Sure enough, Tucker was exactly where Weiss hoped: in the editing room helping a production assistant wade through miles of tape.
“How’s outer space treating you?” Zeke’s voice drawled in the phone.
“Never mind. Gotta make this fast, Zeke.” Weiss kept his voice low, eyeing Stanley through the booth’s clear plastic door, watching him from across the module. “I’m going to mention two names. I’m only going to say them once. After that, they are Number One and Number Two. I want you to dig out morgue files on both. I’m not looking for mainstream vanilla bullshit. I want the kind of dirt that used to pay our rent. Ready?”
“Yup.”
“Number One is Chakra Ramsanjawi. I remember something about a scandal in England several years ago, mid-eighties, maybe. Not sure of the particulars, but it was bad. The European Bureau should have it.
“Number Two is Kurt Jaeckle. I need something I can hit him with to get him off my back. Guy’s a pain in the ass, begging to show off his Mars Project. Like I need Mars.”
Tucker chuckled. “Only you would call a world-class scientist and media star a pain in the ass.”
“I’ve seen the slimy undersides of too many world-class media stars in my day.”
“Why, Aaron, you’re a world-class media star yourself.”
“Cut the crap, Zeke. This is important.”
“Okay. Give me twenty-four hours. Hey, Yablon’s pretty steamed he hasn’t heard from you.”
“Another pain in the ass,” said Weiss. “I’ll call when I’m damn good and ready.”
“A real world-class attitude,” Zeke Tucker said, laughing.
It’s now or never, Thora Skillen said to herself as she slipped into the sleep restraint in her compartment.
Fabio Bianco himself is here. And a reporter from CNN. If I do it now it will get tremendous publicity all over the world. Everybody will see how wrong it is to conduct genetic research, even on a space station.
She could stop them, she knew. In the darkness of her compartment she squeezed her eyes shut and told herself that she would strike back at them for her sister’s death.
But her dreams, when she finally fell asleep, were troubled. Her father stared down at her, cold and disapproving. “Melissa would never do that,” her father said, in a tone that was more hurt than anger. “Why must you always be the bad one?”
Melissa told her, “It’s all right, Thora. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I love you, Thora dear. It’s all right.”
And she heard her own voice pleading, “I don’t want to die. Oh God, please don’t make me die.”
“I reserved the observation blister,” said Lance, “so we can cool down.” Carla Sue removed her hairnet and shook her head. Her hair instantly puffed out like a perfect sphere of yellow cotton candy. She patted the nape of her neck with a towel.
“Sure,” she said. “Sounds fine.”
Lance detected uncertainty in her voice, as if she were replaying their last visit to the blister. Be cool, be in command, Freddy had told him. You are the man.
He didn’t give her a chance to reconsider. He led her to the Mars module, never once looking back lest she interpret the slightest glance as a lack of confidence. She stayed right behind him.
He opened the blister door with a flourish and invited her to enter before him. She smiled for him as if charmed by his gallantry.
They floated side by side. Three hundred miles below, a necklace of atolls gleamed in the brilliant blue waters of the Pacific. Lance felt a mad urge to apologize for his behavior their last time together. He wanted to tell her the truth, that he had been surprised and scared but that this time would be different. He checked himself. All the talk in the world don’ mean nada, Freddy had told him. You deliver with action.
So they talked about their workout and the pleasant sensation of fatigue that followed exercise. Carla Sue wasn’t as forward as the last time. In fact, as Freddy had predicted, she was downright prudish. Her knees were pressed together, her arms folded.
Thoughts of Becky tried to creep into Lance’s mind. He suppressed them by talking faster and louder.