Controller Alfred Kruze towered above me, his heavy body grotesque in the crimson radiance.
He said, "Traynor, you know as well as I do that we'll never make it out of here alive. So I want you to know now I'm sorry I wouldn't listen to you. After your insubordination—well, try not to blame me too much; I simply didn't understand."
For a moment I stared at him. My eyes blurred. I choked on my own pent-up emotions. "Controller—if I just hadn't forced Gaylord to put out that action order—"
"I know. But it's not your fault; not really. I shouldn't have let those fools in Psychogen interfere with your conditioning." Kruze's heavy jowls quivered. "Besides, what does it matter now? We're all of us as good as dead."
He turned as he finished; moved off in a restless, plodding circle around our dungeon's canted floor.
A knot drew tight beneath my breastbone. Sick at heart, I looked from one of my companions to another.
Six men; six FedGov Security workers gone astray. From Chief Controller Alfred Kruze straight down to the lowly Sigman Third the Kel had trapped in Communications.
And in between those two extremes, in the middle, stood Special Agent Mark Traynor.
Always, always in the middle. Even here, even now, aboard this Kel globeship.
A sudden clank of metal cut through my introspections. A hatch swung open high overhead.