She wiped Jaeckle’s words from the monitor and stared at her keyboard, wondering whether she should respond.
You’ve already rolled the dice, Carla Sue, she said to herself. You’re in this for the duration.
Her fingers moved across the keys: YOU HAVE JUST PROVEN LAVERNE NELSON’S ALLEGATIONS.
Satisfied, she transmitted the words to Jaeckle.
Now I need to get me some protection, she thought.
O’Donnell did not even attempt to speak during the first few hours of captivity in the rumpus room. His body seemed to be processing the last remnants of the fentanyl in spasms. At different intervals his limbs went numb, his vision blurred, and his whole body shuddered.
In between these episodes, he tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing he remembered was brushing his teeth. The toothpaste had tasted funny, and as an ex-coke addict he knew that the gums were efficient at absorbing drugs into the bloodstream. But the method was less important than the motive. Who would want him drugged? Did that same person want Aaron Weiss dead? And why?
By the time O’Donnell felt well enough to speak, Lance Muncie was on guard duty. Lance did not come very close, preferring to hover near the variable-gravity centrifuge. Although nothing seemed to occupy him other than his thoughts, he pointedly refused to meet O’Donnell’s eyes. Still, O’Donnell decided to venture a question. “What happened, Lance?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“Who told you?”
“Commander Tighe. It’s his orders.” Lance pulled himself to the other side of the centrifuge.
“You mean you people are going to keep me tied up here and no one’s going to tell me what’s going on?”
“You already know.”
“The hell I do.”
“I can’t talk to you.”
“Then listen to me. Dan thinks I killed Weiss. Now why would I do a thing like that?”
Lance did not answer. He positioned himself on the carpeted surface of the jogging track and began to run. He moved slowly at first with bent legs and a stooped torso.
“You know me, Lance,” continued O’Donnell. “We did the Cape together. We bounced around in the Vomit Comet together. We flew up here together. Do I look like a person who’d kill someone?”
Lance’s strides grew longer and more fluid. His posture straightened as he gained speed.
“Just shake your head, Lance. If you can’t say I didn’t do it, at least let me know you hear me.”
But Lance ran on. His thundering feet created such a racket that O’Donnell gave up trying to prod him into conversation. Lance eventually slackened his pace. He hunched forward and bumped the heels of his hands against the running surface to dampen his momentum. As Lance drifted in a long lazy circle around the inside of the track, O’Donnell noticed Carla Sue hovering in the tunnel. Lance saw her at the same time.
“This module is off limits,” he snapped.
But Carla Sue squirmed her sleek body through the hatch.
“Lance, I just need to see you for a minute.”
“It’s off limits,” he said. “No exceptions.”
“Well, you’ll just have to make an exception for me.” Carla Sue pulled up in front of him and arranged her lips in a pucker. Lance dodged her kiss.
“My, my, we’re all business, aren’t we?” she teased.
“What do you want, Carla Sue?”
“I was scared, what with all this talk about murder and such.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of.” Lance nodded in O’Donnell’s direction as if to say the situation was under control.
“Well, I was worried about you.”
“Worried about me?” Lance blurted.
“Why, yes,” she said, rubbing both hands along his biceps. “I know you’re a big strong man, but I worry just the same.”
“You can’t stay here,” Lance said. He was virtually pleading.
“I’ve booked an hour in the observation blister,” she whispered, patting his chest. He grabbed her wrist, then quickly released it.
“Okay, Lance,” she said. “I won’t trouble you none. But when you’re off duty, come to the blister. I’ll be waiting.”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and flew out of the room. O’Donnell could see that Carla Sue’s visit had shaken Lance. His face was flushed as if he had just been sitting in front of a raging fire.