The Trikon Deception by Ben Bova & Bill Pogue. Part seven

“We’ve screwed up the environment of Earth,” Weiss explained, looking surprised at Lance’s ferocious stare. “Now we have the chance to play God.”

“Play God?” Something started churning inside Lance, an echo that reverberated with the guilty pleasures of the previous night.

“What these scientists are doing is altering the genes of common microbes so that they’ll devour toxic wastes. They’re creating new forms of life in the labs here instead of waiting for them to develop naturally. That’s kind of like playing God, don’t you think?”

“They’re doing that here?” Lance looked surprised.

“What do you think all those tubes of colored liquids are? Oil paints?”

Lance swallowed bile. Trying to keep a calm appearance, he answered, “Well, like I said, all I’m concerned about is keeping the station flying. Anything else is none of my business.”

“What about industrial espionage?” asked Weiss.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Spying,” said Weiss. “This superbug is a very valuable little animal, you know. Or is it a vegetable? Anyway, someone might want to steal if for himself. What if you, as a crewman, witnessed a theft. What would you do?”

“I’m supposed to report it to Commander Tighe,” said Lance, still shaking inside. “Those are the only orders we have.”

“That’s an awfully laid-back attitude, considering the nature of the project and its potential value.”

“Commander Tighe says we’re not policemen, or judges or juries, either.”

“Is that why you were installing a security system the other night?”

Lance was confused. The other night was ages ago.

“In the Jap module. You and Freddy Aviles were there working on something when I wandered in.”

“Oh, that night,” said Lance. “That was no security system. See, Freddy’s a computer whiz, so Commander Tighe is having him reconfigure the station’s computer system. I don’t know much about it myself. I just hold the tools and—”

“Lance!”

Freddy Aviles sailed through the entry hatch with his usual acrobatic flair.

“Hi, Freddy,” said Lance.

Freddy ignored Lance and spoke directly to Weiss.

“You have a phone call in the command module.”

“I do? Male or female?”

“A guy named Ed Yablon.”

“Oh, him,” said Weiss. “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I ain’t goin’ there, and he don’ sound like he got a minute.”

“Bureau chiefs!” said Weiss with mock exasperation. “I’m going. Thanks for the tour, Lance.”

Lance nodded silently. Freddy stared at Weiss until well after he had disappeared into the connecting tunnel.

“What was he doin’ here?” Freddy asked.

“Nothing. He just wanted to see the logistics module.”

“What was he askin’ about me?”

“Nothing.”

“I heard you mention my name.”

“He thought we were installing a security system that night in Jasmine. I told him you were reconfiguring the station’s computer system because you were a computer whiz.”

Freddy stroked the thin strands of black hair that waved on his chin.

“That it?” he said,

“That’s it,” said Lance, confused by Freddy’s reaction to such an innocent conversation. “He was here only about five minutes. He did most of the talking.”

“Anything else he want to know?”

“About spies and the research project. I told him it was none of our business.”

Freddy stared at the hatchway as if expecting Weiss to return.

“Freddy,” Lance said. “Last night. I got to tell you what happened.”

“Save it, Lance,” said Freddy as he launched himself toward the connecting tunnel.

Lance hung in the middle of the logistics module, alone, surrounded by mute canisters and gleaming pipes, knowing that what he had done with Carla Sue was terribly wrong. Playing the devil in the Garden of Eden. That’s what Weiss called it. And he was right. Lance knew he was right.

Lance knew one other fact. He wanted Carla Sue. Wrong or not, he wanted her with a desperate physical ache that hurt so much it was pleasure.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” screamed Ed Yablon. “I haven’t heard a goddamn word from you.”

“Easy, Ed,” said Weiss into the phone. “It took me a while to feel my way around up here.”

“Feel your way around? Where the hell are you? Goddamn New York City?”

“There’s a very complicated social and professional structure on the station. I’ve had to weave my way through it to find the most reliable sources.”

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