“The Guardians have been running an operation on Mars for twenty years,” Paula said.
Wilson froze, his hand already extended to open the door. After a moment he said, “There’s nothing on Mars. Believe me, I know.”
“You were there for ten hours, over three hundred years ago,” Justine said.
“I was watching the live television broadcast. I remember seeing Lewis, Orchiston, and you stepping out onto the surface. It was the first time in a great many years I was proud of our country again. You were putting up the stars and stripes when Nigel butted in.”
Wilson turned around, anger flushing his cheeks. “So?”
“The Guardians were using the Arabia Terra station to relay their information back to Earth.”
“What sort of information?”
“We’re not sure. Navy intelligence made one attempt to run diagnostic routines through the equipment up there. It appeared to be standard environmental sensors.”
“I don’t get it.” Wilson shook his head, clearly irritated. “The Guardians are terrorists. What do they want with Martian environment data?”
“We don’t know,” Paula said. “But the Paris office is winding down their investigation.”
“Ah. That’s it.” Wilson gave Justine a disdainful glance. “You want me to pressure Rafael into keeping the investigation open.”
“You have been on the receiving end of a Guardian operation,” Paula said. “More than most, you know how serious and effective they can be. They nearly destroyed the Second Chance. A twenty-year operation is not something they would undertake lightly. It would have to be exceptionally important to them. We have got to find out what it is.”
Wilson let out a hiss of air between his teeth. “Maybe. But if it is truly this important, I don’t believe Rafael would ignore it. He’s many things, aggressive, ambitious, intense, unforgiving, yes; but never stupid.”
“Everyone has blind spots, Wilson,” Justine said. “Paula was fired for political reasons, for not being quick enough to produce results.”
“A hundred and thirty years on a case with no result is very reasonable grounds for dismissal in my book,” Wilson said. “No offense.”
“You heard about the LA Galactic incident?” Justine asked. “An assassin killed the Guardians’ courier who was bringing their Martian data back for them. It was the same assassin who destroyed the black market arms dealer on Venice Coast. He also murdered my brother. So he’s not working for the government, and he can’t be working for the Guardians.”
“Who then?” Wilson asked.
“Good question. The Paris office might be able to find the answer. If they keep hunting.”
Wilson looked from Justine to Paula. “What are you asking for?” “Ask Rafael to keep navy intelligence on the Martian inquiry, not to let up.” “Maybe,” Wilson said. “I’ll have to think about all this.”
***
After an investment of twenty-five years, most of the planets in phase one space were now linked by maglev express lines, providing a fast, efficient service; and based on that success CST was busy expanding the network out across the planets of phase two space. But for all its imagined importance as the link world to Far Away, Boongate still hadn’t got a maglev track. CST was vague about the timetable for installation.
It had taken the standard express from Paris forty minutes to reach Boongate’s CST station, sliding smoothly up alongside platform 2 at twenty-two hundred hours local time. There were only five platforms in the main terminal building, but each of them were bustling with waiting passengers when Renne and Tarlo stepped out from the first-class double-decker carriage. It was raining outside, and the train was dripping onto the track. A chilly night wind blew in under the big arching glass roof, making people stamp their feet and button up their coats. The overhead polyphoto strips threw a bright blue-tinged light across the scene, illuminating the raindrops that lashed in past the edge of the roof like gray sparks.
“Late to be traveling, isn’t it?” Tarlo said as they walked toward the end of the platform. He ignored the curious glances their navy uniforms drew.
Renne pulled her jacket collar up against the cold, and eyed the people lining the platform. They all seemed to be gathered in family clumps, with subdued, yawning children sitting on piles of luggage. Several CST security guards were patrolling.
“Depends how keen you are to leave,” she replied. It was the first time she’d seen any evidence of the displacement that the unisphere news shows featured so heavily these days. But then if it was going to happen anywhere, she realized, it would be here. Most of Boongate’s neighbors were numbered among the Lost23.
