“We’ll be at the decision point in a few minutes,” the captain said as he sat on his bunk and gestured the younger man to the only chair in the compartment.
“Eighteen minutes,” said the physicist, “and counting.”
“Is there any reason why we shouldn’t release the missiles then?”
The physicist’s pale blond brows rose questioningly. “The plan calls—”
“I know what the plan calls for,” the captain interrupted impatiently. “What I’m asking is, are the missiles ready to be released?”
“Yessir, they are. I checked them less than an hour ago.”
The captain looked into the youngster’s cool blue eyes. I can fire off the missiles and get us the hell out of here, he told himself.
“But if we wait until the final release point their chances of getting to Vesta without being detected or intercepted are a whole lot better,” said the younger man.
“I understand that.”
“There’s no reason I can see for releasing them early.”
The captain said nothing, thinking that this kid was a typical scientist. As long as all the displays on the consoles were in the green he thought everything was fine. On the other hand, if I fire the missiles early and something goes wrong, he’ll tell his superiors that it was my fault.
“Very well,” he said at last. “I want you to calculate interim release points—”
“Interim?”
“Give me three more points along our approach path to Vesta where I can release those birds.”
“Three points short of the predetermined release point?”
“That’s right.”
The kid broke into a grin. “Oh, that’s easy. I can do that right here.” And he pulled his handheld from the breast pocket of his coveralls.
SELENE: LEVEL SEVEN
It’s getting warmer in here, Humphries thought. Then he told himself, No, it’s just your imagination. This space is insulated, fireproof. He pushed through a row of suits hanging neatly in the closet and touched one hand to the nearest of the three green tanks of oxygen standing in a row against the back wall. I’ve got everything I need. They can’t burn me out.
Slowly he edged past the suits and slacks and jackets and shirts, all precisely arranged, all facing the same direction on their hangers, silent and waiting for him to decide on using them. He brushed their fabrics with his shoulder, was tempted to finger their sleeves, even rub them soothingly on his cheek. Like a baby with its blanket, he thought. Comforting.
Instead he went to the door, still sealed with the cermet partition. Tentatively, he touched it with his fingertips. It wasn’t hot. Not even very warm. Maybe the fire’s out, he supposed. Ferrer wasn’t pounding on the door anymore. She gave up on that. I wonder if she made it out of the house? She’s tough and smart; could she survive this fire? He suddenly felt alarmed. If she lives through it, she’ll tell everybody I panicked! She’ll tell them I crawled into my emergency shelter and left her outside to die!
Humphries felt his fists clenching so hard his fingernails were cutting painfully into his palms. No, the little bitch will threaten to tell everything and hang that threat over my head for the rest of her life. I’ll have to get rid of her. Permanently. Pretend to give her whatever she wants and then get Harbin or some other animal to put her away.
His mind decided, Humphries paced the length of his clothes closet once more, wondering how he would know when it was safe to leave his airtight shelter.
At least the flames aren’t advancing as fast as they were, Fuchs thought as he lay sprawled on the brick pathway in front of the airlock. The grotto was a mass of flames and smoke that seemed to get thicker every second. Their heat burned against his face. Nodon had lapsed into unconsciousness again; Amarjagal and Sanja lay on the grass beside him, unmoving, their dark almond-shaped eyes staring at the fire that was inching closer. The black-clad security guards sprawled everywhere, coughing, their guns thrown away, their responsibilities to Humphries forgotten.
One of the women guards asked, “How long…” She broke into a racking cough.