I begged him to get help for it, to talk to a doctor, get on medication, but he wouldn't even discuss it. Then I thought that if I could get him into marriage counseling, you know, the two of us going together, the counselor might be able to help convince him . .. but he... Jeff slapped me when I asked him to go, said he wasn't

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crazy, that I was the crazy one! I moved out that night. My eye was black for a week," she said, her voice catching.

"That's awful," Rob said with a sinking feeling, remembering Jeff's version of the breakup. He knew that Angela Morrow was telling the truth--he'd stake his entire reputation on it.

"Then, when I knew Jeff was going to be working out there near the Academy, I got really scared," she said after a moment. "I mean, I still love him, and I don't want anything bad to happen ..."

"Why?" Rob said, then at her startled look hastily rephrased, "I mean, why were you worried when you knew Jeff would be working out here?"

"Because every time he came back from there, seeing you, seeing the school, that's when he was so depressed that he couldn't even function. I worried a couple of times that he was having a nervous breakdown, or might... might... do something rash," she replied. "It was after a visit there that he first started really drinking."

"How long ago did all this start?"

"About six months after we were married. But it's only been so bad that I was frightened since he met
her."

"Who?"

"That woman. Lynch. After they met, they were inseparable. Went away on trips together, spent every evening together, talking--" She laughed bitterly.

"Or at least that's what Jeff claimed they did. Talk."

Jeff Morrow and Andrea Lynch, lovers?
Rob's mind boggled at the thought.

He didn't believe it. "Do you think they were having an affair?" he asked cautiously.

"No, not really," she said mournfully. "I saw the way she looked at him, sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, but it didn't really have that kind of feel to it. But he's closer to her than he ever was to me in every other way."

"Well, listen, Angela... I'm very glad you called. I'm going to track Jeff down as soon as I can, have a long talk with him," Rob said, projecting as much reassurance as he could.

"Thank you again, Rob. You'll call me, won't you?"

"Count on it," he told her, trying to keep the grimness out of his voice. "Goodbye, Angela."

That "night," Serge stood in the docking bay at the school, watching the last shuttleload of students leave the Academy for the dubious safety of the station. He felt strange ... light, almost

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empty, yet strangely filled with purpose. There seemed to be nothing left in life for him to do, except fulfill his promise to Professor Greyshine.
That,
he intended to do.

Focusing on keeping his promise (by retrieving the star-shrine and proving Andrea Lynch's guilt) was all that was keeping him sane and functioning.

Only once since he'd left Heather today after trying to comfort the stunned, desolate--though still tearless-- child had Serge allowed himself to think about Hing and truly realize that she was
dead,
that he would never see her again, never, ever.

When he'd done that, the resulting flood of choking grief and anger had been so frightening, so paralyzing, that he'd pushed the knowledge away, then resolutely kept his mind on his actions from moment to moment. If he did not allow himself to
feel
Hing's death, realize it, he could function, and function well.

The strategy was working ... so far.

Moving quickly to the nearest terminal, he put through yet another call to Jeff Morrow. The man's assistant up at the station apologized for her boss's not returning Serge's calls, but said that Morrow was unavailable--again.

Serge smiled thinly. On his last trip up as a pilot, he'd checked in at the H.U.

offices in person, and he had heard Morrow's and Lynch's voices. He hadn't been able to make out the words, but it had been obvious they were arguing.

Now if only both H.U. officials would stay put up at the station for an hour or two ...

Quickly loading the small borrowed shuttle with a few items of equipment, Serge changed into Janet's heavy-duty pressure suit that he'd worn before ...

the suit that was nearly identical to the one Lynch had been wearing.

Twenty minutes later he was at the site, his ship hidden in the shadows of the Cliffs, busily keying in Lynch's ID number into the airlock controls, holding his breath as he waited to see whether the code was still good.
If
she has changed it. ..

But the door slid obediently aside.

Calmly, Serge walked through it, carrying his equipment. Part of his nonchalance was based on the fact that he hoped to pass as one of the workers, moving quickly and purposefully to his destination, looking as though he had every right to be there. But the main reason for his calm was that he honestly didn't give a damn anymore. If they caught him, what could happen to him that was worse than what had already happened?

Cavern One was a mess. Serge frowned, seeing that deep excavations gouged the rock floor; all of the carefully outlined grids

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had been utterly destroyed. His lips tightened angrily as he glanced around.

Silver cylinders about two meters long were stacked against all of the walls except the back one. The archaeologist saw two men working down in one of the pits, and was immediately taken aback--they wore pressure suits, but had removed their helmets!

Perhaps the radonium-2 contamination never reached Cavern One,
he thought, covertly eyeing the men and the destruction they had wrought on the painstakingly excavated site.

The back wall was gouged with deep cracks, and several of the huge holes, Serge saw, extended
beneath
the wall. During their surveys using the neutron emitter, Serge and the Professor had determined that the back wall gave onto another, very small cavern, hardly more than the size of a castle-sized bedchamber. The archaeologists hadn't had the money to consider pressurizing it so they could explore, and Serge was irrationally annoyed to realize that the little cave must be airtight, or the pressure would have escaped through those cracks and gouges.

As the young man started across the floor of the cavern, one of the workers looked up and saw him. The archaeologist's heart slammed as the man waved, and he attempted to answer with an equally casual gesture. With every step he took toward the airlock that led into the passage, Serge expected to feel a hand on his shoulder, but he never did. Lynch's code got him through again.

At the airlock leading into Cavern Two, Serge checked his sensor for radiation, but found none. Perplexed, he shook the instrument, then tapped it experimentally. Was it malfunctioning? It had worked perfectly when he'd tested it today!