"Yes well I needed a change."
"I like it. It's nice."
Her cheeks flushed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes well, there's something else you need to know, Lem. And I don't know how else to say this."
"I'm listening."
"I keep track of your father's schedule, as you know, and various communications he receives. Sometimes I see things I'm not supposed to see."
"Like what?"
She tapped her holopad and gave it to him.
It was an e-mail from Despoina to Father. It was a summary of the conversation Despoina and Lem had had the other evening. She had typed up all the details he had shared with her about the upcoming mission. Most of it was insignificant information, but there were a few juicy bits in there about what Victor intended to do inside the ship.
Lem didn't read the whole thing. There was no need. He handed the holopad back to her. His mouth felt dry. He didn't look at her. "Thank you for showing me that."
"Lem ... I'm sorry."
"Don't be.
&
nbsp; "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Absolutely not."
She nodded. "Well ... I'll go remove the vid crew before they start shooting again." She paused a moment as if she meant to say more, then she thought better of it and left.
He stood there alone, staring at a giant heat inductor. How could he have been so foolish? He had wrangled Des in to get information from Father when all along Father was playing the same game. Only Father had played it better. Father had known Lem would try such a thing. And so he had set the trap and let Lem walk right in.
Of course Lem would go for the shyest and most vulnerable in the office. She would be easy prey. And so Father had hired a ... what? A prostitute? Is that what Des was? A woman of the night? An actress who hadn't achieved the success she had hoped for and thus had settled for acting jobs of a different variety?
It was so obvious now. The way she had played coy that first day in the office, baiting him, making him think he was winning her over with his charm.
How much of her story was true, he wondered. Any of it? Maybe she really was from San Diego. That would be safest. She could speak about it with confidence. Street names and such. Claiming to be from somewhere she didn't know would be risky.
He had slept with her. And he had actually believed that it was special. Not every time, of course; there was a getting-to-know-you phase. But now, to think that all her awkwardness, all her insecurities, every moment, every glance she gave him, every laugh, every smile, it had all been a fabrication. It made him want to throw up. She was a breathing lie. The most vile and false of people. She had played him again and again and again.
Why had he told her anything? Why had he been so asinine? Of course she was fishing for information. Of course she was taking notes. Oh sure, she had thrown him an occasional bone or two, to keep up the facade of giving him information--all of which were obviously lies.
This explained her quick reversal of personalities, he realized. One day she's shy, the next day she's suddenly coming out of her shell. He had assumed that this was the product of the sudden attention he was giving her. He had made her feel special. Of course she would be more confident. But no, she was merely moving from Act One into Act Two.
This is low, Father. Even for you.
He checked the time. He was to meet her for dinner soon. That was obviously out of the question at this point. He could never been seen with her again. It made him sick to think that he had almost appeared in public with her. How stupid. They would almost certainly be photographed. And then the world would be frantic to know who she was. It would only take a quick search on the nets to find her true identity. He didn't want to think what other pictures there might be of her out there.
He could see the headlines once her true identity was revealed. He could picture them in his mind.
Was that your final play, Father? To humiliate me in front of the world?
Of all the life lessons Father had ever given him, this one stung the worst. It was so menacing and disgusting, so dark in his design, that Lem had to steady himself against the wall. Is this how little you think of me, Father? Is this what I am to you?
You did it to yourself, Lem, he could hear Father say. I didn't make you flirt with my assistant. I didn't make you give up information. You did that all yourself.
The saddest part of it all? He would have told Father all of those details himself if Father had only asked.
He took a moment to compose himself, to gather his thoughts. He began making phone calls. There were people he knew of, all of them paid under the table by Ramdakan. Police, Lunar Trade Department, shuttle pilots. Lem had never dealt with them before, but he knew Ramdakan called on them often.