forced to admit that Gaffney had no need of further medical supervision. He could be transferred to a normal holding facility somewhere else in Panoply, freeing up space that could be used when Thalia’s party arrived.
“Sheridan,” he said softly.
“Can you hear me? It’s time to wake up now.” At first Gaffney didn’t stir. Mercier repeated his instruction. Gaffney mumbled something and opened his eyes with resentful slowness.
“I was sound asleep, Doctor Mercier,” he said, his voice still a painful croak.
“I apologise. You still need rest.” Mercier tapped the stylus again, bringing up a different set of diagnostic summaries.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got a ship coming in with an unspecified number of injured citizens aboard. I can’t afford to tie up this bed for much longer.”
“Are you discharging me?” Gaffney croaked.
“Not exactly. I’m still ordered to keep you under lock and key, but there’s no reason why you can’t be transferred to a normal detention cell.”
“I’m surprised Dreyfus isn’t here to give you a helping hand.”
“Dreyfus is outside,” Mercier said.
“That’s a shame. Can’t say I really miss his bedside manner, though. You didn’t hear where he was headed, by any chance?”
“No,” Mercier said, after a trace of hesitation.
“Well, let’s hope he doesn’t come to grief, wherever it is. I think we still need to clear the air between us.
Are you sure he didn’t put you up to this, Doctor?”
“This has nothing to do with Dreyfus. I don’t approve of what you did, Sheridan, but that doesn’t mean I approve of the way you were treated, either.”
“Aumonier, then? Did she issue the order?”
“Jane’s in no fit state to issue any kind of order,” Mercier said, and then regretted it instantly, for Gaffney had no need to know of the operation in progress.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean… I’ve said enough.”
“Where is she?” Gaffney cocked his head.
“Has something happened, Doctor? Are they doing something to her? Come to think of it, this place has been a little quiet lately.”
“Never mind Jane. I assure you that you won’t be any less comfortable in a holding cell than you are here, and you’ll be under constant machine observation. If you do experience any complications, someone can attend to you almost immediately.”
“You put it like that,” Gaffney said sarcastically, “how can I possibly refuse?”
“I wish there was another way, Sheridan.”
“Yeah. So do I, son.” Gaffney set his face in a look of resigned determination.
“But needs must when the devil calls. Can you help me out of this bed? I seem to have become a little stiff in my spine.” Mercier put down the compad and stylus and leaned over to assist Gaffney to his feet. In a flash Gaffney was standing by his side, twisting Mercier’s right arm behind his back, pushing the stylus hard against the side of his throat. The stylus was blunt, but Gaffney was applying so much pressure that the pain was unpleasantly sharp.
“Got to admit, I was feeling a bit stronger than I looked,” Gaffney said.
“Sorry about that, Doctor, but there’s no way you’re moving me to a holding cell.” The pressure on his throat made it difficult for Mercier to answer.
“You can’t get out of here.”
“Let’s take a stroll to your office.” With Gaffney still pressing the stylus into his neck, Mercier shuffle-walked sideways, his heart hammering and his breathing beginning to rocket.
“My arm,” Mercier protested.
“Fuck your arm. Open the door.” Mercier admitted the two of them into his administrative annexe. He held out a forlorn hope that there’d be someone in there who could pacify Gaffney or raise the alarm. But with all the other medical staff either participating in Demikhov’s operation or up in the bay awaiting the arrival of the deep- system cruiser, the medical centre was deserted.
“Don’t even think about calling out,” Gaffney warned.
“Now move to your desk. Pull out the chair and sit down.” Mercier’s office was all inert matter. The furniture was studiedly old-fashioned, the way he liked it. But even if he’d had the means to conjure one, he wouldn’t have had the necessary control or presence of mind to fashion a weapon or restraining device.
“What do you want with me?” he asked as he sat down in the chair, with Gaffney still jamming the stylus into his neck.
“You’re going to dislocate my arm!”.
“That’s what happens to arms. Now open the desk drawer on your right.”
“My drawer?” Gaffney intensified the pressure on both the stylus and the arm.
“I’m not really in the mood to say things twice, son.”
With his left arm, Mercier opened the drawer.
“There’s nothing in here except papers,” he said, tugging it open enough to demonstrate that this was the case.
“You do like your paperwork,” Gaffney commented.
“Now reach all the way to the back of the drawer.”
“There’s nothing at the back.”
“Do it.” Mercier started as his fingers brushed against something unfamiliar, lodged at the back of the drawer where it would not interfere with his beloved paperwork.
“Pull it out,” Gaffney said.
Mercier tugged and the item snapped loose. It felt heavy in his hand, like a bar of cold iron. Something about its shape was familiar, though he had never handled anything remotely like it.
“This isn’t possible,”. he said.
“There shouldn’t be—”
“How many times have you had this office swept by Internal Security?” Gaffney asked.
Mercier’s hand emerged from the drawer. He was clutching the black shaft of a whiphound.
“How did—”
“I put it there. I put them in a lot of places, wherever I felt I might need one. The possibility of my being exposed and arrested was not something I could ignore. Matter of fact, there’s one in that holding cell you were probably intending to take me to. Impossible, you say. Security would never have allowed it! Getting the picture now?” Gaffney croaked out a guttural laugh.
“Put the whiphound down on the table.”
Mercier dropped the whiphound. It clunked heavily on the table, denting the polished wood surface beneath his writing lamp. In a single fluid movement, Gaffney released Mercier’s arm, alleviated the pressure from the stylus and snatched up the whiphound.
He spooled out the filament.
“You know what one of these can do in the wrong hands,” he said.
“So let’s not dick around, shall we?”
Pell brought the cutter to a halt on a ledge just under the rim of the canyon they had been following for the last twenty kilometres. He powered down the in-atmosphere engines, allowing the weight of the vehicle to settle onto its tripedal landing gear.
“This is as close as I can get you.”
Dreyfus felt an unsettling crunching movement as the gear forced its way though the ice crusting the shelf.
“Are you sure?”
Pell flipped up his goggles and nodded.
“I’d caution against flying any closer, unless you have a burning desire to find out what kind of perimeter
