“We will manage,” Zeigler replied. “He was given his chance to cooperate.”
* * *
In the power control room, Shayle pushed herself back from the console and stretched gratefully in her chair. Gus had come in to take the next shift and was checking over the log on an adjacent screen. The first thing Shayle was looking forward to when she got back to the dorms was a hot shower to wash away the stickiness from Earth’s humid air. Then supper, maybe an hour of reading—Charlie Hu had awakened her interest in Terran geology during the voyage, and she had set herself a study program on the subject—and then an early night. But very likely she’d end up talking with Sariena instead.
“Everything routine and normal,” Gus commented. He entered the codes to take over the shift and passed Shayle the log to sign off.
“Nothing wild and exciting,” she agreed.
“No more instabilities with the plasma field?” Gus held her eye for just a moment, sharing the private joke and keeping his face straight for the benefit of the guard by the door. The guard detail in the power house had been reduced from two to one.
“Just another one of those things we’ll never know, I guess,” Shayle replied. She stood up and collected her bag of personal items from a shelf on the wall. “Well, have a good night of it, Gus.”
“I’ll survive. I’ve got a couple of good movies lined up. Old Terran mystery thrillers. Great.”
“Enjoy.”
“Thanks. Goodnight.”
“‘Night.”
Shayle paused outside to take in the fresh air. All around, the base lay subdued as a strange composition of shapes, shadows, and silhouettes in the arc lights. She was about to move away, when she realized that the guard had followed her to the door. Not some kind of hassle now, she groaned inwardly. “Yes?” she said curtly. He moved outside and then a step closer, but hesitantly, in a way that was anything but overbearing.
“The man who worked here with you, the one who went with the group who left. Keene?” The guard kept his voice low, barely more than a whisper. He was tall and broadly built, typically Kronian, but young, hardly past his teens, Shayle guessed.
“What about him?” she asked.
“He was the one Zeigler wanted to be the spokesman.”
“Nothing came of it.”
“But you’re his deputy. You’d be a fairly senior person here, right?”
“I’m not sure how you mean. What’s this all about?”
The guard licked his lips. The shaft of light from inside caught his face for a moment. His expression was troubled, almost pleading. “Look, I want you to know that all this . . . what’s going on, and the other things that happened. I didn’t know it would be like this. I don’t want to be a part of it. What should I do?”
Shayle was about to tell him to just walk out; maybe some of the others felt the same way and would follow . . . but then she checked herself. “Are you saying you want to come over? Help put an end to it?” she asked him.
The boy swallowed visibly and nodded. “I guess . . . if I can. I just want someone to know which side I’m on.”
Shayle’s mind raced for a few moments longer. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Mertak.”
“Don’t do anything for now. You could be more use to us by remaining on the inside. Keep your eyes and ears open to everything. When we need your help, we’ll find a way to let you know.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The first hour the next morning was gruesome. Keene was awakened at dawn by the kind of cold that seems to seep through to the bones. After years of living in Kronia’s controlled environments, his body had forgotten how to adapt to conditions like this. When he stirred, every muscle felt as if it had stiffened up. From his muttered groans and hesitant movements, Charlie was evidently having the same problem. They breakfasted sparingly and unenthusiastically on coffee, biscuit, and an insipid cereal preparation, and then packed up their kit, saying little.
The wind was sharp when they emerged from the shelter of the gully. In the gray light of morning, the sight of valley and the river below that had been so welcome to their eyes when they came over the saddle the previous evening now looked bleak and inhospitable. All it seemed to offer now, at the end of an arduous trek down, was the prospect of several hours of back-aching labor, followed by more unknown perils.