Perhaps Karl was right. Maybe the attacks did have something to do with Hyatt's impostor.
"As we speak, Photon is being moved to my private launch site," Hyatt continued. "Report to my office immediately, and you will be escorted out to her." He clicked off.
Susan stood in the dark for several seconds, unmoving before the phone's lens cluster, her mind numb with shock. Karl finally knew about the attempts on her life.
But the fact that they had tried to trace her through her LIN/C meant access to the Fleet computer on a top security level. And that could only mean someone high up in Fleet.
Someone like an admiral?
She forced her legs to move. Going to the far side of the room, she slapped at the light switch beside the door, then blinked for several seconds in the sudden glare. She shuffled to the closet and took out a uniform jumpsuit and boots, and began to dress.
One thing was certain: Renford hadn't killed that technician himself. He would have known it wasn't Susan. It had been someone who didn't know her, someone who'd never before seen her.
But that certainly didn't rule out Renford as the one behind those attacks.
She tucked the pendant into her jumpsuit, then fastened the uniform up the front. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she slipped into her boots.
What about Clayton? Should she let him know she was leaving Luna earlier than either of them had anticipated?
No. Even if she wanted to tell him, she didn't know how to reach him. And she did not want to tell him, anyway. If he knew about the technician's death, he might somehow delay her departure. He would find out soon enough what was happening-hopefully too late to do anything about it.
And should she tell Bill Darcy? Darcy had been good to her. He had given her help when she needed it, and had let her keep her secrets. She owed him the truth now, and the knowledge that she was leaving Luna. She didn't want him to worry.
But there wasn't time. She fastened her boots and stood, then went to the door.
"Incoming call for Captain Susan Tanner," the phone began again.
For an instant she considered ignoring it. If it was Clayton, that one call could end her chance to pilot Photon into deep space.
But it could just as easily be Darcy. Or even Karl…
"Incoming call for-" She stepped into the sensing field and the phone's drone ceased. Hyatt's image appeared on the screen.
"Meet me at the mining camp," he said without preamble. "I have someone waiting for you outside Darcy's quarters to escort you there."
"You're there now?"
"I will be by the time you arrive."
"What about Photon?"
He hesitated a beat, then said, "It will be there when we return. Right now, I want you to meet me in the mining camp's living quarters." He clicked off.
Susan's thoughts were suddenly filled with apprehension. Something wasn't right, but she couldn't pin it down.
Still, Hyatt was in charge. And he was in contact with Karl.
She turned and went to the door. It irised open and she stepped out into the corridor.
Chapter Nineteen
A young lieutenant dressed in the green uniform of the Luna City Police Force waited outside the door. One hand rested on the butt of a blaster holstered at his hip.
"Follow me, please," he said, then turned and started down the corridor. Susan struggled to keep up with his practiced stride.
"Why am I meeting Hyatt at the mining camp?" she asked after a few seconds of silence.
The lieutenant did not look at her, and his pace did not slow. "I'm sorry, Captain, I'm afraid I don't know anything about this. My orders are to escort you to the Survey Service compound, and turn you over to a Service officer there."
Susan nodded.
They showed identification and were spore-scanned as they entered the compound. There, a Survey Service lieutenant took over escort duties with a crisp salute. She, too, wore a blaster.
Only a few years Susan's junior, the woman was short and heavy bodied-not fat, but of sturdy build. Her pace was faster than the police lieutenant's had been, and she silently refused to slacken it. She waited at each bend in the corridor, tapping her foot impatiently, then hurrying on ahead, only to turn and wait again at the next bend.
Susan tried to talk to her several times, but she refused to respond. She was taking her task entirely too seriously-she had obviously been instructed to hurry and to maintain strict security, and she was certainly doing both.
Soon they were in an area of the compound Susan had never before seen. There were fewer doors along this section of corridor than there had been in any area she had previously visited. Those doors that did exist bore small metal plates with inscriptions like HIGH-STRESS LAB, METALLOGRAPHY LAB, and COMPUTER SCIENCE LAB. All the signs warned against unauthorized entry, and armed guards stood at every turn in the corridor.
At last Susan's escort stopped before a door marked: FREDRIK HYATT, DIRECTOR, SURVEY SERVICE. The lieutenant showed her identification to the guard standing beside the door, and Susan did the same. The guard nodded them through.
A middle-aged Survey Service sergeant sat behind a gray painted metal desk in the anteroom. He did not bother to look up from his work as the lieutenant marched to a door on the far side of the room. Susan followed a bit more slowly. The door irised open and they stepped through.
The first thing to strike her was the room's starkness. This was Hyatt's office. It belonged to the man in charge of the entire Survey Service. Susan had been expecting plush carpets the same powder blue as a Survey uniform, and at least here a real wood desk. Some hint of the luxury to which his position entitled him.
What she saw was floor tile the dirty gray characteristic of that manufactured from lunar rock, and a medium-sized metal desk-also gray in color-occupying the center of the room. A straight-backed conventional chair sat behind the desk. Set in the rough rock wall behind both were several non-holographic, two-dimensional- display monitor screens. The office was the model for Hyatt's austerity and self- sufficiency program.
Susan's escort allowed her no time for closer inspection. "Let's hurry along, Captain," she snapped, and Susan followed her to the door to the right of the monitor screens.
Beyond was Hyatt's bedroom. It, too, was stark and nearly bare, containing an uncomfortable-looking conventional bunk, a small bathroom, and a closet. The room's only obvious concession to technology was a vid-phone in one corner.
The lieutenant went to the closet on the far side of the room and opened the door. She pushed aside a few uniform jumpsuits hanging there, then stepped behind them. Over the lieutenant's shoulder Susan saw a heavy door built into the back wall-an airlock.
What was an airlock doing at the back of Hyatt's clothes closet? It made no sense. Unless, of course, it was meant to be used for escape.
The lieutenant mumbled a few unintelligible syllables, and the airlock irised open. She stepped through, and Susan followed. The door closed behind them.
The room was small. A low bench ran along one wall, and there was another door at the opposite end. That door, too, was of heavy metal. Controls were built into the wall beside it.
Then they were in an airlock. Four Survey blue life-support suits hung from pegs on the wall above the bench. One peg stood empty.
"Get into a suit," the lieutenant said. She unbuckled her holster, laid it on the bench, then reached for a suit.
"Now, just one minute-" Susan began.
"I'm only following orders, Captain," the lieutenant said as she stepped into her suit. She pulled it up over her body.