Embedded by Dan Abnett

sight.
      Apfel knocked casually on the truck's cargo door, and then led the way up when it opened from inside. Falk followed him. Cleesh had to brace herself on the door frame, get a foot on the drop-step, and haul herself in. She was puffing from the walk.
      The truck interior was well-lit. The cargo module had been spray-lined with matt-white, shock-absorbent rubber, and then fitted out with frame-mounted data systems, all lit and busy. The rear of the space, nearest to the cab, looking like a miniature dental surgery, with medical tools and scanners racked around a floor-mounted recliner under adjustable lamps.
      There were three people inside waiting for them: a good-looking black kid in coveralls, a middle-aged woman who was dressed like she ran a veterinary practice on an agrarian settlement, and the nondescript man Falk had met in Cleesh's company several times, most recently at the Hyatt.
      "He's SO Logistics," said Falk.
      "Yes, he is," said Apfel.
      "Alarm bells?"
      "He's paid for," said Apfel. "We need people inside, in several key roles. We've very carefully presearched and recruited the right people."
      "You happy for him to talk about you like that?" Falk asked the nondescript man.
      "I know what I'm doing," the man answered, without much emotion. "I don't agree with the US or SO position on this, and this is my way of lodging an objection."
      "This is Ayoob, this is Underwood," Apfel said, introducing the kid and the woman. The kid grinned broadly and stuck out his hand. Falk shook it.
      "We'd like to get you in the chair," said the woman, Underwood. She had a handsome but weatherbeaten face, outdoorsy, and her hair was fine and blonde. Her clothes were litex and functional man-mades.
      "We've only just been introduced," replied Falk.
      "Underwood is one of my medical consultants," said Apfel. "She needs to check you over. A basic bill of health. We can't go anywhere with you until we're happy there are no underlying conditions that will jeopardise the procedure."
      "You haven't told me where we're going or what the procedure is yet," said Falk.
      "And I won't, until we're sure you're viable," replied Apfel. "It'd be a waste of your time and ours. If it turns out to be a no-go, the less you know, the less you'll be burdened with."
      "You've told me plenty already," said Falk.
      "He's barely started," said Cleesh. She was clearing her nose into a tissue. Falk saw that her cheeks were flushed. Quietly, she'd started crying again. She hadn't passed the test. He saw it now. She'd been on Apfel's list, but she'd failed the medical minimum. That was why she was upset. That was why she'd brought him in.
      But there was a tension too. A time factor, he was sure of it. Something had cranked the clock forward, eaten up all the lead time and built-in overrun margins.
      Falk let Underwood lead him over to the recliner. At her instruction, he stripped off his celf, his coat and his shirt, and sat down in the seat under the lamps. The plastic upholstery was cold against his back. He became abruptly aware of how white and hollow his chest looked, how skinny his arms.
      "You've been riding drivers a while?" asked Underwood, preparing some swabs.
      "Yeah. A lot of travel in my line of work."
      She started to do some skin and saliva wipes, then took a little blood and ran various scanning wands over him. She asked a few questions about his health, his diet, made notes on a tablet.
      "It's Letts, isn't it?" Falk asked Apfel over her shoulder.
      "What do you mean?"
      "What happened last night in Letts. It's forcing you to step things up."
      "Our window has closed considerably," said the nondescript man.
      "What happened in Letts?" Falk asked.
      Cleesh and the kid both looked at Apfel. Apfel nodded at the kid.
      "The site in Letts was an unlisted operations centre for the SOMD," said Ayoob. "Strategic, Special Focus. Very high-value asset. We