“Fabulous.” His tone was happily sarcastic. He kissed her cheek, and Vonnie turned to bring his lips to her mouth. Metzler hadn’t shaved since she’d seen him hours ago. His beard was dark sandpaper. The stubble felt rough and exciting.
Inhaling sharply, Vonnie broke their kiss. Holding him, she whispered her plan.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said.
“Let’s go.”
In the next compartment, Ash and Frerotte were locked in an argument behind a privacy screen, but he deactivated it when Vonnie entered. Ash turned and left the compartment for their living quarters, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
“Where are the FNEE mecha?” Vonnie asked.
“Closer by the second,” Frerotte said. “They’ll reach the sunfish colony in an hour if they’re not attacked.”
That’s why Koebsch relieved me, Vonnie thought. He wanted me out of the way, where I couldn’t interfere. He wants a fight. If the FNEE and our probes are bloodied together, that will be another bond between us.
“Where do you stand?” she asked Frerotte. “Do you support Koebsch on this?”
“It’s… not fun to take. I’ve been fighting Chinese and FNEE assets most of my life, but Ash is right. The greater good comes first. If we can jockey an alliance with Brazil, we might get our troops out of Argentina and Ecuador. The Americans could stand down in Panama. We have to look at the larger picture.”
“Then you don’t want to be a part of this call,” Vonnie said, activating her station. She held Ash’s data pad in her free hand. Before she turned it on, she added, “Thank you for helping me with Lam.”
“You’re welcome,” Frerotte said.
His station was busy with 3-D maps of the ice and Brazilian mecha. He stepped into his display as Vonnie raised her own privacy screen. Metzler took the station beside hers, and she expanded the privacy screen to include him.
From the data pad, she selected an image from the sim of Dawson’s conversation with the LifeNova execs and gene smiths. Then she entered Dawson’s crew code.
The old man answered with his false smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure—” he began. He glanced at the image behind her, taking in the labeled faces of the LifeNova personnel, but his recovery was swift and he chuckled. “I was told those broadcasts were encrypted, but this changes nothing.”
“I thought you were offended when I asked if you’d been offered a fat salary,” Vonnie said.
“I was. I am. Money isn’t why I’m doing this.”
“Really?”
“God’s truth.”
“You looked pretty excited when they offered you a million right up front.”
“The corporate brass don’t give credence to any project unless there are sums on the table, Von. It’s a show of integrity, that’s all.”
“’Integrity.’ She laughed at him. “The public won’t see things that way. It looks like you sold out the biggest discovery of our lifetimes for your own gain. It looks like money is the only thing you want.”
“Are you implying there will be a scandal?”
“Indeed,” she said with all the venom she could muster. “Do you know how many people logged onto petitions calling for equal rights for the sunfish? If what you’re planning with LifeNova gets out, there will be lawsuits and boycotts—”
“Your information is out of date,” Dawson said. “I wondered why you used an image from the LifeNova board. They withdrew their bid days ago.”
“It’s the same whoever you’re working with.”
“No, it’s not,” Dawson said.
Beside her, Metzler tapped her hip and indicated his display. He’d been speeding through the other sims on Ash’s data pad. Now he slid three new images to her station. Ash had labeled the men and women in these group feeds, too. They worked for Japanese, French, and American interests — private gene tech companies like LifeNova.
Vonnie shared the new images with Dawson and said, “You’ve been shopping for the highest price. You’re a liar and a mercenary.”
“You’re a fool. Who gave you those sims?”
“If I go public, I can make your life miserable. You’ll spend years in court. Activist groups will stalk you forever. You know how rabid some of them can be. You won’t be able to show your face online without someone hacking your feed or launching homemade SCPs. They’ll crucify you. That’s not the kind of attention any corporation wants.”
“On the contrary, it’s splendid publicity when the lunatic fringe resorts to violence. Are you done with your little intimidation scheme?”
“Somebody will stop you. Too much of the world believes the sunfish are intelligent.”
“The world wants what we can deliver.”
“Super soldiers and athletes are nothing new, Dawson. We don’t need to kill sunfish for that kind of gene tech.”
He cocked his head, examining her. “Indeed, our military is interested,” he said. “I’ve encouraged the appropriate parties to take notice, but heightened speed and reflexes are secondary applications. The real promise is in longevity treatments.”
Life extension, Vonnie thought, staring at the old man."Go ahead,” he said. “Shout to the news feeds that we’re developing sunfish proteins and DNA. Who doesn’t want to live another fifty years? Our research will lead to spectacular breakthroughs in reoxygenating aged tissues, organs, and bone marrow.”
“But you’ll kill sunfish to do it.”
“You only seem to have one note to play, Von. Move past it. I’m acting with the knowledge and support of Berlin, Washington, and Tokyo. If things progress as anticipated, we’ll include Brazil in our consortium soon enough.”
Ash warned me, Vonnie thought. Damn it.
There must have been sims of Dawson talking with government agencies as well as private gene corps, but Ash hadn’t been able to crack those files. If she had, would it have made any difference?
“This isn’t over,” Vonnie said. “I want to talk to your contacts in Berlin or I’ll make as much noise as I can. Tell them! You don’t need living sunfish. We can find intact specimens frozen in the ice. It’s asinine to ruin the progress we’ve gained with the local colony.”
“You’re incorrect,” Dawson said. “Dead sunfish won’t have the metabolic activity essential to our research. If they’re decomposed or crushed, they’ll be even more useless. There are also political considerations you’re missing.”
“I know we want to work with Brazil. That doesn’t mean we can’t conduct search and salvage—”
The floor vibrated.
“What was that?” Metzler said. A delicate bass roar filtered through the lander. Oom. The sound was as ephemeral as a thought, but it repeated itself twice as the floor shimmied again.
Boom. Oom.
Alarms filled Vonnie’s station with red bars. The same alerts flashed on Dawson’s screen, creating a haze of targeting systems, threat analysis, and hull integrity checks. As his gaze flickered through the data, Dawson’s expression was pleased.
“You bastard,” Vonnie said.
Frerotte issued a Class 2 alert, overriding every data/comm channel in camp. “We’re tracking explosions almost directly below us at a range of two point three kilometers!” he said.
Vonnie couldn’t access the links between the ESA and FNEE without Koebsch’s authorization, but she was able to open the datastreams from their spies near the sunfish colony. The spies’ radar signals were obstructed by tons of rock and ice — but using sonar, the spies were able to draw crude sims to estimate what they were hearing.
Each explosion washed through the sims like an eraser, blanking parts of the spies’ calculations. Between these waves, the spies traced a maelstrom of gunfire, lesser vibrations, electromagnetic activity, and ultrasound.