Tranquility's Heirs

Part Three

Kris encounters the Sentinel again

This science fiction novel was originally written many decades ago. Let's be kind. All characters are over 18 years old. All rights reserved by the author.

Recap: Captain Kris Fairfield is being released from the landing bay to gather medical supplies for Dr. McKinsey on the community level.

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Chapter 3

BETRAYED

Kris followed the tour guide through a well-maintained system of heavily reinforced airlocks into the upper tunnel system of the colony, accessing the first of several large storage areas. When they reached the mouth of a wide descending cargo ramp, she was surprised that the tour guide bypassed the entrance.

"Why not go this way?" Kris asked, pointing to the community level route marker.

"100W intersects the Loop," the tour guide said with a shudder of activation signals. "We shall gain access through the engineering level."

Kris shrugged and pursued the little robot down a heavy equipment ramp, descending steadily and sometimes steeply through solid rock and belted ceramic steel. As she gained confidence with faster movement, she began to experiment with different bouncing techniques and soon discovered several variations that worked quite well.

When they passed through a lower junction and started down a steep pedestrian segment, Kris sucked up her breath and accelerated to catch the tour guide, skipping rapidly for an extra burst of speed. For a moment they were side by side and Kris was thrilled to be matching the pesky robot in its own environment, but then she found herself moving past the tour guide, involuntarily picking up momentum as the tunnel dipped steadily steeper. The next thing Kris knew, she was plunging down the tunnel much too fast, her heart beating wildly as she fought to maintain balance, the walls rushing past her in a dizzy stream of increasingly blurred images. For a brief moment she started to panic, the thought of tumbling helplessly head over heels bringing her close to terror, but then she spotted a bailout point above the final junction and made a lurching dive, rolling shoulder first into the padded checkered wall.

"I trust you are undamaged?" the tour guide asked, racing to catch up.

"Banged my butt a little," she replied, resting a few moments before emerging shaky but unharmed. "Damn good luck that safety barrier's here."

"Having a net at the bottom of Little Deadman's Run is no accident, Captain Fairfield," the tour guide said. "Blessing the checkered wall is a revered custom at Tranquility. Where you stand, a thousand have stood before you."

"Little Deadman's Run?" Kris asked.

"As opposed to Big Deadman's Run on the east side," the tour guide explained. "One of several such drops enjoyed by Tranquility's more daring inhabitants. Myself, I prefer nice flat tunnels with plenty of rest areas."

A short distance further on, the tunnel widened into a large receiving bay with inspection areas and transition chambers. The receiving area opened into a spacious underground cavern full of well-organized factories, each complex boasting a different function. Kris wanted to stop and investigate the facilities, having read much about Tranquility's engineering departments in the trade journals, but the tour guide insisted on moving forward.

After passing through the engineering level on an elevated walkway from which Kris gained an occasional glimpse of the mineral processing and alloy development laboratories, they were soon ascending again, this time up a far narrower tunnel roughly bored through solid rock. The tunnel twisted several times for no apparent reason, then shot up steeply and terminated before a small heavily guarded airlock.

"Stand and be recognized," a mechanical voice declared.

Kris drew to a halt as the tour guide went forward with recognition signals blinking.

"Are you Captain Kris Fairfield?" the Administration Computer asked.

"Yes, I am," Kris answered, surprised and a little out of breath. "Are you the Security Computer?"

"Don't strain my politeness mode," the Administration Computer responded. "You are cleared for entry. Proceed to the community level."

"What do you mean by--" Kris tried to ask.

"Proceed immediately!" the Administration Computer ordered.

"Please go ahead, Captain Fairfield. It's unwise to linger on the approach platform," the tour guide advised.

Kris checked to see what had the machines so reactive, but nothing showed on her heat scanner, nor was there activity on her tactical scanner. Finally, she shrugged off their puzzling behavior and ducked through the narrow opening, leaving the tour guide behind.

Within moments of her departure, a flying armored sphere jetted up the tunnel on half thrusters, climbing cautiously to the community level approach platform. The tour guide quickly disappeared into a maintenance access hatch as the alert activated, but the seeker wasn't attempting to press the position. When tracking confirmed the human had passed through the jamming screens without incident, the seeker broke off to file a report.

Kris entered the community level near the west end reception area, emerging from an obscure service access hardly suitable for tourism. To her left, she noticed the admittance lobby with a long administration counter, visitor maps and numerous transition lockers. Having heard legends of the evacuation, she somewhat expected to see the waiting area littered with discarded baggage, but there wasn't a satchel in sight. Even the trash collectors were empty.

Then Kris turned in the other direction and gasped. The reception area opened into an immense cavern! Illuminated by cleverly designed lighting, a gently domed ceiling towered above a series of two and three story structures stepped back against the walls. The center of the cavern was dominated by a long promenade serving dozens of commercial establishments. Some of the store fronts were small and quaint, others had large display windows featuring unique lunar equipment. Down at the far end, the lower promenade gave way to a spacious amphitheater.

My God, she thought, this is even better than the travelogues! And Val's right, it looks more like a shopping mall than a military base. She especially liked the freewheeling architecture, the imaginative use of open space, and the elegant crystal fountain providing a focal point for the upper quad.

Kris suppressed a desire to play tourist as she walked down into the center of the cavern, glancing briefly at the many eating areas, merchant shops, and off shooting corridors that led into the sleeping quarters and service sections. She located a directory, found the medical center on the map, and followed a ramp up to the second level where an irregular walkway skirted the north rim of the lower promenade.

Outside the entrance to the medical center, Kris turned to admire the community level from the new angle and realized it really wasn't all that large. Despite the grand architecture, the vast open space was just a carefully molded illusion. A trick of the designer. She remembered what Valerie had said about their father's work, and like so many of Chester Fairfield's designs, the community level reflected a practical use of living space with a wry sense of humor. It made her smile.

A sharp turn brought her into the emergency aid station. She expected to find a dusty, mothballed hospital, but it was nothing of the kind. Scrubbed and brightly lit, the aid station appeared very much in use. At any minute she expected to see a nurse or orderly come rushing down the hall, and barely a moment later, a sophisticated robot suddenly appeared in the main corridor hurrying forward to greet her. Of medium height and cylindrical with six appendages, the unit was clearly designed as a medical assistant.

"Hello," Kris said.

A-4 blinked welcome and motioned for her to follow, going to the medical supply closet where Kris found most of the items on her list already laid out. The shelves were surprisingly well stocked, the supplies located just where the inventory chart indicated. With one odd exception. An emergency medical kit was missing from the quick access shelf.

Though Kris didn't need the missing kit, there being several others nearby, the absence did seem a bit strange with everything else so precisely arranged. Even the towels on the hand cart were clean. She finally concluded that one of the six custodians had taken the kit and never replaced it. But for a moment, against her will, she wondered about that old question. Could one of the custodians still be alive? McKinsey? Doctor Yee? Her father?

No, Kris thought, the conviction firm in her heart. Father is dead. They're all dead. They must be.

With her shoulder pack fully stocked, Kris started back toward the ramp, but when she reached the second story railing, she stopped to estimate the distance to the ground floor and discovered an impish thought occurring to her. As the drop wasn't very far, perhaps four or five meters, she contemplated jumping to the lower deck just for the shear adventure of it! But reluctantly, she decided not to. Some of the equipment she carried was delicate, and besides, there was something distinctively crazy about jumping off balconies, even if the gravity did make her feel light as a feather.

Instead, Kris moved to her left where a wide bulge in the walkway overlooked the amphitheater. The tidy theater didn't have many seats, perhaps no more than three hundred, but there was little need for floor seating. The stage could be seen from nearly every balcony in the cavern.

Kris recalled several recent documentaries about Tranquility's popular and highly profitable television broadcasts. Dancing, ballet, even sports. In a way, Tranquility sporting events were more interesting than those from Freedom 15, where the athletes had performed in zero gravity, and even Mike had expressed an interest in Lunar Jumper. After years of waning interest, postwar nostalgia had at last restored Earth's abandoned bases to popularity, reawakening a long dormant interest in space. Perhaps now they'll see this is where our future is, Kris thought, not quarreling over mud holes down below.

She backtracked to the ramp and descended to the ground floor, taking a few leisurely minutes to stroll among shops looking into the windows. There was an entertainment depot, a sporting goods outlet, restaurants, several hardware stores, and more than a few souvenir shops. She found it curious they would sell a Tranquility Lunar Colony baseball cap when there was no way to wear it outdoors.

Despite the late hour, Kris was anything but tired, and when from time to time certain memories started to intrude, she found them easier to brush aside. Easier than it had been for a long time. Suddenly life seemed good again.

Halfway up the promenade, Kris found the little dress shop Valerie had spoken of, the establishment colorfully lit and fully stocked.

"Antique clothing!" she exclaimed, recognizing the old Alliance styles instantly. "Oh! Look at that one!"

She jumped into the patio display area and plucked a frilly white dress from the rack. It was a silly looking thing, she admitted, with bright blue collars that were unfashionably wide and daringly deep slits up the sides, but she liked it anyway. And the dress was about her size, too. Kris spotted a mirror near the door and stepped up, holding the dress before her.

The fit seemed right, but it was hard to tell over her flight suit. She glanced around self-consciously, then set down the medical supplies and wiggled out of her uniform, stripping down to her bra and underpants. The room was cool but not cold, and the feel of the carpet beneath her bare feet was good. She held the dress up before the mirror again, turning back and forth.

"I may buy this one," she said smiling.

"It cost one hundred and eighty credits," a voice said behind her.

Kris whirled around, modestly clutching the dress to her chest as she instinctively reached for her sidearm laying on the floor, but then she recognized the sentinel standing in the doorway.

"Oh, it's you," she said, letting out her breath.

"This unit apologizes for unannounced approach," the sentinel said. "Has Fairfield been frightened?"

"No, not at all," Kris fibbed. "I love your dress shop."

"This unit is pleased," the sentinel replied, scanning her closely.

Suddenly feeling even more undressed than she was, Kris flushed with an unaccustomed shyness.

"I bet you are!" she said, picking up her flight suit and preparing to put it back on. "You know, even in barracks we're entitled to some privacy."

"Privacy?" the sentinel asked.

"Yes, privacy," Kris said. "Would you please turn around?"

"For what purpose?"

"So I can get dressed."

"This unit will not prevent the human Fairfield from dressing," the sentinel stated plainly.

"Oh, never mind," she said, thinking herself foolish to be embarrassed.

Kris put the dress back on the rack and stepped into her flight suit, tugging the tight bottoms up over her hips and pulling the top closed. When she glanced back, she could have sworn, just for an instant, that the sentinel had leaned forward for better observation.

Must have been my imagination, she thought, for the sentinel was standing straight and motionless when she looked again.

"Why, if there are no people here, are all the environmental systems still working?" Kris asked, brushing past the sentinel into the promenade.

"This facility was designed for human occupation. The programming is essential to the primary functions," the sentinel responded.

"But no one's here? I mean, didn't all the scientists who remained after the evacuation die?"

"Affirmative. Governor McKinsey and his staff are dead. Would Fairfield like to inspect the bodies?"

"The bodies?" she asked.

"Affirmative. The bodies are preserved in the medical center morgue."

"Some other time, maybe," Kris said, having too much fun for that sort of thing. Especially with her father one of the occupants.

Suddenly she noticed the sentinel straighten and go to full alert. She looked up toward the quad to see a small robot hustling their direction. The turtle shelled unit appeared harmless enough, but the sentinel was clearly alarmed and took a defensive stance between them.

"Have no fear, this is but a lowly security messenger and would not dare threaten you in my presence," the sentinel said. "SC-74, explain your presence on the community level."

The securatron halted a safe distance and blinked rapidly.

"Affirmative," the sentinel replied. "This unit knows a human has left the landing bay. This is the human here, circuit lock."

The security unit blinked in anger.

"I've forgotten nothing! Now depart my deck before you're cannibalized. The trash hauler needs a new guidance sensor."

The securatron jolted backward and sped off toward the reception area. The sentinel remained alert until the robot disappeared through the maintenance access portal.

"Warn your crewmates they would be well advised not to test the security precautions in the landing bay," the sentinel suggested.

"Or you'll kill them?" Kris said, rebelling against the demanding tone.

The sentinel failed to respond, initiating a distinct uneasiness that Kris was suddenly anxious to dispel.

"Where does this go?" she asked, pointing to one of the largest intersecting corridors.

"The health center and administration section."

"How interesting," Kris said.

Before the sentinel could dissuade her, she whirled and bounced into the corridor, setting a brisk pace until coming to a large cafeteria. She turned to look for the sentinel only to discover it standing right behind her.

"For something so bulky, you sure move awful fast," she said.

"Affirmative."

"Do the food machines still work?"

"The dispensers are functional."

"It's nice," Kris said, glancing at the rows of tables, chairs and serving counters. Even the menu boards were intact, the prices reflecting a less expensive era. "Cleaner than I expected. Bigger, too."

She continued down the long curving corridors, poking her head into various hygiene compartments, gymnasiums, physical development labs and entertainment areas, including an especially interesting arcade full of electronic games.

"I loved these places when I was a little girl," Kris said, entering the arcade to inspect the machines.

"A useful training center," the sentinel agreed.

They passed by a dozen units lined against the wall, each colorful scenario different. Some devices employed simple controls and observation screens, others included closed environment simulators.

"I remember Air War," Kris said wistfully. "I first practiced to be a pilot in one of these."

"I... that is... interesting," the sentinel commented hesitantly.

Near the back of the room, using much of the rear wall, Kris found a western frontier scenario arranged before a wide multi-dimensional screen.

"Does the Wild West machine work?" she asked, stepping up on the player platform and drawing a simulated six-shooter from the holster. In response, the screen activated and a rowdy, rather disheveled desperado appeared, the image, texture and smell remarkably vivid.

"This her' town ain't big 'nough fer da two a' us!" the desperado said. "Draw!"

To the sentinel's amazement, Kris put the gun back in the holster, then drew so swiftly the desperado barely cleared leather. A single shot cut the contest short.

"Dang, ya' beat me," the desperado said, clutching his chest as blood spurted through grimy fingers.

"Good reflexes," the sentinel said.

"I can draw faster than that, when I need to," Kris warned.

The sentinel studied her quietly, then turned to leave.

Though the sentinel tried to steer her back toward the quad, Kris took the long way around instead, entering the administration section from the far side and passing through the immigration offices, the inventory control block, and the records center. Then, at the rear of a shallow offshoot tunnel near a dismantled security station, she found a mysterious black door. Wear on the matted floor indicated regular use, and yet the plain appearance of the entrance set it apart from the other public areas.

"What's this place?" she asked.

"The Governor's Quarters," the sentinel replied, anxious to move on.

"McKinsey's quarters?" Kris said, eagerly walking down the hall but finding the door sealed. "I remember reading about it and saw fabulous pictures in Designer's Digest. The study was decorated by Jean Bordue! Let's take a look."

"Negative! This section is restricted!" the sentinel declared.

"But what harm could it do?" Kris asked.

"It's just another maintenance area now," the sentinel replied, somewhat more composed. "This unit must request your return to the landing bay."

Kris didn't want to go back but had trouble thinking of an excuse to stay. Besides, Doctor McKinsey might really need some of the medical supplies, as unlikely as that seemed.

"Are you going to walk me home, handsome?" she asked.

The sentinel paused as if undecided, so Kris moved closer.

"I'll invite you in for a nightcap," she offered, opening her top two buttons and fluttering her eyelids. The sentinel stepped back and almost lost balance.

"I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?" she said.

"Negative. This unit is not programmed for fear," the sentinel replied.

Kris smiled and dared to put her hands on the silver chest plate. The surface was warm.

"Well, then? What do you think?" she teased.

"This unit must..."

"Please?" Kris asked. "I can be a lot of fun after a few drinks, if you know what I mean?"

The sentinel nearly toppled over, scrambling for stabilization.

"This unit lacks appropriate programming," the sentinel declared. "Come, it's later than you think!"

The sentinel turned and started for the quad, accelerating so quickly Kris hustled to keep pace.

"Why did you shoot down our ship?" she asked.

"The Defense Computer fired upon your shuttlecraft," the sentinel corrected.

"You didn't do it?" she hoped.

"Affirmative."

Kris smiled with an unexplainable fondness for the strange machine.

"You're the one who tractored us in, aren't you?" she said with sudden insight. "You pulled us under those interceptors!"

"Performing the procedure poorly," the sentinel replied.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Kris grinned.

"Explain."

"Beggars can't be choosers? It means you take what you can get when there are no other alternatives."

"A pragmatic policy," the sentinel nodded with approval.

"You're an odd machine," Kris said. "I've heard Thomas McKinsey's computers were advanced, but you're amazing."

"This unit was designed according to Governor McKinsey's specifications," the sentinel said.

"What makes you work?" she asked. "I mean, what kind of a machine are you? You look a little bit like a Magno Enforcer, but your movement is more fluid. Hell, sometimes you act almost human."

"I... that is..."

The sentinel broke away with a quiver, then turned back fiercely. "This unit is not interested in your opinions," the sentinel said.

"Oh, I see," Kris said. "We mere humans aren't good enough for you?"

"No insult intended," the sentinel almost apologized.

"But you mean it, and that's just as bad," Kris pouted. "Shall we return to the landing bay? I have a headache." She tossed back her head and marched off toward the access tunnel.

Quietly, the tour guide emerged from the reception area and watched as Kris bounced by, then blinked for inquiry.

"Female trouble, young sir?" the tour guide asked. "Perhaps an adjustment in technique is called for?"

"What do you know about it?" the sentinel replied.

"Actually, you'd be surprised," the tour guide explained. "There have been many times when my expertise in interpersonal relationships has been called upon to mediate..."

"Escort her back to the landing bay!" the sentinel demanded. "I'll follow from a distance riding high cover."

The tour guide quickly obeyed, catching up to Kris and rushing her into the engineering tunnel access before she even realized the sentinel had fallen behind.

____________

The next morning, Laureen McKinsey entered Kelly's breakfast lounge and found a service unit ready to serve her. It was late, almost an hour before noon, and she had slept well. Despite the delay in obtaining her initial objective, she seemed at no loss for confidence.

The service unit arrived with her breakfast, the box shaped unit with spindly appendages waving the tray with robust incompetence. Though the small robot lacked specific dexterity for table serving, the service unit was quick and well organized, a feature McKinsey noted with satisfaction. Her suspicions were further confirmed when she opened the tray and found fresh lettuce and orange slices along with the expected reconstructed eggs and vitamins.

"Thank you," McKinsey said with precise pronunciation. "Please add an extra credit to the tab. I'm sure you shall find my credit records still on file."

The service unit blinked gratitude and returned to the kitchen portal anxiously awaiting further instructions. Laureen laughed. She was back at last, like in a dream. A dream of another time, of King Arthur, when she had been Guinevere and Camelot shined so brightly. Tranquility. How glorious it had been.

"Good morning, Laureen," Vandebrown greeted, bursting in on her musings without invitation. He jumped into the booth opposite her, his long thin body bouncing like a rubber band.

"Good morning, Roger," she said, sipping a cup of fresh coffee with aristocratic indifference.

Vandebrown watched her performance with genuine admiration. He, too, had history to recall. Memories of priority cargo runs and late-night bridge games. Of hectic days during the evacuation, and Governor Thomas McKinsey's revolt. Especially the revolt. McKinsey couldn't fool him.

"Just like old times, isn't it Laureen?" Vandebrown grinned.

"With a few exceptions," she answered, cutting the white from her eggs with a fork.

"Any more visits from the sentinel?" he asked.

She tasted her eggs carefully. "Not to my knowledge."

"Any plans for our mutual problem yet? Where are our youthful colleagues?"

"The children have gone up on the surface," McKinsey explained. "They are preparing the shuttle for the move inside. As for our mutual problem, as you phrase it, I believe our present policy quite adequate."

"But what do you really make of it?" Vandebrown asked, leaning forward in earnest.

"I thought reconstituted eggs were bad before, but these are downright awful. Have you had breakfast, Roger dear?"

Before he answered, McKinsey stuck a pale-yellow egg yolk into his mouth. Vandebrown grimaced, as she knew he would.

"I'm sorry, dear. You were saying?" she smiled.

"I was referring to the sentinel," Vandebrown repeated, taking a drink from her water glass to clear his throat. "Fortunately, I think we'll find the food dispensers in the community center have held up better."

"Oh? Then you expect to have access to the rest of the colony soon?" McKinsey asked.

"Of course. Don't you?"

"I suppose," she said, sipping her coffee again. "Service? Would you please bring the Major a cup of coffee?"

The service unit blinked an acknowledgment and raced off.

"Don't think you can poison me," Vandebrown said with a laugh. "Doctor Fairfield is right, we may have to supplement our diet from the ship's stores for a while."

"You seem abundantly smug this morning, Roger dear," McKinsey said, tasting a piece of orange. "May I assume you have a favorable security report?"

"Indeed I have, Doctor," he said. "I'm now convinced the only thing standing between us and the taking this base are a few disorganized securatrons in the Loop. And that sentinel, whatever it is. All we need to do is cut a hole through the bay meteor shielding and move in. I have the necessary tools."

"I'm sure you do. But before we go into our policy on the sentinel, let me ask why you believe the security program isn't operational."

"Last night, after the others turned in, I went to the communications office and backtracked the logs," Vandebrown said, whispering with a delighted air of conspiracy. "By the way, do those kids always make that much noise?"

"If you're referring to Valerie and Michael, I'm sure I wouldn't know," McKinsey replied, trying not to smile. Though she had never cared much for the notorious Major Vandebrown, she had to admit, he possessed a certain charm.

"I was up most of the night," Vandebrown continued. "As a matter of fact, Captain Fairfield was, too. I'm surprised she's out again already."

"Energy of the young, Roger. We had that kind of dedication once, too, didn't we?"

"Yes," he said, noticing the subtle amusement in her expression. "As for my report, there's no security channel registering with bay operations, or any of the auxiliaries. We've seen no security units. Though it's unlikely any are still in service, we haven't encountered any seekers, either."

"Which proves what?"

"I just checked with the tracker I placed in the system before turning in. It shows a clear path to the Loop."

"How very interesting."

"And guess what about the sentinel?" he said, saving the best for last.

"I don't have to guess, but please continue."

"You already know the sentinel is a man?" Vandebrown asked in surprise.

"A man, Roger?" McKinsey asked. "Are you sure the sentinel isn't a woman?"

"You've got me there," he admitted with sudden doubt. "I suppose it could be a woman?"

McKinsey laughed.

"It appears you have more research to do," she concluded, promptly closing the subject.

"The sentinel's gender is unimportant," Vandebrown pressed. "We must reprogram the MC-Thousand intellect blocks before the computer systems can move against us."

"I quite agree," McKinsey confided, tightening her leash. "As a matter of fact, I happened to monitor your system search last night through the library auxiliary. I must say, dear, your techniques are clumsy. Must you squash so many channels when you scan?"

Vandebrown babbled before sitting back in awe.

"Your analysis is partially correct," she continued flawlessly. "There has been a disruption of the energy matrix. It's possible the Security Computer has been impaired by this disruption."

"If you know this, why are we just sitting here? Let's move now! Do what we came here for!"

"First of all, your data on the Security Computer is incomplete," McKinsey said. "As long as the emergency override controls communications, intelligence information will be impossible to obtain through normal channels. Second, I happen to be doing exactly what I came here for, and with every expectation of success. Third, the sentinel, whomever he may be, presents a wild card element neither you nor I can calculate at this moment."

Vandebrown began to protest, but McKinsey put up her hand.

"Are you in a particular hurry?" she asked. "I discovered Black Raven on the maintenance log. It's in the storage hanger, intact and flight ready. Colonel Koltov made it inside the base, just as we have. The Russians were never heard of again, and I think we can both guess why. That won't happen to me. No, Roger dear, I've waited twenty years for this opportunity. I have no intention of failing now through a rash act."

"Okay, I give up," Vandebrown said with a disarming smile. "But you agree the sentinel must be eliminated?"

"I admit nothing of the sort. At first, I feared he might jeopardize my plans, but now I believe a little psychology and the natural course of events will solve all our problems."

"Captain Fairfield?" he wondered.

"How observant of you," she smiled. "Really, Roger, you haven't thought this thing out at all. I'm quite disappointed."

"Does Captain Fairfield know about the sentinel?" he asked, convinced she didn't.

"Oh, deep down she probably suspects," McKinsey said. "Young people see what they want to see. What they need to see. Especially young veterans like Kris. I'm sure it will all be obvious to her soon enough. You must admit, the sentinel's masquerade is quite ingenious."

"You're growing a little too sentimental, Laureen," Vandebrown said, impatiently jumping to his feet. "I don't see why we should wait. The sentinel must be destroyed. Tranquility will realize its potential with or without your cooperation."

"Please, Roger, sit down. Drink some of this fine juice," McKinsey said.

The service unit rolled up with the tray McKinsey had ordered and she handed him a glass of fresh orange juice, a defiant gleam in her eyes.

"Is that your final word?" he asked. "I do have alternatives."

McKinsey wiped her lips and threw the napkin on the plate.

"And what alternatives are those?" she said. "Without communications, you cannot call for your ground troops."

Vandebrown sat down.

"Yes, I know all about them," McKinsey continued. "Three teams, I believe? Two 5th Division Sky Marines and a 101st Airborne reserve. The best the Council could muster without being obvious. Shall I give you their identification numbers, or will their code names be enough?"

Vandebrown's arrogance wilted into grudging admiration. Here's the real Laureen McKinsey, he thought. Terror of the Council. He loved it.

"And without help from the girls or Michael, you cannot hope to cut your way out of the landing bay," McKinsey added. "A Harbinger Molecular Disrupter takes two operators, if I remember correctly." She turned and pointed at the shipping container Vandebrown had treated so carefully. "Yes, Roger dear, I scanned its contents with a portable after your lackeys smuggled it on board. The old broad isn't so senile as you think!"

Though Vandebrown felt embarrassed to find his schemes so transparent, he didn't appear especially concerned. He even smiled.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" McKinsey said, her tone so typical of the way comedians impersonated her that he began to wonder if she was performing a parody of herself. "It's apparent you're here in the service of the Council, but I know it was their agents, and not you, who murdered poor Jeremy. It's also my belief that you have little sympathy for the Council and will, shall we say, alter your agreement with them if sufficiently motivated?"

"Me? Betray the Council?"

"Oh, betray is such a harsh word, don't you think? If it's any comfort, Tyman intends to have you assassinated once Tranquility is secure."

Vandebrown sighed. He hadn't wanted to anticipate that possibility.

"You want power," McKinsey said, confident she had his full attention. "Military power, I suppose. Political power, perhaps, though quite frankly, it's not your strong suit. I must admit I find your true goals somewhat obscure, but I've not forgotten the strong bond you had with your brother. Had Jaime not supported Thomas's coup de tat, it would not have been successful. Some call him a traitor. I think he died for a project he believed to be of vital importance. A project you don't fully understand. How am I doing so far, Roger dear?"

My God! he thought. If only she were twenty years younger.

"If power is all you want, I'm confident we can arrive at a suitable arrangement," McKinsey scornfully announced. "At the proper time. Until then, I must insist on the prerogatives of command."

"Command does seem to be the central issue," Vandebrown concluded. "In fact, it has saved your life. Possibly those of your naive youngsters, too. I'll wager they don't even know your true purpose in coming here."

"As I explained before the Supreme Court," McKinsey replied with dignified restraint. "To symbolize my dear Tom's commitment to peaceful progress and exploration."

"A mission of peace? Hah! What a sham. Does little Valerie know her precious godmother intends to destabilize the Council and install her own provisional government? Does she know this whole mission is a ruse to gain control of the Northern Alliance?"

"Oh, Roger, I'm too old for such sorted intrigues. The Council will fall whether I participate or not."

"But Tranquility's high-ground weaponry would certainly give a ruthless individual quite a bargaining advantage, wouldn't you say? A second-strike force that was never used. Now which of us here has a reputation for ruthlessness? Admit it, Laureen, you lust for power as much as I. Even more, because it's all you've ever lived for."

"I may have neglected to mention a few details," she conceded. "But the children will understand. I'll explain it so they... they..." Suddenly McKinsey felt dizzy. Drugged!

"How?" she asked, resting her head in her hands. "I was so careful?"

"Value Four," Vandebrown explained, watching the reaction carefully. "The latest in invisible compounds. Intelligence learned of your fondness for substance M derivatives and provided me with an ingrain. Both of us are exposed, but the antidote's still in my immune system."

Vandebrown took a white capsule from his vest pocket.

"You must recognize this?" he gloated. "It's the M-4 counter agent produced in your own labs at Foundation Medical. Strong, but temporarily disabling."

He presented the capsule to McKinsey.

"I debated this offer," he explained. "You're most resourceful and could prove dangerous, but what the hell, killing you was the Council's idea, not mine. And your offer intrigues me. It truly does. Perhaps we'll cut a deal after all. But on my terms. Prerogative of command, my dear Laureen."

McKinsey hesitated, clutching the capsule in anger.

"Take the antidote, Laureen," Vandebrown encouraged. "Oh, I know what you're thinking. You want to fight the drug, hold on until you can warn the others. But there's no time, old girl. No time. When they return, they'll think you've suffered a stroke. Whether it will be fatal or not is up to you. But you must decide now."

McKinsey looked down at the capsule, then broke it open with a snap of her long fingers, breathing the fumes deeply. She dropped almost instantly and Vandebrown jumped to her assistance, gently laying her down in the booth.

"Yes, very good, Laureen. Live to fight another day," he smiled as the drug reached the desired effectiveness level. "Now sleep, and when you wake, you'll have but one enemy to deal with."