He was about to key up a computer model of the relevant molecules when the monitor screen that was showing what Project Station was sending to Earth went blank, flickered, sizzled, and then cleared to a stock view of the lunar landscape. A news announcer was saying, “We regret that we have lost Project Station’s signal. Please stand by.”
“We’re getting them, how come they’re not getting us? asked a tech by the pile of broadcast equipment.
Colby answered, “That’s what you’re paid to know.”
Blushing, the tech fiddled with connections as Abbot knelt over a digital circuit probe. H’lim drifted toward them. He was wearing the contact lenses Biomed had made for the broadcast, so people could see his whole face. Circling Abbot, he announced, “The fault is not in your equipment.”
“I wouldn’t expect so,” muttered Abbot. “Blockaders are jamming us, of course.”
Unless there’s a traitor on the staff here, thought Titus. He knew that no new assassins had been brought onto the station, because nobody had been allowed onto the station-nobody at all. However, that didn’t prevent factions from developing among the station personnel. It was mostly among the workers, but Titus had seen it at the highest levels. Still, people on the station tended to see themselves as a third faction in the war, a faction dedicated to galactic exploration yet unwilling to sacrifice their lives just yet.
As he listened to the bursts of static produced by the technician, Titus wondered how much longer they all could endure. He glanced at Abbot. When will desperation create heroes and martyrs?
Abbot raised his brows in silent query.
Then the screen flicked to stars, the Earth cutting across one corner of the shot. “. view from Central Pacific Stationary, the only satellite that can see the battle.” The news announcer’s voice wavered under bursts of static. “High Changjin, the satellite that was relaying Project Station’s signal, has been destroyed with all aboard, some five hundred souls. Secessionist forces continue to fire on the unarmed supply ship. We have no confirmation yet that this ship was indeed heading for Project Station with parts for the probe vehicle, as the rebels claim. There are three men and two women aboard that unarmed ship.”
As everywhere on the station and on Earth, the group in the lab remained glued to the screen for the next several hours. Only after the flash of destruction and the burst of particles arrived at the lunar detectors did the tension break to be replaced by despair.
Grimly determined to keep up morale, Colby had them record H’lim’s presentation, and a few days later got it through to karth piecemeal despite the jamming. Computer reconstructed, it went over very well in W.S. territory and shored up W.S. determination to launch the probe, which meant W. S. had to get a supply ship through the blockade.
Titus, still unable to communicate directly with Connie, focused his efforts on keeping track of Abbot. He was still not certain Abbot’s message had to be stopped, but he was even more skeptical of H’lim’s honesty. He could only pray he’d know what to do when the time came, and that he’d be ready to do it.
To that end, he was at his desk at home, using Inea’s bugs to watch Abbot puttering about H’lim’s lab, when Inea arrived with Mirelle in tow. As the door closed behind them, Mirelle wavered, and then collapsed. Inea draped the limp form over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and deposited her on the bed. She turned, hands on hips, eyes blazing, and spat, “Well? Now, what are you going to do? This is all your fault, you know!”
Stunned, Titus bent over Mirelle. He could sense the wispy character of her aura before he found the weak, thready pulse under the sheen of cold sweat. The crook of her elbow showed recent needle marks, and from the look of it he knew it was Abbot’s doing. Over his shoulder he said, “There are extra blankets in the closet. I think there’s a heating pad in there, too. Get it.”
He began loosening Mirelle’s clothing, then he noticed Inea was not moving. “Move! She’s lost a lot of blood.”
Silently, Inea helped him to wrap Mirelle and, as she regained consciousness, to get some fluids into her. But Inea was still angry when they’d done all they could. “Titus, I want to know what you intend to do! You can’t let him get away with this!”
“Why didn’t you take her to the infirmary?”
“And let them find out? They would, you know, and then the witch hunt would be on.”
Titus nodded. “Exactly. We’ve held off that witch hunt by adhering to a very strict set of rules. One of those rules is the respect for the Mark, and another is the filial duty. I can’t do anything about what Abbot chooses to do to Mirelle.”
“Not even if it threatens to expose you all?”
“I don’t know why she’s walking around in this condition. He’s usually more careful.”
“Walking around in this-” she repeated, aghast. “All you’re worried about is that she’s ”walking around,“ not that she’s in this condition to begin with? Titus, he’s killing her!”
Her outrage beat against him. He wanted to make excuses for Abbot, and he wanted to placate her all at the same time. And he ached horridly for Mirelle. She was so pale and thin, the glowing beauty of her faded to gray.
He turned away from them both and spoke to the computer console which still showed H’lim’s lab, Abbot’s back to the pickup. “Inea, there is something about luren law that you have to know, about luren politics on Earth.”
“Politics? Politics! How can you-”
He lowered his voice and cut across her hysteria. “I know how you feel, Inea. It’s the reason I left Abbot to begin with. I’ve had moments when I wanted to do more than leave him. I’ve actually wanted to kill him. I got over that only when I discovered he’s not one of a kind, but a representative of a group, the Tourists. And Abbot’s one of the least worst of them. He’s kind, considerate, and sane by comparison.”
She approached as if creeping up to a cesspool. “Titus, the way he’s treating Mirelle isn’t kind, considerate, or sane. If anyone finds out-”
“Listen to me! The Tourists constitute fully half of the luren on Earth. My presence here constitutes an act of civil war, but it is war under more strictures and conventions than humans have ever heard of. If we had known who the Tourist would be here, I would never have been sent here. Never! They’ve tried to send someone who could deal with Abbot, but he couldn’t get through. But even if he had, he couldn’t do anything about Mirelle. Abbot is within his legal rights with her, and no Resident will challenge that. We don’t kill humans, but they do, and the Law of Blood says Marked stringers can be killed. Abbot can kill Mirelle, and it’s perfectly legal, under some circumstances.”
She recoiled, white-lipped.
“Yes, it’s disgusting, and yes I hate it, and yes I’d like to wring his neck. But I won’t. I wouldn’t if I could. Not for this.” Don’t remind her she’s Marked!
“Titus-” It was a tiny, strangled plea that stopped his heart.
He watched her lip quiver, somewhere between disgust and tears of bereavement, and he realized that he had to do something or lose her forever. He couldn’t argue that Mirelle would probably survive the few days until H’lim’s booster was ready. That must be what Abbot was thinking. Or maybe he wasn’t thinking too clearly. Hunger could impair the ability to assess risks. And the vision of how much hunger it would take to do that to Abbot horrified Titus.
Damn the blockade! Damn this goddamned war!
“There is one thing I can do. I don’t know if it will work. I can only try.” He went to the cupboard and stuffed the few remaining packets of blood into a net bag lined with a lab coat. At the outer door, he said, “Maybe this will keep him from leaning too hard on her. Take care of her while I’m gone.” Then he turned to meet her eyes. “I’ll be back soon, Inea.”