“You’ll be awkward as a hog on ice, lugging all that gear, baby.” Redstone grimaced, though his relaxed posture did not change.
“I’ll be awkward as hell in a space suit anyway,” Kelly agreed with a shrug. “Red, you got anything thin enough to feed through this bore or do I tear off a bit of the sheet?”
Redstone fished in his top pocket for a handkerchief. “We can probably hunt you up a proper cleaning kit,” he grumbled. “Carry a backup, hey? Those things fuck up more ways than a seventeen-year-old kid.”
“Thought maybe a shotgun,” the veteran agreed, keeping his eyes on the gun. “Look, Red. You find a way to put a platoon in orbit fast, then we’ll do it that way. Otherwise, this is the choice, and I don’t need any shit about it. I’m right.” He glared fiercely at the older man.
“Never said you weren’t,” Redstone agreed with a shrug. Businesslike again, he went on, “I’ll call in, have ’em cut down a Model 1100 and put a pistol grip on it.”
Kelly cocked his head. “Figured a pump gun from stores,” he said. “Why an autoloader?”
“You figure to have both hands free, Kelly?” the general replied with a grin. “Besides, it’ll function better, especially with you in a suit and likely to shortstroke the slide.” He raised his hand. “Don’t tell me it wouldn’t happen to you. It won’t happen if you let a gas valve do all the thinking the times that you’ve got other things on your plate.”
“Yeah, okay,” Kelly said. He began reloading the cylinder of his snubbie. “Suppose anybody thought to bring me a change of clothes? I didn’t think of it.”
“We’ll rustle something up,” the general said, evaluating the veteran’s body with a practiced eye. “You’re in pretty good shape, Kelly. Be nice if you were nineteen and still had your experience, but I guess the experience’s the choice.” He nodded toward the door, then started to get up. “There’s people waiting to brief you on layout and the control sequence as soon as you’re ready to hear about that.”
“Right,” said Kelly. “Find me a pair of slacks at least and send ’em with the briefing team.”
“Right,” Redstone agreed, but big hands stayed on the back of the chair, which he swiveled in a pair of short, nervous arcs.
“Spit it out, Red,” the veteran said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Hard to tell when you’ll get a better chance.”
“Why’d you blow her that way, Kelly?” Redstone said, each word chipped from stone. “Elaine, I mean. Why’d you fuck her over?”
“Goddam,” Kelly said in surprise. “Red, I didn’t know you knew the lady.”
“Answer the goddam question,” the general whispered.
“Roger,” said Kelly coolly. “Because she lied to me, and because she set me up. Any more questions?”
“Goddammit, she didn’t set you up!” Redstone burst out. “I heard the fucking tape! You were supposed to get the kid gloves treatment, and except for that shithead Blakeley you’d have gotten it!”
He turned toward the wall, and for a moment Kelly thought the older man was going to break a hand trying to punch a hole in the bulkhead. He sagged instead, bracing himself with his hands flattened on either side of the doorframe.
“I’m sorry, Red,” Kelly said as calmly as he could. “If I’d known a little more, maybe some things I’d have done another way. But I’m not psychic, man.”
“Shit, Kelly, shit,” General Redstone muttered to the door. He faced the agent again. Moments before he had been flushed, but now he looked sallow and very old. “We all lie,” he said. “Sometimes it’s hard to draw the line, I guess.” Redstone shook his head violently from side to side, as if to clear it of something clinging. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
“Red.” Kelly waited until the other man met his eyes. “Somebody greased Mohammed Ayyubi in order to get me into this whole thing. I told his brother I’d even the score.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to, Red. Someday I’ll learn who gave the scratch order, and then I’ll handle it. If that’s something you need to pass on, then that’s how it is.”