He pushed a button, and, while the machine hummed, he said: “Mine is an antiquated position, I’ll admit. I don’t like it any more than you do. Next thing, they’ll put me to work polishing chain-mail armor or make me commander of a company of musketeers. Or maybe they’ll send me to the 18th Outer Mongolian Yak Artillery.”
Mike looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Lieutenant, do you actually mean that you really don’t know what’s going on here, or are you just dummying up?”
Nariaki looked at Mike, and for the first time, his face took on the traditional blank, emotionless look of the “placid Orient.” He paused for long seconds, then said:
“Some of both, Commander. But don’t let it worry you. I assure you that within the next hour you’ll know more about Project Brainchild than I’ve been able to find out in two years.... Now put your face in here and keep your eyes open. When you can see the target spot, focus on it and tell me.”
Mike the Angel put his face in the rest for the retinal photos. The soft foam rubber adjusted around his face, and he was looking into blackness. He focused his eyes on the dim target circle and waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.
The Security Officer’s voice continued. “All I do is make sure that no unauthorized person comes into Chilblains Base. Other than that, I have nothing but personal guesses and little trickles of confusing information, neither of which am I at liberty to discuss.”
Mike’s irises had dilated to the point that he could see the dim dot in the center of the target circle, glowing like a dimly visible star. “Shoot,” he said.
There was a dazzling glare of light. Mike pulled his face out of the padded opening and blinked away the colored after-images.
Lieutenant Nariaki was comparing the fresh fingerprints with the set he had had on file. “Well,” he said, “you have Commander Gabriel’s hands, anyway. If you have his eyes, I’ll have to concede that the rest of the body belongs to him, too.”
“How about my soul?” Mike asked dryly.