“You hang around long enough,” Gerritson said, “and you won’t need me to give you ideas about our guest. You’ll have plenty of your own.”
“Well, can you tell me what he looks like?”
“Can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” he told her. “Ever read The Man in the Iron Mask?”
Maddy took a moment to let the casters click. “Oh,” Maddy nodded. “I see.”
“No, that’s the point. Nobody sees. Bussard makes sure of that.”
That was true enough. Maddy wasn’t even allowed into the containment dome until their guest was removed, and, true to Bussard’s word, he never returned until long after Maddy completed her room service detail. Whoever it was, he ate all his meals cold.
The cafeteria door banged open. Another member of “team zero,” Gierritson told her. He grabbed a cellophane-wrapped sandwich from the counter, then left.
“So would Bussard rupture a sphincter if he knew we were talking like this?”
Gerritson laughed. “The man’s been holding it in since his diaper days. I don’t want to be there when he blows.”
Maddy shrugged it off, feigning indifference. “I’m a military brat— I’ve been around men like him all my life. I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad if he ran this place with more than just a skeleton crew. Then maybe he’d spread his good will a little thinner.”
“Bussard’s a minimalist,” Gerritson explained. “He figures the fewer the bodies—"
“—the fewer the graves?”
“The smaller the staff, the easier it is to control. The fewer chances for leaks, and snafus.” Gerritson looked down, and plowed a spoon around his mashed potatoes before giving up on them entirely. “Does it bother you that you’re the only woman in this place?”