NineteenMachuzak again arrived early at the MTF, a foam mattress and sleeping bag in tow. After yesterday’s warning from the dragon he found himself edgy, convinced against his better judgment that another attack on Prometheus was inevitable, imminent. The insane events at Cadarache left no doubt of the prognosis and what he’d feared most was taking place: he could not empty his mind of suspicion.
A mole? Who could Balard have turned? Who at CFRF reviled the program so fiercely to throw the race to ITER? Machuzak began scanning a mental list of CFRC scientists who’d worked on ITER or visited Cadarache itself. He lost count. Hasschler, Krieg-Zuber, Slava… No, not even Archangelsky was jaundiced, crafty enough. Nathaniel clasped his head between his hands.
The hiss of a valve caused him to
