Forty-OneIt was nothing more than a vague hunch—she still didn’t understand the intricacies of the enormously complex systems that had surrounded her for two months now—but T. J. decided to ask. She sought out Diana Cochran at her outpost office in the helium factory, pentagon three. “As I understand it,” T. J. said, having announced herself, “y’all are convinced last week’s accident was sabotage.”
Cochran leaned back from her monitor. “Yeah, someone injected liters of helium into the beam boxes and when it evaporated—!” She produced an explosion with her hands. “Liters! Usually it’s—” she made the other gesture, the universal “an itty-bitty bit.” “We’re lucky the sensors caught it before it ruptured the pressure plates.”
For a moment D’Abro regarded the cryo chief, who with her bobbed b
