had passed, but Domitian had stopped beside it, waiting for her to finish speaking, and so it had to be the one. “Is this the door?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Domitian said, and reached for the handle. Ida reached out and laid one hand on his, noting abstractly that her hand was small and her fingers slender against the weathered skin of his strong hand. She saw that he noticed it, too.
“Before we go in,” Ida said with a gentle smile, “I want to assure you that I will not attempt to interfere with your authority on this ship. I am simply here for an interrogation.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Domitian said. He had gray eyes. She smiled more widely, and he opened the door.
The room inside was vast and empty and white. Ida took one wondering step into its wide brightness, the entire thing nearly half the size of the
Ananke
’s hold and so much brighter; each of the identical white panels that made up walls and ceiling and floor was lit from behind, and the whole room was as bright and blindingly white as if that could hide the fact that it was entirely empty. She was small in that room, small and exposed, and a camera blinked at her from the corner, the eye of the ship—of the System—watching.
She turned to Domitian and did not have to feign pleasure now.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
—
There was some sort of awful arrhythmic drumming sound coming from behind Althea, slightly muffled, and its inconstancy jarred her thoughts out of code and drew her attention from the computer to the closed cell behind her.
Briefly abandoning her interrupted work, Althea accessed the video stream from the camera inside the cell, which, fortunately, continued to work, and peered at it. In the image before her, Ivanov had moved to sit on the narrow cot with its flat bare mattress. His shoulder was pressed against the wall out of necessity, the cot was so narrow, and Althea found the source of that uneven, frustrating pattering in the drumming of his fingers against the wall.
Althea stared at the image for a moment longer, expecting to see some sort of explanation of the action, but Ivanov continued to drum against the wall without apparent aim.
Finally unable to endure it, Althea snapped, “Ivanov, stop that!”
The drumming cut off abruptly, but Althea still saw his hand twitching against his thigh as though he would have liked to continue. Perhaps it was a nervous tic. Ivanov said, “I thought I told you to call me Ivan,” and his voice was light, amused, almost teasing, and that did not match with his expression at all.
Althea scowled and closed the video window. She tried to remember where she’d left off in her work before that damned tapping had drawn her out of it, but then, cautious and quiet, the tapping started again.
“Ivanov!”
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s boring in here.”
Althea could not have cared less. She said nothing in the hope that he would do the same.
That particular tactic failed, as it had failed every time during their brief interactions thus far. “Maybe I could help you try to figure out what’s wrong with the ship,” Ivanov suggested.
It was tempting, but Domitian had ordered her not to, and so Althea did not give it a second thought. “No.”
“Mattie must have installed the virus at a specific computer terminal,” Ivanov mused, as if he hadn’t heard her. “If you look at that terminal, you should probably see traces of whatever he did.”
“I already looked at that terminal; I’m not an idiot,” Althea snapped. “Shut up. I’m trying to work.”
“I’m trying to help,” Ivanov countered.
“Well, I can’t leave my place to guard you anyway,” said Althea, firmly. “So shut up.”
Ivanov laughed.
“What do you think I’m going to do if you leave me alone?” he asked. “The door is locked. I have no picks and couldn’t pick it from the inside anyway. There’s a camera on me at all times; someone would see any attempted escape before it got very far.
“Yes, ma’am,” Domitian said, and reached for the handle. Ida reached out and laid one hand on his, noting abstractly that her hand was small and her fingers slender against the weathered skin of his strong hand. She saw that he noticed it, too.
“Before we go in,” Ida said with a gentle smile, “I want to assure you that I will not attempt to interfere with your authority on this ship. I am simply here for an interrogation.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Domitian said. He had gray eyes. She smiled more widely, and he opened the door.
The room inside was vast and empty and white. Ida took one wondering step into its wide brightness, the entire thing nearly half the size of the
Ananke
’s hold and so much brighter; each of the identical white panels that made up walls and ceiling and floor was lit from behind, and the whole room was as bright and blindingly white as if that could hide the fact that it was entirely empty. She was small in that room, small and exposed, and a camera blinked at her from the corner, the eye of the ship—of the System—watching.
She turned to Domitian and did not have to feign pleasure now.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
—
There was some sort of awful arrhythmic drumming sound coming from behind Althea, slightly muffled, and its inconstancy jarred her thoughts out of code and drew her attention from the computer to the closed cell behind her.
Briefly abandoning her interrupted work, Althea accessed the video stream from the camera inside the cell, which, fortunately, continued to work, and peered at it. In the image before her, Ivanov had moved to sit on the narrow cot with its flat bare mattress. His shoulder was pressed against the wall out of necessity, the cot was so narrow, and Althea found the source of that uneven, frustrating pattering in the drumming of his fingers against the wall.
Althea stared at the image for a moment longer, expecting to see some sort of explanation of the action, but Ivanov continued to drum against the wall without apparent aim.
Finally unable to endure it, Althea snapped, “Ivanov, stop that!”
The drumming cut off abruptly, but Althea still saw his hand twitching against his thigh as though he would have liked to continue. Perhaps it was a nervous tic. Ivanov said, “I thought I told you to call me Ivan,” and his voice was light, amused, almost teasing, and that did not match with his expression at all.
Althea scowled and closed the video window. She tried to remember where she’d left off in her work before that damned tapping had drawn her out of it, but then, cautious and quiet, the tapping started again.
“Ivanov!”
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s boring in here.”
Althea could not have cared less. She said nothing in the hope that he would do the same.
That particular tactic failed, as it had failed every time during their brief interactions thus far. “Maybe I could help you try to figure out what’s wrong with the ship,” Ivanov suggested.
It was tempting, but Domitian had ordered her not to, and so Althea did not give it a second thought. “No.”
“Mattie must have installed the virus at a specific computer terminal,” Ivanov mused, as if he hadn’t heard her. “If you look at that terminal, you should probably see traces of whatever he did.”
“I already looked at that terminal; I’m not an idiot,” Althea snapped. “Shut up. I’m trying to work.”
“I’m trying to help,” Ivanov countered.
“Well, I can’t leave my place to guard you anyway,” said Althea, firmly. “So shut up.”
Ivanov laughed.
“What do you think I’m going to do if you leave me alone?” he asked. “The door is locked. I have no picks and couldn’t pick it from the inside anyway. There’s a camera on me at all times; someone would see any attempted escape before it got very far.
Similar Books
