Archer was shocked when he slid back the door to his office and saw Rodney Devlin sound asleep in one of his recliners. The Red Devil was snoring lightly; he was in his usual white chef’s uniform, stained and wrinkled from use. Even in sleep his face looked lined with worry, his mustache bedraggled. In his right hand he tightly clutched his pocketphone. Glancing at his wristwatch, Archer confirmed that information from the first data capsule should be coming in within a few minutes. But what’s Red doing in my office? he wondered. And how did he get in here?
Archer almost smiled at that last question. Red can go anywhere he wants to, the station director realized. He’s got the combination to every lock in the station. Probably memorized every last one of them.
He made a polite little cough and Devlin snapped awake, sitting up so abruptly Archer feared he’d pop some vertebrae.
“Grant!” Devlin said, his voice slightly hoarse.
“What are you doing here, Red?”
With a slightly hangdog look, Devlin answered, “Hidin’ out.”
“Hiding out? From whom?”
“Westfall’s goons. They came after me last night. I think they were out t’ kill me.”
Archer sank into the faux-leather armchair next to the recliner. “You’d better explain all this to me, Red. Slowly.”
His expression turning rueful, Devlin said, “Westfall wanted me t’ provide her with some gobblers so’s —”
“Gobblers? Nanomachines?”
“Right. She wanted—”
“And you got them for her? Gobblers?” Archer felt his insides begin to shake with fear. And anger.
“Relax, mate,” Devlin said, holding up both hands as if to shield himself from attack. “I told you I wouldn’t do anything to harm the station. Remember?”
“But you provided her with gobblers!”
His old sly grin spreading slowly over his face, Devlin said, “I provided her with nanos, I did. But not what she wanted.”
“Then just what in blazes
Linda Vishnevskaya drummed her fingers on the edge of the console. Nothing. No data capsule. They should have launched it fifteen minutes ago. We should be getting its beacon signal by now.
But there was nothing. No beacon from a data capsule. Nothing but silence in the nearly empty mission control center.
Vishnevskaya stared at the blank display screen as if she could make the capsule appear by sheer willpower. Nothing. Silence.
She waited another ten minutes. Then ten more, each second of the time stretching her nerves agonizingly.
Max, she thought. What’s happened to you? Why haven’t you sent out the capsule? What’s going on down there in that damned ocean?
At last she could stand it no longer. With the reluctance of a woman facing a firing squad, standing on a gallows, staring death in the face, she clicked the intercom switch on her console and said in a low, choked voice, “Mission report: The first data capsule scheduled to be released from
She heard her own words:
Devlin was still explaining himself when the phone on the serving table next Archer’s recliner chimed. Glancing at the screen’s data bar he saw that it was Katherine Westfall calling.
Archer leaned close to the phone’s camera eye so that his image filled its field of view and commanded, “Answer.”
Mrs. Westfall’s face looked positively haughty. Without a greeting or a preamble of any kind she said in an almost sneering voice, “I suppose you know that they’ve failed to send their data capsule.”
Archer stiffened. “No, I didn’t know.”
“You realize what this means, don’t you?” Westfall demanded. “Something’s gone wrong down there.”
“Possibly,” Archer replied.
Westfall’s face hardened. “Not merely
Grant Archer pulled in a deep breath before replying. Then, “Perhaps you should come to my office. We can discuss this more fully here.”
“Yes,” Westfall agreed. “We need to discuss this disaster more fully, don’t we?”
The phone screen went blank. Archer turned back toward Devlin, who was still sitting upright on the recliner.
“I’d better get outta here,” Devlin said.
“No, Red. You stay right where you are. I want you here when she comes in.”
Devlin’s russet eyebrows rose toward his scalp. “I’d rather not, y’know.”
“I’m not asking you, Red,” Archer said, with steel in his voice. “I’m ordering you.”
Katherine Westfall didn’t bother to summon any of her aides or security guards as she strode down the passageway toward Grant Archer’s office. No need, she told herself. I’ll have this moment all to myself. I want to savor the look on his face when he realizes that his career has been shattered.
Should I tell him that Elaine O’Hara was my half sister? No, she said to herself. That’s none of his business. Keep the family connection out of it. But maybe I’ll hint that the IAA will launch an investigation into his criminally negligent leadership that led to the death of four people. Once I’m chairperson of the governing council that’s just what I’ll do. I’ll pay him back for my sister and make certain he’ll never hold a scientific post anywhere in the solar system.
She looked forward to reaching Archer’s office. Westfall felt strong, confident. If it weren’t for the nervous twinge in her stomach, she thought, she’d feel absolutely perfect.
Red Devlin was fidgeting nervously as they waited for Westfall’s arrival.
“You’re certain that they were out to murder you?” Archer asked, still sitting on the little desk chair.
Devlin gave him a sour look. “They pop into my kitchen after midnight. Three of ’em. They weren’t lookin’ for my recipe for lemon meringue pie.”
“And why did you hide out here, in my office?”
Devlin brushed at his bristly hair. “Couldn’t think of anyplace better. Figured they’d be watchin’ the security cameras so they’d know where I went. I was hopin’ that they wouldn’t bust into your office. If they did, I was gonna phone you, send you a panic SOS.”
Archer nodded. “According to the security log, all the passageway cameras were turned off for a couple of hours, starting at midnight.”
Whistling between his teeth, Devlin said, “So there wouldn’t be any evidence of them shovin’ me out an airlock.”
