“Pete, we’ve already felt some effects,” she said. “Though they haven’t even emerged from the far side of the sun, it appears we’ve already had some irregularities in our satellite and radio connections. Dead spots.” Megan gestured toward her timed-out desktop computer. “I’ve experienced them myself. Annie provided an access code for a turnkey NASA Web site. A half hour ago I tried to log on and access the latest models for when the activity’s going to peak. And couldn’t. The data link broke on me. It’s still fouled up. We might be looking at periods when our radio connections go partially or entirely down over the next couple of days . . . can you imagine what kind of tactical problems that would lead to in the field?”

Nimec nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it’d be an equal disadvantage. The other side would run into the same complications.”

She shook her head. “Still . . .”

“I’m no world-beater,” Nimec said. “I wouldn’t take anybody out there to the Valleys without a solid plan.”

“I’m not implying that. I trust you. But it’s my job to measure the risks. Make the final decision. Nobody else can do it. I can’t unload the responsibility. I own it. . . .”

She trailed off, her features tight with concentration.

Nimec watched her a moment. Then he stepped away from the map and softly rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Meg, listen,” he said. “One thing I learned from the boss . . . from Gord . . . is that part of owning it is knowing when to trust somebody enough to let go.”

Silence in the room.

Megan sat with her face turned up toward Nimec’s as that silence spooled out between them like an invisible thread. Then she took a deep breath, seemed to hold it a moment, and released a long, deep sigh.

Nimec could feel her muscles loosen under his palm.

“You said you’ve come up with a plan?” she said.

“No,” he said. “Not me.”

She looked at him.

“Who?” she said.

Waylon thumbed his chest, moved his shaved head up and down in a single nod.

“You,” she said.

He nodded again, his long-sword earrings gleaming softly under the fluorescent lights.

Megan half smiled.

“Tell it to me, Ron,” she said.

“Sure,” he said, “I was just waiting for you to ask.”

And then he told her.

Bull Pass

Burkhart did not decide upon a conclusive plan of action until several hours after Granger failed to report—convincing him the pilot’s true failure was more critical than that.

The plan’s crucial elements, however, had germinated in his mind much earlier. In fact, its rough contours had emerged after his return to Bull Pass. He had known that even Granger’s success—his elimination of UpLink’s head of security—would only forestall the inevitable.