Beyond the Ice Limit

40

GLINN QUICKLY DISBANDED security and authorized the EC155 to refuel and take off. “My cabin,” was all he said, pointing at Gideon, Garza, and the new arrival.

A few minutes later they were in Glinn’s large stateroom. Before they could even sit down, Garza turned on McFarlane. “What are you doing here?”

McFarlane returned the question with a bitter smile. “Once part of the team, always part of the team.”

“How did you find out about us? And how did you afford that chopper? The last I heard, you were broke and peddling a sack of second-rate meteorites.”

McFarlane did not answer this. Instead, he calmly took a seat, crossed his legs, and bestowed a cool look on Glinn. “Glad to see you looking so well, Eli.”

“Thank you.”

Garza refused to sit. “I want to know how you found out.”

“I’ve had a long journey,” McFarlane replied. “It took me forty-eight hours of travel to get here. Do you think a cup of coffee might be managed? Two creams, two sugars. A buttered scone would also be lovely.” This request he directed, in a supercilious tone pitched for maximum offensiveness, at Garza.

Gideon stared at the man. Was this really Sam McFarlane, the meteorite hunter he’d heard so much about? But of course, it had to be: he recognized the face from the video footage they’d rescued from the Rolvaag. And yet the man looked different now—very different.

Glinn picked up his radio, murmured into it, and set it down again. “All taken care of. Now, Sam, please tell us how you heard about our effort and what you’re doing here.”

“Palmer Lloyd hired me.”

This was greeted with shocked silence.

“Oh, this is classic,” said Garza. “A defective, hired by a madman.”

Glinn held up a staying hand. “Go on.”

“A few days ago, I got a call from Lloyd. He invited me to visit him in that posh asylum of his, gave me plane fare.” He shook his head. “What an experience that was. But I’ll tell you one thing: the man isn’t mad. He’s as sane as anyone. He asked, begged me to come down here.”

“For what purpose?” Garza demanded.

“To save you all from yourselves.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Glinn asked mildly.

“He said that you, Eli, were once again acting the egotist; that your judgment was clouded—and that you thought you had everything in hand, when in fact just the opposite was true. He said you were setting yourself up to fail again, and that you were going to take down a bunch of innocents with you. Just like last time.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“He said you were a man born to failure. That you instinctively seek it out.”

“I see,” said Glinn. Throughout this recitation, his expression had not changed. “And how are you going to bring about our salvation?”

“My job is to stop the stupid. To warn you when you’re about to fuck up. Lloyd tasked me with being your ‘interfering angel.’”

“How long are we going to listen to this horseshit?” said Garza. “You can interfere all you want—from the brig.”

Gideon listened, with no intention of opening his mouth and getting drawn into the argument. To him, this seemed like the last thing they needed—yet another variable in the equation. This McFarlane might be an entertaining son of a bitch, but he promised to be a disruptive presence.

A knock came at the door and a steward entered with a tray of coffee cups, a pot, cream and sugar—and buttered scones. He placed the tray on a table. Glinn thanked him and he left. As Glinn began preparing McFarlane’s coffee, he asked: “And how do you propose to become this ‘interfering angel’?”

McFarlane took the cup, drank deep. Glinn began pouring coffee for the rest.

“Put me on the team,” said McFarlane. “Give me total access. Allow me free run of the ship. And listen to what I say, for a change.”

Garza shook his head in wonder at the man’s effrontery.

“Agreed,” said Glinn.

Garza looked over sharply. “What?”

“Gideon, I’m going to put you in charge of briefing Dr. McFarlane.” Glinn turned. “Manuel, let’s put aside history and look to the future. And Sam, you would do well to change your tone, which is immature and unbecoming.”

Garza stared. “You’re really going to let this joker join the team? After all that’s happened? What’s his role?”

“Dr. McFarlane,” Glinn said, “is going to be our very own Cassandra.”