“What was your role with the company?”

“Junior technician, supervising patient recovery and collecting data. I lasted until December last year. I assume you know about the trial?”

I was startled by the cabin door. Romeo came down with a plate of steaming kebabs and set it by the oranges. Ray sang his name—“Romeo!”—in an operatic burst, then said, “Have a kebab, Whitney.”

I wanted to prop up my hungover stomach but couldn’t trust this guy to feed me.

“I ate already.”

Ray nibbled at the purple onions first. “Tell me something,” he said. “As an outsider, what do you think of Eva?”

“I think she’s impressive,” I said. “Single-minded, of course, but she answers criticism well.”

“So you’ve made up your mind.”

“It’s not about what I think,” I said. “I’ve seen the trial with my own eyes, and so far no one but you has leveled accusations. Worse than Enron, you said.”

Sunshine Ray kissed marinade off his thumb. “Like I mentioned, Rubicon makes everyone sign NDAs, and these are all people who want ongoing careers in medical tech. They won’t say jack to you.”

“But you’re different.”

“I got into it late,” said Ray. “I was over forty when I got started, so it was never about the career for me. You want another beer?”

I fought the urge to say yes. Ray cracked a bottle. It looked great, sweating on the table.

“You’re really crazy not to try Romeo’s ’babs.”

“I’m alright, thanks.”

“Anyway, like I was saying, I bought into Rubicon and the whole Common Dreams initiative. But in the end, I had to quit. She didn’t fire me. I’m not some guy pissed about how he got dealt. That’s why I don’t care about breaking the NDA.” He drew a sticky shrimp off the kebab and sucked it from its tail.

“I’m definitely interested in your story,” I said, “but if I’m going to include your concerns in my piece, it would be useful to have something more concrete.”

What I didn’t say was that he sounded a little like Zeke.

Ray walked over to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and withdrew a silver CD-R in a neon-orange case. Written on the metal in black Sharpie was 12/01.

He rapped his knuckles against the plastic. “I just had time to burn it on my way out.”

“What is it?”

“The raw data from the last month of subjects I supervised. It’ll show you how they really do things at Rubicon.”

He went to hand the CD over and then pulled back.

“No one knows I have this.” He looked at me intensely, eyes bloodshot and blue. “You have to promise you won’t fuck me. Nothing can happen to me or Romeo.”

“I promise,” I said.

12.