Jaeckle, Ramsanjawi, Oyamo, and Bianco ringed another table. A formidable quartet. Jaeckle orated, Ramsanjawi snickered, Oyamo listened politely, and Bianco drank it all in with a twinkle in his dark eyes. Good thing we’re in micro-gee, thought Dan. Otherwise the table might collapse from the combined weight of their egos.
Funny the way Bianco’s adapted to microgravity, Dan thought. Trikon’s Earth-bound medics had sent a long worried report about the old man’s ailments and medication needs. Yet since the moment he had come aboard the station Bianco had seemed strong, alert, healthier than some of the scientists half his age. Maybe it’s poetic justice, Dan said to himself. Bianco created this station; it’s treating him kindly. It’s as if he was always meant to be here.
Freddy Aviles was alone at an adjacent table. There was no sign of Lance Muncie or Carla Sue Gamble. More precisely, Lance Muncie and Carla Sue Gamble. Word was that the two towheads had fallen for each other.
O’Donnell sailed into the wardroom. He hastily prepared a tray at one of the galleys and joined Dan at his table. Dan had read Lorraine Renoir’s report on O’Donnell’s latest blood test. Negative. Dan felt relieved. Still, he found himself scrutinizing every movement of O’Donnell’s hands and analyzing every word of small talk.
“No darts tonight,” said O’Donnell.
“Work?”
“Yeah. I need to log more lab time.”
“Problems?”
“A few unexpected snags.”
“Sometimes it’s a good idea to step back when you’ve run into a wall,” said Dan. “Makes it easier to find your way round it.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” O’Donnell said. “Sometimes.”
There was a general shift in the wardroom crowd. Stu Roberts finished eating, to Aaron Weiss’s obvious relief. Oyamo rose from his foot loops, executed his patented micro-gee bow to each of his three dinner companions, then propelled himself toward the hatchway. Freddy Aviles checked his watch as if waiting for a train that was long overdue. After another minute, he departed as well. Three Japanese techs settled at a table adjacent to Weiss. They grinned at the reporter and he grinned back. Ramsanjawi and Bianco fell into a deep conversation that excluded Jaeckle and attracted the attention of Weiss from the far side of the room. The reporter stared at the scientists as if hoping to provoke an invitation to join them. Instead, Jaeckle moved across to Weiss’s table and started talking to him earnestly, urgently. Weiss stood it for a few minutes, then abruptly pushed himself away from the table and left the wardroom. Jaeckle glared after him.
In the midst of all the movement of bodies and clanging of trays, Lance entered the wardroom. His flight suit was askew and his hair was mussed as if he had just got out of bed. His skin was as pale as it had been his first day on board. But Dan paid less attention to these details than to the simple fact that Lance was alone. He looked at O’Donnell and mouthed the name Carla Sue. O’Donnell shrugged as if to say, Search me.
Lance hung in front of a galley for a full minute before attempting to remove a tray from the magnetized stack in the cabinet. He seemed to grab blindly at the first packets of food that his hands could reach, then stuffed them into the nearest microwave unit. He fumbled with the hot water jet, then missed his cup entirely and sent bubbles of scalding water spraying everywhere. All the while he kept glancing nervously in the direction of the entry hatch.
The bubbles of water floated up toward the overhead ventilator grill. The microwave pinged. Lance attached the meal to his tray and pushed himself away from the galley, still looking over his shoulder toward the hatch. There was one empty table and two others occupied by single people. But Lance chose the last available spot at the table with the three Japanese.
“You see what I see?” muttered Dan.
“Carla Sue’s dumped him?” said O’Donnell.
“I’d bet on it.”
“Do you think he realized she’s a shark?”
“That doesn’t take a hell of a lot of insight,” Dan said.
“It might for someone like Lance,” said O’Donnell.