Jason patted the eminent Bocaian on his wrist. “Considering how fast we’re descending, three hundred’s not all that much. But this was worse. This felt like a code red, or worse.”
“All right,” I said. “So what’s a code red?”
He left Jelaine behind to look after the Khaajiir, and, ignoring his own injuries, rushed over to help Skye with me. It showed grit I never would have expected from a Bettelhine, given his own oozing head wound. “Three hundred kilometers offers ample time for a gentle deceleration. If that first brake fails for some reason, there are secondaries and tertiaries set to go off at fifty-kilometer intervals after that, each also calibrated for a gentle stop. It’s only if all previous systems fail that the system goes code red at fifty K before collision. That’s pretty rough, too, but still not as bad as what we just felt. I think we just experienced a manual override from the control center in the ground station at Anchor Point.”
“Not Layabout?” The Porrinyards asked. “But Anchor Point?”
“Could have been either. There’s certainly maintenance performed at both ends. But my grandfather, who commissioned the upgrade on the elevator we used before this one, judged dirtside emergency cutoff less vulnerable than the orbital equivalent.”
“Not bad thinking,” the Porrinyards said. “Unless he was stupid enough to build your ground station on a fault line, or something like that.”
“He wasn’t. The point is, I’ve experienced at least a dozens of minor emergency stops, riding up and down over the years, and never felt any even a fraction as bad as this one. Whatever went wrong this time, the danger must have been pretty imminent.”
By now Jason was leaning over me, his eyelids trembling as he struggled to see me through a curtain of blood.
Skye grabbed him by the wrist. “You need to sit down, sir. You need medical attention.”
Philip, who was more dazed than he would have liked to let on, only registered his brother’s injuries now that I mentioned them. He took a step forward. “Yes, Jason, you’d better—”
Jason flashed a grim smile as he freed his hand from Skye’s grip. “I appreciate the concern, people, but I’ve been wounded worse than this, in places where I had to keep moving and had no access to immediate medical care. It performs wonders for your focus.”
“I’m not impressed with your experiences or your focus!” Philip snapped at him. “Let her help you!”
I seized the same bloody wrist he’d just freed from Skye, and said, “He has a point, sir. And I have another one. I’m not concerned with your focus so much as your blindness.”
His lip curled. “I take it that you don’t mean the blood in my eyes.”
“You’ve forgotten that all departures from Layabout were delayed for hours following the attempt on my life, and that this car was the first to leave once traffic was cleared. Unless there’s another car stopped somewhere ahead of us, there shouldn’t have been any danger of us catching up with anybody.”
“I know,” Jason said, as Skye began tamping his forehead with a cloth napkin. He lowered his voice. “Best possible scenario: major software crash. Worst possible scenario: something wrong with the cable.”
Across the room, Philip said, “I’m sure it’s a software error. Give it a couple more seconds and the oversights will fix the problem. Not that I won’t make sure somebody swings, down at Anchor Point—”
I already knew from the AIsource that we’d have a fatality soon, and was in no mood to worry about the delicate psyches of cringing hysterics. So I didn’t lower my voice, but rather raised it, speaking to the room. “Sirs. There was an assassination attempt today. I won’t believe this routine until somebody connected with security says it’s routine.”
Dina Pearlman emitted a soft wail and clutched at her husband tighter.
Philip looked annoyed. “I’m not saying it’s routine. I think the last time we had a code red—and then as a drill—was eight years ago. But I’m not ready to give in to paranoia just yet.”
“Paranoia’s why I’ve lived to this age, Mr. Bettelhine. I refuse to believe this stop unconnected with what happened earlier today.”
Oscin came around the table, carrying another cloth napkin he’d soaked with water from a carafe that miraculously retained some of its contents. He handed it to Jason, who murmured thanks and started cleaning the blood from his eyes.
I glanced at Jelaine. Monday Brown and Vernon Wethers had joined her in ministering to the Khaajiir. Monday murmured something that received a nod from Jelaine. Wethers asked the Khaajiir a question, receiving, of all things, a laugh in reply.
Wethers remained pale, a state I attributed less to the catastrophe we’d been through than to the proximity of a beautiful woman. I could see him stammering in Jelaine’s presence. He turned a shade paler when Jelaine placed her hand on the back of his.
Philip Bettelhine rested his arms on the edge of the tilted tabletop, tilting it further and forcing a fork and spoon that had somehow survived up until now to tumble off and join the general chaos on the floor. He almost fell himself, but his reputed enemy Dejah Shapiro came up from behind and steadied him. I read the look he gave her as sincere surprise. “Thank you,” he told her, before turning his attention back to me. “Believe me, Counselor. I share your concerns. I’m pretty anxious for some explanations, myself. But by now there must be a dozen alarms blaring at both Layabout and Anchor Point. Any attempt by us to pull the emergency workers off their repairs to deal with our fears is just going to slow them down. I’m sure that Mr. Pescziuwicz, or his equivalent on the ground, will be getting in touch with us as soon as there’s news to report.”
Colette came back up the spiral staircase, her steps hesitant but her emerald eyes bright. Thank Juje for small favors, she’d deactivated the system controlling the displays generated by her hair and now wore a single consistent shade, even it was close to purple. “Everybody downstairs is okay, sir. Arturo got a little banged up, but Paakth-Doy’s working on him, and says they’ll all be around to help with the injured in just about five minutes.”
I asked, “How many people are we talking about, total?”
“Downstairs? Just Arturo, Paakth-Doy, and, Mr. Jeck.”
“That few? For a party like this?”
Philip Bettelhine started working his way through the minefield around the table. “We don’t need any more. The food’s prepared dirtside by the finest chefs in my family’s employ and stored here in inert form. The galley’s just the place where it gets reconstituted. And why is that even an issue, this very moment? I saw the way you picked at your meal. Are you going to tell me your palate could tell the difference?”
It hadn’t, and I didn’t even know if it was an issue or not. Right now, it was just raw data of unknown pertinence. Meanwhile, the AIsource had told me that the murder would take place “within the hour.” How much time had I wasted since that warning? “I just want to make sure we don’t lose track of anybody, if things get close.”
Another wipe from the napkin and Jason blinked again, his eyes round and red-rimmed but once again, resentfully, open. “Philip? We should have heard from Mr. Pescziuwicz, or his equivalent, by now. We better take the initiative.”
“I agree,” Jelaine said.
Colette had returned to the controls behind the bar. “I’m sorry, sir. But I’m already ahead of you. And no luck. The hytex link’s down. We can’t reach them and they can’t reach us.”
I tried to reach the AIsource and found similar silence.
Dina Pearlman cried, “They might not know if we’re alive or dead!”
Philip Bettelhine looked like he wanted to strangle her. “I doubt that. Their instruments would be able to tell, even from a distance, if the carriage is still retaining atmosphere. Even if we weren’t, they’d proceed from the assumption that there might be people in airtight compartments, using our emergency tanks.”