“Roberts? That twit?” O’Donnell said. Then he took a breath. “I guess there aren’t too many possibilities.”
“There’s enough. We don’ have much time.”
“Say that again. So someone tried to fuck me up because they know what I’m working on.”
“Maybe. Anything possible with these lulus.”
“Weiss?”
“Nah. Too stupid. An’ we ran a check on him. Somebody use him, if you ask me.”
“What about my lab?”
“Sealed it myself. Copied all your computer files, then crashed the system.” Freddy patted his chest to indicate the disk. “Rest of the stuff a problem. Skillen wants the space. Oyamo wants the data. They all think you working on the toxic-waste superbug. But no one doin’ anything till the shuttle get here.”
“Then what?”
“Don’ know. I gotta have a little talk with Bianco, case things get outta hand later. Meanwhile, I gotta report to Welch. Make sure he can get some friendlies on the shuttle.” Freddy thumbed an encryption chip from his flight suit pocket and pressed it into a slot on the comm console. “This’s the only link I left open, besides Tighe’s down in the command module. You wanna talk to Welch?”
“Nah,” said O’Donnell. “I never liked the bastard.”
While Freddy reported the situation to Welch, Lance remained parked outside the airlock. He was suspended between the dazzling beauty of the Earth and the cold, star-specked darkness of the firmament, but he paid little attention to either view. Freddy seemed to be taking an awfully long time in the observatory. Maybe O’Donnell had tried to overpower him and right now they were banging around inside.
Lance felt a tingle as he remembered his own battle with O’Donnell. The sensation was not unlike what he had felt with Carla Sue, before she proved to be a dishonest, lying, cheating slut. He had not merely punched O’Donnell. He had smote him as if his own hand were the hammer of God.
Lance decided to swing around to one of the observatory windows. His right forefinger accidently touched the MMU’s pitch control, and a jet of cold nitrogen gas sent him into a tumble. Blue-white Earth and deep black space flashed past him like a giant stroboscope, bright-dark, bright-dark, until he nudged a series of opposite thrusts to arrest himself.
Wow, he thought, that was fun. He jetted away from the observatory and tried it again. And again. And again.
3 SEPTEMBER 1998
TRIKON STATION
The bar was empty at that time of the morning except for the two men sitting side by side at the far end, away from the windows. They were a strange pair: a short, round, heavyset bald man who exuded nervous energy and a long, lean, lanky, lantern-jawed guy with his elbows on the bar and his head drooping between his hands.
“I still can’t believe it,” said Ed Yablon. “I mean, I know it’s true—but in my gut I expect to see him come waltzing through that door and pull up a stool beside us.”
“Yeah,” muttered Zeke Tucker.
Yablon picked up his beer and drained it. Smacking the empty glass on the bar’s gleaming surface, he motioned for the bartender to fill it up again.
“I ought to be glad, in a way,” Yablon said. “The sonofabitch was nothing but trouble.”
“Yeah.”
“The biggest pain in the ass I ever had to work with.”
“Yeah.”
“You remember the time he snuck into the Kennedy compound in Hyannisport and . . . well, hell, Zeke—you were there with him, weren’t you?”
Tucker did not answer. Yablon saw that the photographer was softly, quietly sobbing as if his own father had just died.
After removing his space suit Freddy went directly to the command module to report on the transfer of O’Donnell to the observatory.
“How would you describe his behavior?” asked Dan.
“Din’ give me no trouble.”
“Lance?”
“Not so good with the flying armchair. I found him spinning aroun’ when I left the observatory.”
“Lance’s EVA skills are the least of our worries,” Dan said. “Better get some rest.”
Freddy shoved off, but not for the relative comfort of his sleep compartment. The commander’s suggestion did not countermand the direct order he had received from Welch. Safeguarding O’Donnell’s work was of paramount importance. O’Donnell himself could be replaced, or even neutralized, if the situation dictated. But if his work fell into the wrong hands, the result could be disastrous. According to Welch, Fabio Bianco had a general awareness of O’Donnell’s purpose on the station. His authority could be useful in preventing the other scientists from scavenging O’Donnell’s lab. Freddy had permission to use all available avenues to ensure Bianco’s cooperation.