The medico leaned forward. “Do you have a headache?” Her voice was sharp.
“Only all the fucking time,” I told her. “Especially when I have to deal with assholes like you.” I looked at Blankenburg. “Are we done? Do you have any other offer to make?”
“I don’t think we could make you an offer you would consider.” He was smart. He knew when to give up.
I got my feet.
“At least let me scan you before you go. I might be able to relieve your headache,” the doctor said, her tone concerned.
“I already know how to relieve the headache,” I told her, and demonstrated that by turning and leaving.
I lied. My headache did not go away. It got worse.
Juliyana had found a two-berth room. I parked myself on the other bunk, as she sat and listened to the shortened version of my clinic visit.
Her response was pragmatic. “Where does that leave us, then? Should I go on alone?”
“Gabriel Dalton won’t talk to you. Not about this. Hell, the chances he’ll talk to me are slim. He hates my guts. But he knew me. He doesn’t know you.”
She nodded. “Then you’re probably not going to like this. Gabriel Dalton’s military record is sealed. I can’t get into it, not officially.” She considered me. “You have a different way of reaching him?”
“Not from here. Any communications goes through the array. The array is controlled by the Emperor.” I considered. “All I need is Dalton’s location. A face-to-face is the only way to handle this.”
“Now who’s being paranoid?”
“Basic security precautions,” I told her. “Why do you think senior officers still hand orders over personally?”
“Without the crush shot, you can’t get anywhere near a military base,” Juliyana said. “He will just have to talk to me, instead.”
“Suck up a breath and hold still for a while,” I told her irritably. “I’ll figure this out.”
“When? No offence, Danny, but your head could implode at any time. If you drop dead, then it’s on me. I can’t be a supernumerary on this. I need to be up the sharp end with you, so I can take over, if that time comes.”
“A few days will not kill me.”
“They might.” Her voice was tight. “I’m not in this to make sure you get your closure.”
“You want your career back,” I said heavily. “I am aware.”
She lifted a brow. “So how do you intend to fix this?”
“I don’t know yet. But in the meantime, there are things we can do.”
“Like what?”
“I think a conversation with Dancy is in order. I can do that from here.”
“Dancy.” Her voice was flat. She didn’t like Dancy any more than I did. He had replaced her mother in Noam’s heart. “The man is so self-centered, I’d be surprised he’s even registered that Noam is dead.”
I upped her dislike to a few notches above mine. “He made Noam happy,” I reminded her. “He was the closest person to Noam when he died. A few questions about Noam’s state of mind at that time might generate some interesting answers.” I reached for my pad.
It took three hours for a channel to become available.
And within a few seconds of hooking up to Dancy’s private code, I realized the conversation would be of no help. Dancy glared at me through the screen, his jaw working. So did his throat. “That was forty years ago. Why are you trying to dig that up now?”
“He was my son,” I reminded him. “I have reason to ask questions right now. I’m sorry if they distress you.” I was mortally aware of the time counting down in the top left corner of the screen. The direct live feed to Dancy would only remain open for as long as the gates did. That would last only a few minutes.
“Distress me?” His voice rose. “You have no idea…” He got himself back under control. “It took me years to offload the damage he left behind. People are only just starting to trust me again. For years they figured I was as nuts as he was, and likely to take down the nearest military establishment in some sort of crazy suicide run, to complete his work.”
Behind the screen of my pad and well out of sight of Dancy, Juliyana raised her brow. I could hear her wow without her needing to say it aloud.
I wouldn’t break through Dancy’s bitterness with a simple appeal to his better nature. I braced myself and said, “I’m dying, Dancy. The doctors tell me I have weeks, maybe only days. As a favor to me, before that happens, would you answer a few questions about Noam for me?”
He blinked at me, his intense dark-eyed gaze seeing me properly for the first time. “Damn, Danny, I’m sorry.”
I nodded.
Dancy rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I can give you any answers you will find satisfying. Noam and I… Noam left me, weeks before he died.”
Juliyana sat up.
I hesitated. “I guess I’m sorry, too, then. I didn’t know that.”
He grimaced.
“Exactly how long before he died did he leave?” I added. “I’m sorry to prod, but…”
Dancy sighed. “Six weeks? I’m not entirely sure. Not anymore. It’s not something I documented.”
Dancy was a researcher—an archival archeologist. For him to forgo documenting anything was significant. I nodded sympathetically. “What was Noam like before he left?”
“About what you’d expect from a man winding himself up to leave. He was moody. He picked arguments. That is, when he was actually home.”
“Well, he was a Ranger.”
“Was he?” Dancy asked. The bitterness was back in his voice. “For nearly a year before he left, his uniform stayed in the closet. He didn’t wear it, not once. When I asked him about it, he snarled at me. I never asked again.”
I didn’t ask him what Noam was doing all the time the uniform stayed in the closet, because I already knew. It was something to do with the
