He tried to stand, and realized his knees were numb. He staggered backward, grabbing for something to steady himself . . . and the light came on.
"Yuri Andreevich, so this is where you are. What are you doing here?"
It was the gravel voice of his father. He felt like a child again, caught with his hand in his pants. What should he do? tell the truth?
"I'm—I'm checking over the consoles, passing the time. I couldn't sleep."
"Don't lie to me." Andrei Androv's ancient eyebrows gathered into the skeptical furrow Yuri knew so well. "You're up to something, another of your tricks."
Yuri stared at him a moment. How had he known? A sixth sense?
"Moi otyets, why are you here? You should be getting your sleep."
"I'm an old man. An old man worries. I had a feeling you might be in here tonight, tinkering with the vehicle. You told me you were planning something. I think the time has come to tell me what it is."
Yuri took a deep breath and looked him over.
No, it was too risky. For them both. His secret had to be ironclad.