MÉNAGE À QUATRE
Kris Cardenas looked wary, almost suspicious, as McClintock introduced her to Latisha Luongo.
Perching rigidly on the sofa beside McClintock, she glanced at Grant, still on the recliner, then said, “I don’t have to ask why you want to talk to me, do I?”
Luongo reached into her handbag for a pair of stylish dark-framed eyeglasses as she said, “Nanomachines have caused accidents, and Mr. Simpson has just revealed to us that you have put nanomachines into his body.”
“Mr. Simpson also drinks water,” Cardenas said. “Do you suspect water may have caused the accidents?”
McClintock said, “Come on, now, Kris. Be reasonable.”
“I don’t like being a suspect.”
“Me neither,” said Grant, “but we’ve got to cover all the possibilities, Kris.”
“Your nanos didn’t cause the accidents,” Cardenas insisted, her voice low but firm as concrete. “I’ve already proved that.”
“Have you?” Luongo asked. “I wasn’t aware—”
“I can demonstrate it for you again, if you need to see it for yourselves.”
“What was your proof?”
“It’s very simple,” said Cardenas. “I took a sample of Grant’s blood. Once outside his body, his nanomachines deactivated themselves in less than five minutes. Without the energy they get from Grant’s body heat, they go inert.”
“Truly?” Luongo murmured. Her eyeglasses made her look like an accountant or an office worker, Grant thought, not an investigator.
“Moreover,” Cardenas went on, “Grant’s nanos aren’t capable of gnawing through metal alloys. They’re programmed to attack organic molecules that don’t bear his own personal genetic markers.”
Very gently, McClintock said, “Kris, we all would like to believe you, but all we’ve got is your word on this.”
“I can accept Dr. Cardenas’s word,” said Luongo. “I see no reason to doubt it.”
Looking surprised, Cardenas said, “Why … thank you.”
“But if the devices in Mr. Simpson’s body did not cause the accidents, what did?”
McClintock pointed out, “There’s no evidence that nanomachines caused the lobber’s crash.”
“Not yet,” Grant muttered.
“It is a possibility that we must explore,” said Luongo.
Turning toward Cardenas, Grant said, “One way or another, the nanos must have come from your lab, Kris.”
“No!” she snapped.
Trying to sound reasonable, McClintock said, “But Kris, your lab at Selene is the only place in the solar system that manufactures nanomachines.”
For a moment Grant thought that Cardenas was going to erupt in fury. Her face went white, her jaws clenched so hard he could see the muscles in her face tighten. But then she seemed to relax a little. Taking a breath, she said calmly, “My laboratory did not produce lethal nanomachines.”
“How can you be certain?” Luongo asked, trying not to be accusative. “After all, you have a staff, don’t you? Can you be absolutely certain that none of them produced the gobblers?”
Cardenas flinched visibly at the term, but she responded, “Yes, I am absolutely certain. I have only a dozen people on my staff. I’ve known most of them for many years. I can vouch for each and every one of them, without hesitation.”
“That’s carrying loyalty a bit far, don’t you think?” McClintock said. “After all, Kris, we’re talking about murder here, sabotage and outright murder.”
“No one on my staff would produce destructive nanos,” Cardenas insisted. “I’d stake my life on that.”
Luongo smiled, but asked again, “Then where did the gobblers come from?”
Grant spoke up. “There are rumors of secret nanolabs on Earth. Wealthy people use them for therapeutic reasons.”
“And cosmetic,” Luongo added. “I’ve heard such rumors also.”
“From Earth?” McClintock sounded totally incredulous. “You mean someone from Earth obtained destructive nanomachines from a secret laboratory and brought them here to Farside to cause these accidents?”
Grant said, “Sherlock Holmes.”
“What?”
“In one of the Sherlock Holmes stories, he says that once you’ve eliminated all the obvious possibilities, then whatever remains—no matter how unlikely it seems—has got to be the answer.”
“That’s not quite the correct quotation,” Luongo said, removing her glasses, “but I understand what you mean.”
McClintock still looked unconvinced. “A secret lab on Earth. It’s … it’s … melodramatic.”
“But it could be a possibility,” Luongo said, very seriously.
“Who would carry nanomachines all the way from Earth to cause disaster here at Farside?” McClintock demanded. “And why? What possible reason could he have?”
“Not he,” said Grant. “She.”
“She?”
“Anita Halleck.”
“Anita…?” McClintock’s jaw dropped open.
“She’s the only visitor from Earthside that we’ve had for the past few months. And she’s placed well enough, high enough, to have access to a rogue nanolab.”
“You’re forgetting that Swedish fellow,” McClintock said. “Palmquist.”
“What motive would he have for trying to harm us?” Grant demanded.
“What motive would Anita have?” McClintock countered.
“She’s still at Selene, isn’t she?” Grant pointed out. “Let’s get her here and ask her about this.”
“What good would that do?” McClintock groused. “Even if she’s the one, she’d just deny it all. And you don’t just tell Anita Halleck to haul her butt over here. She’d laugh in your face.”
“I would like to talk to her, however,” said Luongo.
“Lotsa luck,” McClintock said.
“Maybe Doug Stavenger could help us,” Cardenas suggested. “He still swings a lot of weight at Selene.”
Grant nodded. He saw that McClintock still looked utterly unconvinced.
But Luongo pulled out her pocketphone and said clearly, “Douglas Stavenger, at Selene.”