Scorpion by Christian Cantrell (novel24 .txt) 📕

“Why are we so dressed up today?”

“Because we are celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“The fact that it works,” Simon declares. “Kilonova just passed its final test.”

Ranveer sits up in his recliner. “You actually tried it?”

“At very low power. Nothing detectable. And I used random noise, just in case. But yes, I actually tried it! Now all we have to do is…” He gives an imaginary knob a determined twist. “Crank it up!”

“What does that mean?” Quinn asks. “Crank it up?”

“Increase the power.”

“By how much?”

Simon looks apprehensive. “About an order of magnitude.”

“Do we have that much power?”

“Do we have that much power? No. But that’s why we built Kilonova here in the data center capital of the world. We’re right in the middle of four of the biggest nuclear power plants in the country.”

“I thought we had our own nuclear reactor in the basement.”

“That’s just for standby mode. We need at least ten times more power to generate detectable gravitational waves.”

“But you’re sure it will work?”

“Ninety…” He pauses as he hones his calculations. “…-two percent.”

Quinn has found that scientists have an affinity for attaching probabilities to their predictions. For statements that she has learned to interpret as positive, the average is mid to high eighties, so 92 percent seems to be about as confident as quantum physicists get.

“OK,” Quinn says. “Then let’s do it.”

Simon revives his radiant smile before reluctantly reining it in. “There is one thing,” he cautions.

“What?”

A quick check of his surroundings before leaning in and nearly whispering. “Mr. Moretti.”

“What about him?”

“Has he seen the dossier?”

“No.”

“He said he needs to personally approve every payload.”

“The deal was I get unrestricted access to the past,” Quinn says. “As far as I’m concerned, he never even needs to know.”

“That,” Simon says, “may not be possible.”

“Why?”

“Most of Northern Virginia is going to lose power.”

“For how long?”

“Up to three minutes.”

Quinn leans back and watches the dynamically generated clouds projected across the jet’s domed ceiling.

“What if we did it in the middle of the night?”

“We could,” Simon allows. “But the security logs would be anomalous. I suppose I could start working all-nighters on a regular basis.”

“Wait a second,” Quinn says. “What if we waited for the next thunderstorm. Right as a big bolt of lightning strikes. Everyone will think the storm knocked the power out and that it took a few minutes for backups to come online. Moretti won’t even notice. This time of year, we shouldn’t have to wait more than a few days.”

“Brilliant!” Simon declares. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Ms. Mitchell, but you are a natural at this.”

“Not exactly sure what that says about me,” Quinn says. “But thanks. How long are we looking at?”

“According to the forecast,” Simon says as his tiny lenses sparkle, “Wednesday afternoon is our first transmission window.”

“Good. Keep us updated.”

“Of course. Enjoy your…” He checks their local time in the corner of his vision. “Evening.”

“Hey, while I have you,” Quinn says, “any word yet from Henrietta?”

“Not since she got reassigned.”

“Moretti still hasn’t told you where he sent her?”

“Moretti doesn’t tell me much.”

“Join the club,” Quinn says. “If you hear from her, tell her to call me. Tell her…” She pauses, unsure how vulnerable she is willing to be in front of Simon and Ranveer. “Just tell her I’m looking for her.”

“Of course.”

“And call when the dossier is sent.”

“I will.”

“Hey, Simon,” Quinn says. “One more thing. Thank you for doing this.”

Simon nods, beams, and flashes a peace sign just before cutting the feed. Quinn lifts her champagne to her lips but pauses when she feels Ranveer watching her.

“What?” she asks. “More silent disapproval?”

“You don’t have to make this decision now,” he says. “Kilonova isn’t going anywhere.”

“It may not be going anywhere, but what about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if the future were a sure thing, we wouldn’t be doing any of this. You know as well as I do that any one of these jobs could be our last.”

“Simon’s right,” Ranveer says. “You’re better at this than you think. We’ll be fine.”

“Not if the Iranians finally figure out what happened to you and ask the Russians to shoot our plane out of the sky.”

“I can handle Tehran.”

“Not if Moretti changes his mind about our arrangement and there’s a takedown team waiting for us in Naples.”

“As usual, you give the CIA too much credit. They won’t find us unless we want to be found.”

“I found you, didn’t I?”

Ranveer shrugs. “I like to think we found each other.”

“Regardless,” Quinn says, “the only reason to postpone something you know you have to do is if some part of you secretly hopes you’ll never have to do it. And the only reason to hope you’ll never have to do something is if you’re scared.”

“The dossier doesn’t scare you?” Ranveer asks. “Because it should. You’re gambling with thousands of lives, Quinn. Perhaps millions.”

“Gambling with lives is what we do,” Quinn tells him. “I’m just placing multiple bets.”

Ranveer capitulates with a thin smile, then reaches down beside his seat, reclines, and pulls a microfiber sleep mask down over his eyes. “Time will tell,” he says. “Wake me before we land. I’d like to shave before dinner.”

Quinn watches the man she once pursued across the globe cross his ankles beneath a cashmere throw and prop his head up just so. By degrees, he has become less guarded around her. He now naps on flights wearing a goofy sleep mask that looks like a teenage girl’s training bra, usually snoring softly when his jaw drops open. He takes antacids in front of her when he has indigestion, and schedules hotel manicures and pedicures for the both of them. When they were shopping in Hong Kong, he asked her what she thought of the beard, and when she said she kind of liked just the mustache on him, his cheeks were clean-shaven by evening. And the other morning, when they had omelets, fresh orange juice, and coffee together on a terrace in Barcelona, Ranveer grimaced and arched his back before he