The Wheezer did.
“Dammit, Cole, couldn’t you have at least rented something with an engine?” I barked. “If I lifted the hood on this sucker I’ll bet I’d see the skeleton of Tigger, because this car hasn’t had any bounce since Reagan was president.”
Vayl stared at his mug, decided the contents were finally warm enough, and took a sip. He said,
“Perhaps we should move on to a subject that does not make any of us feel the need to kill our sniper.” Bergman snorted. “I guess that means you don’t want to discuss your spectacular airport entrance?”
“Why do you do that?” Cassandra demanded. “The subject was closed. Everybody was ready to let it drop. And then you stirred it up again. You’re like a drama junkie, you know that?” Jack stuck his nose in her chin, as if agreeing. Continuing with his I’m-a-Pomeranian fantasy, my dog had chosen, not floorboards, but laps as his preferred method of travel. He lay across all three of them, like a raja who must be kept dirt free in case of spontaneous parades.
Bergman said, “I’m no—” but he couldn’t see Cassandra over Cole’s mop of hair. His struggle to meet her eyes forced a complete backseat resettlement, not easy when you’re sharing a 140-pound load, but everybody finally found new locations for their butts and elbows. After which he said, “I just like closure, that’s all.”
She said, “Vayl didn’t strangle Cole back at the airport. The end.” But it wasn’t. Vayl sent a dark look over his shoulder. “Believe me, I was exercising phenomenal restraint.”
Through the rearview mirror I could see Cole’s fingers, which had been scratching Jack’s back, freeze.
“Aw, come on, Vayl. How many vamps have slept inside a golf coffin? Your buddies will be so impressed.”
Noting that Vayl’s knees were nearly at the level of his shoulders, I said, “Not if he can’t stand upright anymore after riding in your rental from Dollhouse Accessories, Inc. Did you forget that we might need to jump out of this vehicle and run at some point? The way this muther rides, we’re all going to have to do twenty minutes of yoga before we can even think of walking again!” Astral chose that moment to stand. Since she’d settled on the ledge below the rear window, my view was now completely obscured by stretching kitty, whose accompanying mechanical clicks caught everyone’s attention.
“She’s just recalibrating,” Bergman explained. “She does it every hour or so to make sure her internal compass is still accurate.”
“Ow!” Cole grabbed the back of his head. “She kicked me! What are her legs made of, tire irons?” When no one replied he met my eyes in the mirror.
“Okay,” he admitted. “It may be a little tighter in here than I’d anticipated. But think of it as a team-building experience. This way nobody has to fall off a wall and hope the rest of us catch him.” Vayl turned in his seat. “I believe Cassandra was right after all. Perhaps we should talk about the assignment before visions of you thudding to the ground inspire me to make a reservation with Adventures R Us.”
Bergman reached up, adjusted his ball cap, and dropped his hands back to his lap, which was when I knew something was up with it. Would he ever reveal its true purpose to us, or was this some kind of test run we weren’t supposed to acknowledge?
I tried to pick up any oddities in its design while Cole said, “Pete said he was going to brief us. How’s that going to work?”
Bergman looked over his shoulder. “Astral? Please play Pete’s briefing.” Astral yawned and a hologram of my supervisor unfolded on the hood of the Wheezer, startling me so much I pulled my foot off the accelerator. He sat behind his old metal desk, his brown suit nearly hidden behind three teetering piles of files.
Flicking his hand against a black spot-microphone on his lapel he said, “Is it on?” Unintelligible reply from the cameraman. “Jaz, I know you’re mad at me for cutting your vacation three weeks short.” I snorted. Yeah, bub, so short I didn’t even have time to make arrangements for my dog.
He ran his hand across his last couple of hairs. Had they turned from blond to white in the past week? I couldn’t tell. Uncanny, though, the way he turned his head as if he knew I was sitting behind the wheel.
As I eased into the gas he said, “I wanted to make it up to you. So I returned your father’s investment in your last mission. He said the senators stiffed him.” Which could only mean he’d withheld the information they’d asked him to gather.
Vayl and I traded glances. He said, “I told you Albert was honorable.” Wow. My dad taking the high road? Even if it only pertained to buttoning his lip regarding the inner functionings of our team? And Pete, spending actual money to make us even? Maybe I could count on those two after all.
Pete picked up a sheaf of papers, banged them against the desk, and set them back down. He said, “As you know, the cult I’ve sent you after believes their god, Ufran, lives on one of the rings of Saturn. And they’re furious that NASA is, to quote their Web page, ‘invading the sanctity of his celestial home by peeping through his curtains.’”
“Wait,” said Cole. “There are curtains hanging from Saturn’s rings?”
“It’s a metaphor,” I said.
Pete, just a recording who didn’t expect commentary from the crowd, had moved on. “—Ufranites had convinced Bob Green, a software engineer for Odeam Security, to carry their larvae into the Canberra Deep Space Complex, at which time they were supposed to wreak havoc on the Complex’s vital systems. But while Green and his team were waiting for their plane yesterday, the larvae hatched prematurely.”
Big silence as we all imagined that scene. Human carriers were a new phenomenon. Traditionally gnomes deposited their larvae in their castoffs. Those who were born tailless, or whose noses never turned blue, were either made to incubate the larvae, or worse, act as midwives during the “birth.” But they hadn’t yet formed a coalition, or called the cops, so word hadn’t gotten around yet that Bob Green’s experience was typical. Certain death, lying twitching on the concourse carpet while slimy red worms burst through your blood vessels and out of your skin, leaving you bleeding to death like an Ebola victim.
Bergman cleared his throat. “But we’re still after the Odeam team. Which means what? That they had a backup carrier ready, just in case?”
Cole said, “They’d have to, because hatchings are notoriously unpredictable. Which you’d know if you didn’t spend all day in the lab.”
“I don’t… okay, I do spend a lot of time inside. But look at the results!” He jerked a thumb toward Astral, who currently looked like she’d swallowed a high-quality flashlight.
“Pay attention,” snapped Vayl, slanting his chin toward Pete, who’d paused to take a swig from his coffee cup. Aww. It was one I’d brought back for him from a mission to Nevada. It said killer cuppa joe on the side and had a picture of a cowboy shooting his six-guns at a snarling monster whose head was shaped like a gigantic coffee bean.
Pete said, “If the Ufranites just wanted to foul up the Complex’s software, they could use the Odeam man himself. But our analysts say that isn’t enough for them. They want to sever the connections between the satellite dishes and their computer controllers so absolutely that repair costs will force NASA to divert funds from all of their other projects, causing them to fail too. This would cause billions of dollars of damage that the American people won’t want to pay to repair. In which case, NASA will be forced to close down the complex.”