Dark as Day

In the bathroom she relieved herself, then drank from a faucet and splashed cold water over her face and wrists.

She went back out into the deserted corridor. In her muddled-headed condition she had not noticed before how quiet and dark it was. Everyone else in the Puzzle Network team must have gone to bed long ago, and she should do the same. Her brain was not going to burst. She would post her discovery tomorrow.

Milly walked back toward the entrance, slowly and wearily. Halfway there, her nose picked up a faint and infinitely attractive aroma. Someone had been cooking, and in her starved state the smell was ambrosial.

She tracked the food scent to a particular closed door, and stood in front of it. Every tissue in her body called out for instant nourishment. If there happened to be leftovers, surely the person who had prepared the dish would not begrudge them to Milly? She would leave a note, explaining what had happened and promising to replace whatever she ate.

Her mouth, dry five minutes ago, was watering. She eased open the door of the cubicle. The lighting inside was at a low setting, but she could see the food stand and a big brown crockpot sitting on top of it. The handle of a ladle pointed invitingly to Milly.

She had taken two quick paces and was reaching out a hand when she realized that the room was not empty after all. A huge person, big enough to obscure half the cubicle’s display screens, squatted on a flat padded chair. As Milly dropped back a step, the black-clad hulk turned toward her.

28

“Is this it?” Uncle Karolus placed a closed transparent container the size and shape of a small thimble on the table. “I wanted to be sure we were talking about the same thing before I go ahead and give it to’ the test team.”

It was the middle of the night in Alex’s living quarters. Karolus, black-caped and hooded, had entered without warning to be greeted by a sleepy and startled Kate wearing only a short nightie. He gave her an appreciative leer before Alex appeared from the bedroom and she could retire into it.

Alex blinked in the brighter light of the living-room and picked up the miniature vial. He lifted it close to his eyes, peering at the contents. It contained a dark-gray liquid that moved sluggishly as he tilted it.

“It doesn’t look right,” he said. “The way it was described to me, there should be a lot of little balls in there.”

“There are. At least, one of the Ligon techs took a quick look with a microscope and said there were. They’re real tiny, so they move around as though they’re a liquid.”

“Then I guess this is what we need. Did you have to come here in the middle of the night?”

“I thought we agreed this whole thing should be completed as fast as possible. Does your fat friend still say he’ll assign Pandora to us?”

“For a full year, as soon as the tests are finished and we deliver the results. He’s grumbling a lot, but he already vacated Pandora and came to Ganymede. He wants the Ops Center finished before he goes back.”

“Then let’s get the tests over and done with, before he changes his mind. Who has the list?”

“Nobody. Bat described one series of experiments that I already passed on to Bengt Suomi, but he wants our people to feel free to add any more physical tests they can think of. He’s convinced that when the right experiment is performed, we’ll know it. I told Bengt Suomi that Bat is expecting some spectacular result, and you know Bengt. He can’t wait to get started.”

“I believe that.” Karolus sniffed. “I’ll give Suomi the go-ahead tonight. Then the trouble will be stopping him. I never met a scientist yet who didn’t want to do just one more experiment.”

Alex was still holding the little cylinder, and he moved it around so that the contents swirled up the rounded sides. “Are you sure that these samples were taken from the man I told you about, in science research quarantine?”

“Either they were taken from Sebastian Birch, which is what I was told, or somebody in science research quarantine is going to suffer a greatly reduced life expectancy.”

“How did you get them?”

“You don’t know.” Karolus reached out and took the container from Alex’s hand. “And you don’t want to know. I’ll tell you this, though. Gram for gram, the gray mess in this bottle is the most expensive material in the solar system. It had better be worth the price.”

“Bat is convinced that it will be.”

“Do you have any idea why he’s so hot for this? — not that it’s any of our damned business.”

“He’s convinced that it’s somehow co

“The war?” Karolus scowled. “My God, the war was over thirty years ago. Battachariya must be off his head.”

Alex recalled Bat in the kitchen of the Bat Cave, peering into a steaming cauldron of bouillabaisse, muttering, tasting, and adding a single grain of cumin. “I wouldn’t say that. He is a little eccentric. But he cooks and serves better food than I’ve ever had from the Ligon chefs or anyone else.”

“Really?” Karolus raised his bushy eyebrows. “That’s quite a claim. I wouldn’t mind tasting some myself. Good luck to him. I’m not a man to deny another his little pleasures — whatever they are. Which is my cue to leave and wake up Bengt Suomi, and yours to go back in there and service your extremely attractive friend.”

Karolus stood up and pulled the black hood over his head. “Make sure Battachariya knows we are keeping our part of the deal.”

“I will.”

“I tell you, young Alex, these past few weeks have left me much encouraged. Hector honking Lucy Mobarak, you honking your own boss, no less, and the pair of you locking in the deal for Pandora. Meanwhile Great-aunt Agatha, that ghastly old hag, is heading for the bone yard. There’s hope for the family yet.”

He bulled his way out. Alex locked the door behind him, reflecting that there would not be much hope for the Ligon family until Uncle Karolus joined Great-aunt Agatha.

It was not reassuring to return to the bedroom and hear Kate, sitting cross-legged on the bed, say, “So that was the dreaded Karolus. You keep telling me that he’s terrible, but you know, I though he was rather fascinating. He introduced himself to me most politely.”

“Right. Most polite. As he was leaving he told me to get back in there and service my extremely attractive friend.”

“Did he really? Extremely attractive? Polite, and a man of discernment, too. But not again, not tonight. Come to bed. Tomorrow we go three more rounds on your predictive model with Ole Pedersen. We need sleep.”

As if she needed to remind him. Alex, once again comfortably in bed with Kate nestled into his back, felt a sudden attack of the midnight blues. Hector was going to receive the credit for the Mobarak merger and for the deal with Bat. Ole Pedersen, or, even worse, moronic Macanelly, would be given credit for success with the predictive model — alien influence and all, which was no longer wild speculation since the news blurts were full of the Wu-Beston anomaly and the current work on signal deciphering.

And Alex?

A mere anonymous courier, ru

Alex fell asleep trying to decide which was better. Would you rather be forgotten, or blamed?