“What?” She was looking at him.
“Nothing. So if I can’t check individuals for motive, I have to go for opportunity, don’t I?”
“Very good, Elvin. By my reckoning, it had to take place during the Carbon Goose flight. The trucks were unguarded during a nine-hour flight, when anyone could get onto the cargo deck without being seen.” Paula’s voice had been weakening, now her eyes closed. “I need to sleep,” she said. “I’m very cold.”
“I need you to keep going just a moment longer, please. There were people on the cargo deck.” He twisted the locks on the medical kit and pulled out a diagnostic array.
“Including you and me for a lot of the time. Which is why only four crates were sabotaged. The Starflyer agent couldn’t risk an extended process; they might have been seen.”
Adam put a diagnostic patch on her clammy forehead and ran the program. “Why didn’t they just blow us up?”
“What are you doing?” Paula tried to push the diagnostic away, but he caught her hand and held it. She had no strength to stop him.
“Finding out what the hell’s the matter with you.” The array’s little screen began to fill with data. Her pulse was alarmingly rapid.
“Don’t,” she groaned, sucking air through her teeth.
“Christ, you’ve hardly got any blood pressure. Concentrate for me. If there was a Starflyer agent on the Carbon Goose, why didn’t they blow it up?”
“Good question. Simplest solution applies: they didn’t because they couldn’t. They had no access to suitable heavy-duty weaponry.”
“Cat’s Claws and the Paris team did. So do most of my Guardians.”
“That’s good; we can start eliminating people now. Out of the Guardians traveling with us, who doesn’t have an aggressor armor suit?”
“Rosamund and Jamas.” The array finished its review of Paula’s body. “It can’t detect any viral infection.” Adam paused. “It reads like you’re in shock.”
“Good verdict,” she croaked. “I am undergoing a physical reaction to a traumatic experience.” Her eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open again. “Now…none of the three navy people with us had aggressor armor, Nelson gave them protective suits.”
“What about you?”
“Same as the navy three, my armor is protective; I do have weapons but nothing that can take out a Carbon Goose, certainly not with a couple of shots. You must have access to weapons.”
“I do.” He gritted his teeth. “What trauma? What’s doing this to you? Christ, Paula, your body can’t take this kind of punishment.”
“You,” she said with a mocking smile. “Now think, if the Starflyer agent is with us in the Volvos, it has to be either myself, Wilson, Anna, Oscar, Rosamund, or Jamas.”
“What do you mean, me?”
“I wanted to arrest you, but I had to let you come here where you’ll be able to elude me when the mission is over. I can’t do that. It’s wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. You’re a mass murderer, I cannot put that aside. Thought I could, but I can’t. My body is reminding me of that.”
He stared at her in growing horror. “You’re in shock from letting me walk free?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck, Paula, this has to stop.” His e-butler began to display treatment routines for shock. He pulled an oxygen mask from the medical kit, and switched on the little extractor filter pump as he pressed it over her mouth. “Start breathing as regular as you can, I’m going to give you a sedative to try and calm your body down.”
Paula groaned. She pushed the mask aside. “It was Kieran’s truck that broke down; he really should have noticed something was wrong before it got bad enough to catch fire.”
“Fuck that! Your life is a damn sight more important.”
“It’s not. We must find out who the traitor is, the criminal. If they’re with us, they’ll strike again.”
“Not this instant they won’t. How could this happen to you?”
“I’m driven, remember? It’s in my genes.”
“Is everyone from the Hi—Huxley’s Haven like this? How can a whole planet be so flawed? You don’t get to do what you want and you just keel over with a fever? It’s insane!”
“My profession is unique even among the general population of Huxley’s Haven. There are not many police officers. The Foundation sequenced in our need to see cases to their conclusion. Admiral Columbia claimed it to be an obsessive compulsive disorder; I believe it was in fact originally derived from that.”
“So what the hell happens to the police if they don’t catch the bad guy?”
“They keep on going. No case is ever closed until it has been solved and the criminal arrested. The difference here is that I was forced into letting you go. It simply doesn’t happen on Huxley’s Haven. There is no such thing as political pressure to protect criminals.”
“You said you’d come after me. Doesn’t that help?”
“No. I’m not arresting you now, which is what I know I should be doing.” Her voice had faded to almost nothing. She closed her eyes.
Adam pulled an applicator tube out of the case; its sedative was close to what the e-butler’s medical program was telling him to use. “Hang on, you understand me? We’ll get you through this. Don’t you give up on me now, don’t you fucking dare.”
***
An angel walked into the mansion without any warning, causing a ruckus with the security staff on duty that morning. They didn’t want to let her in. She ignored their protests with the casual aristocratic disdain that was the heritage of any senior Dynasty child.
Orion, who was wandering along the vast terrace overlooking the huge swimming pool, heard the argument and glanced back in through the open French doors. The angel was standing right at the other end of the mansion’s vaulting formal hallway, framed by the open front door. He could scarcely believe what he saw. She was so beautiful it made his eyes ache; tall with golden-hued skin, and strong broad shoulders. Her long face had the sharpest cheeks he’d ever seen; they were lovely even though they made her chin prominent. Straight, pale brown hair was cut into a long tapering cloak that reached halfway down her back, moving like a single sheet of glossy silk every time she tossed her head. Her legs, which at this point Orion would have killed for a glimpse of, were hidden inside a long skirt of thin, reddish purple cotton with a green flower print. He did get a joyous sight of her perfectly toned midriff between the skirt and a plain white cotton camisole top.
She was, she told the security staff, Jasmine Sheldon. Did they not know that? Did they not know she was one of Nigel’s fifth-generation granddaughters, a first-lifer, and direct lineage? How else could she enter a Sheldon residence unless she had the correct family security clearance? Had no one told them she always took the start of her mid-year vacation at this mansion? Her friends from school would be dropping by in a couple of days. Until then she would have a quiet time to herself. Any problems, talk to the Dynasty office in Illanum. They sort out any difficulties encountered by senior family members. Besides, she obviously couldn’t go back now, the cab was already halfway down the drive. She would take the Bermuda room. No need to show her upstairs, she knew the way. Her three cases of luggage followed behind her like cowed employees.
“Wow!” Orion breathed after she vanished up the broad stairs. He watched the humiliated security staff go into a huddle, the vertical lines of green and red OCtattoos on their cheeks glowing bright in agitation. They broke apart to scurry off into the mansion’s vast interior. “Now what do I do?”
There was nobody around to suggest a course of action; just when he needed advice the most. Very different from last night. The security people had been polite but firm when they arrived at the mansion. He was free to use any facility in the building he wanted, including the health spa and sports gym down in the basement. If he required any clothes or commercial item he simply had to ask and it would be delivered. The kitchen staff would cook whatever meal he wanted. As for the grounds, please stay within three miles of the mansion, otherwise he could walk where he wished.