He gestured toward the ship’s medical computer, a full-body case which could diagnose and treat anybody who fit within its adaptive interior. “I came in to get my system flushed and another dose of Wideawake. But if you’re unpacking . . .”
“For God’s sake, use the, the—device,” Adele snapped, angry with herself. Yes, of course this was the room originally assigned her, which she’d completely forgotten; and of course the medical computer would be in regular use throughout the voyage. Why in heaven had she decided to review Vaughn’s documents here rather than in her half of the captain’s suite?
Looking thankful, Mon stripped off the jacket he’d already unsealed in the corridor. “I’m just about gone,” he said with a gray smile, gripping the pair of handholds and lifting himself feet-first into the cylinder with a grace that a professional acrobat might have envied. “Say, would you like somebody to help you with your gear?”
“This isn’t my gear,” Adele said. “Delos Vaughn abandoned his luggage when he left the ship. Presumably he felt that if he tried to retrieve it, even in Daniel’s absence, someone would’ve taken alarm. I’ve had it moved to this room from the places where it was stowed during the voyage. I’m examining it for items of information.”
On general principles she didn’t care to go on with her business while Mon was in the room with her—not that she’d turned up anything he shouldn’t know. Besides, a break to chat with another human being was probably a good idea.
The mesh and microtubing of the Medic’s interior settled over Mon’s body like fluid moving along a pipette; he gave a great sigh as the equipment began to sample his body chemistry through his bare skin. He hadn’t sunk his head in the tube, so he was able to watch and talk to Adele.
“Is Captain Leary going to be in trouble for letting Vaughn escape?” Mon asked. Bitterly he added, “For me letting the bastard escape, I mean.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Adele said. “Vaughn was using the Princess Cecile—and Daniel himself—to convince others that he had the support of Cinnabar for taking control of his home planet. That claim of support was probably false.”
She’d already read far enough in Vaughn’s secret correspondence to be sure that the Navy Office had no record of him boarding the Princess Cecile. Vaughn’s organization had bribed the real courier with enough money to make even a Mundy blink. You could rent a senator for a year for far less.
Lt. Mon gasped as though he’d been dropped into cold water. The Medic was cleansing his system of fatigue poisons and the breakdown products of the drugs he’d taken to stay alert over the past several days.
Mon’s face relaxed the way a wax mask would on low heat. Color—a healthier color than the previous sallow surface underlain by a metallic gray substrate—returned to his cheeks.
“Say, that’s good to hear,” he murmured, closing his eyes as his muscles luxuriated in chemical-induced relaxation. “What did you do with the bastard anyhow, the Captal I mean? I suppose you had him picked up so he doesn’t just wander South Land for the rest of his life.”
“As soon as the Princess Cecile lifts,” Adele said, “a message will go to Admiral Torgis informing him where the Captal is and also providing information about the admiral’s aide, Mr. Gerson. I expect the admiral will take care of both matters discreetly, for the sake of Cinnabar and more specifically the RCN. If it became public, it wouldn’t be hard to make our rescue operation look like an act of piracy, after all.”
Mon snorted. “It’d be damned hard to make it look any other way!” he said. “I sure wish I’d been along when you cleaned house on those bastards.”
“Ah, Mr. Mon . . .” Adele said. It might not be her place to say it, but it was as much her place—because she was Daniel’s personal friend—as it was anybody’s, and she was quite sure that it ought to be said. “I’d like to thank you for your support when I used illegal methods to free Daniel.”