various expressions fighting over Firrell’s face: disbelief, irritation, doubt.
None of them won. Firrell’s features eased into a wary acceptance.
“Okay,” he said. “My mind is as open as any served oyster can be. We have a telepath in Credence. How do we catch him?”
This time, it was Trumaine who frowned. They had come to the trickiest part of the problem.
“Benedict thinks I should enter the chamber and offer my mind as the bait. But it’s only going to work if the telepath gets into my head. If I realize he’s in. If I can identify him from the things he’s done when he was in.”
“My very open mind tells me we’re treading on very thin ice here, Tru.” pouted Firrell.
“Yes, it’s an awful lot of ‘ifs.’”
Firrell sighed, then became serious all of a sudden and Trumaine knew it meant bad news. The captain retrieved a folder from his right and pushed it across the table.
“Take a look at this. It came in one hour ago. It’s from the Transport Security Administration.”
Trumaine started rifling through the folder.
“They’ve lost contact with the Hibiscus, a 350,000-ton-displacement shuttle en route for Alpha Centauri,” illustrated Firrell. “Along with 4,500 settlers, the crew, terraforming machines and materials worth seven billion dollars.”
“Christ ...”
“The TSA has run a full-scale simulation through their big computers. The predictions converge toward one hypothesis: the glitch isn’t in the system—the glitch is human.”
Firrell made a long pause.
“Their eyes are fixed on Credence, Chris. According to them, the glitch that sent the Hibiscus astray took place about the same time when Jarva and his wife were being killed. As crazy as it might seem, the theory of a mole inside Credence would match the conclusions of the TSA .”
Firrell contemplated Trumaine’s worried frown. “I pray to God this isn’t another Minnie-Maru ...” he said in a whisper.
To his surprise, Trumaine slammed the document back on the desktop.
“They lost a ship? It’s federal turf now, I’m out of it. And this goes for Jarva’s murder as well. If the two things are tied, it all goes in a big box under a crisp ribbon. With our best wishes to the Feds ...”
Firrell scoffed amusedly, then slid over the document he had been reading when Trumaine had entered the room.
“This is fresh news from our friends—the Feds. It says they have cross-checked the feed delivered yesterday to Credence with the archival copy at the TSA . The feeds match. Credence’s hasn’t been tampered with. For once, the Feds agree with the conclusions of the TSA . What happened to the Hibiscus originated from Credence after the feed was administered—”
“I don’t give a damn, I’m out of it.”
“They have concluded that, since the responsible of all our troubles is a man, all it takes to catch him is a hound. Guess what? The Feds believe you’re the best hound in the field. You have just been given clearance to work on their behalf ...”
Trumaine stood on his feet, angrily shoving his chair out of the way.
“Don’t you get it?” he growled. “They’re looking for a ghost! If the killer is a telepath, we don’t stand a chance in the world to catch him! The Feds know that far too well, that’s why they want me! Not because I’m good or anything, that’s bullshit. They want me because it just so happens I’m already on the Jarva case. I’ll be their scapegoat! It’s me they will throw their blame on when I don’t get the telepath! And they will, Grant, believe me. Because I won’t get the bastard. Nobody is gonna get him.”
“They trust you, Chris—the same way I do,” said Firrell curling his lips into a friendly smile.
“They would trust anyone to save their sorry asses!”
“There is something in it for you, too ...”
“I don’t need another coffee machine, Grant.”
Firrell scoffed. “It ain’t a coffee machine.”
“I don’t need a promotion.”
“It
None of them won. Firrell’s features eased into a wary acceptance.
“Okay,” he said. “My mind is as open as any served oyster can be. We have a telepath in Credence. How do we catch him?”
This time, it was Trumaine who frowned. They had come to the trickiest part of the problem.
“Benedict thinks I should enter the chamber and offer my mind as the bait. But it’s only going to work if the telepath gets into my head. If I realize he’s in. If I can identify him from the things he’s done when he was in.”
“My very open mind tells me we’re treading on very thin ice here, Tru.” pouted Firrell.
“Yes, it’s an awful lot of ‘ifs.’”
Firrell sighed, then became serious all of a sudden and Trumaine knew it meant bad news. The captain retrieved a folder from his right and pushed it across the table.
“Take a look at this. It came in one hour ago. It’s from the Transport Security Administration.”
Trumaine started rifling through the folder.
“They’ve lost contact with the Hibiscus, a 350,000-ton-displacement shuttle en route for Alpha Centauri,” illustrated Firrell. “Along with 4,500 settlers, the crew, terraforming machines and materials worth seven billion dollars.”
“Christ ...”
“The TSA has run a full-scale simulation through their big computers. The predictions converge toward one hypothesis: the glitch isn’t in the system—the glitch is human.”
Firrell made a long pause.
“Their eyes are fixed on Credence, Chris. According to them, the glitch that sent the Hibiscus astray took place about the same time when Jarva and his wife were being killed. As crazy as it might seem, the theory of a mole inside Credence would match the conclusions of the TSA .”
Firrell contemplated Trumaine’s worried frown. “I pray to God this isn’t another Minnie-Maru ...” he said in a whisper.
To his surprise, Trumaine slammed the document back on the desktop.
“They lost a ship? It’s federal turf now, I’m out of it. And this goes for Jarva’s murder as well. If the two things are tied, it all goes in a big box under a crisp ribbon. With our best wishes to the Feds ...”
Firrell scoffed amusedly, then slid over the document he had been reading when Trumaine had entered the room.
“This is fresh news from our friends—the Feds. It says they have cross-checked the feed delivered yesterday to Credence with the archival copy at the TSA . The feeds match. Credence’s hasn’t been tampered with. For once, the Feds agree with the conclusions of the TSA . What happened to the Hibiscus originated from Credence after the feed was administered—”
“I don’t give a damn, I’m out of it.”
“They have concluded that, since the responsible of all our troubles is a man, all it takes to catch him is a hound. Guess what? The Feds believe you’re the best hound in the field. You have just been given clearance to work on their behalf ...”
Trumaine stood on his feet, angrily shoving his chair out of the way.
“Don’t you get it?” he growled. “They’re looking for a ghost! If the killer is a telepath, we don’t stand a chance in the world to catch him! The Feds know that far too well, that’s why they want me! Not because I’m good or anything, that’s bullshit. They want me because it just so happens I’m already on the Jarva case. I’ll be their scapegoat! It’s me they will throw their blame on when I don’t get the telepath! And they will, Grant, believe me. Because I won’t get the bastard. Nobody is gonna get him.”
“They trust you, Chris—the same way I do,” said Firrell curling his lips into a friendly smile.
“They would trust anyone to save their sorry asses!”
“There is something in it for you, too ...”
“I don’t need another coffee machine, Grant.”
Firrell scoffed. “It ain’t a coffee machine.”
“I don’t need a promotion.”
“It
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