Murder in Orbit (7 page)

“There are only two people left to see in this sector,” said Cassie. “Then we'll have to move on to New Ithaca. Either that, or start figuring out what we're going to do about the people we have to contact in the substations.”

Substations!

“What time is it?” I yelped.

Without waiting for her to answer, I leaned over the table and glanced at the small watch she wore around her wrist.

I groaned.

I was late again!

Chapter 9

Back in the BS Factory

I was still mentally kicking myself in the rear when I started docking maneuvers at the BS Factory. Not only was I late again, but I had also reinforced Cassie's impression of me as a jerk—both by losing track of time and then by rushing off the way I did.

I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. You'd think anyone with an IQ higher than a geranium ought to be able to keep track of time. But I can't even keep track of a watch for more than a week. I finally decided it was simpler (not to mention cheaper) just to ask other people.

I want to tell you, it's not easy being a scatterbrain.

I took some consolation in the fact that this time I docked the scooter without a glitch.

Millie applauded as I climbed out. “Definite step in the right direction, Rusty.”

“Thanks, Millie.”

“And that's important,” she continued, “since a journey of a thousand miles …”

“… begins with a single step,” I finished with a groan. “Have I really got that far to go?”

“Nah, I just like to bust your chops. Which I imagine Dr. Twining is also going to do, considering what time it is.”

“Don't remind me,” I said, rolling my eyes. Suddenly I had an inspiration. Millie wasn't on my list of people who had used the bulk-drop facility. But if my living/dead man had been here, she might have seen him anyway. “Do you recognize this guy?” I asked, digging the picture out of my pack.

She studied it for a minute. “Looks kinda like Hank Smollin,” she said finally. “That is, if you make room for a lot of artistic license.”

I couldn't believe it. A score!

“Who's Hank Smollin?” I asked, trying to keep from sounding too excited.

Millie shrugged. “Just some guy who used to work here. Hasn't been around for six months or so.”

“Who did he work for?”

“One of the Mad Scientists, I think. Why so curious?”

“It's part of a game some friends and I are playing,” I said, feeling almost truthful.

I was trying to act calm. But inside I was shouting with delight. If I had dared, I probably would have hugged her. Finally we were getting somewhere.

“I'll ask around for you, if you want,” said Millie. “I won't be seeing the whole gang today. But I'll check with those I do.”

“I'd really appreciate it, Millie. Might make my life a lot easier.”

“No problem, bud. And your chariot will be waiting when you get back.”

I was humming as I headed for Dr. Twining's office.

Dr. Twining wasn't. “I know I've made light of your tardiness in the past, Rusty,” he said as I came through the door. “But I have to tell you that it is getting extremely tiresome. I want you either to begin to respect
my
time, or else find another mentor.” He wasn't just snapping at me out of momentary annoyance. His voice was very controlled. It was a cold anger, if you know what I mean.

The worst part was, I couldn't really argue with him; he had every right to be upset with me. On the other hand, I didn't think it was fair to go from treating my tardiness as lightly as he had in the past to suddenly being so serious about it. I thought about saying so, but decided that would only make things worse. I muttered a hasty apology instead, got out my notes and equipment, and buried myself in my work.

This certainly wasn't the time to ask about Hank Smollin.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my mind on those frog brains. Millie's information that my disappearing corpse had once worked in the BS Lab had me much too excited to settle down and concentrate.

After a while Dr. Twining left the lab. I waited for a few minutes, then put away what I was working on. I went to the computer terminal at the back of the office, logged on, and dragged up the personnel file.

I found records for everyone who had worked for Dr. Twining during the last two years. There was no Smollin listed. I wasn't surprised; I didn't really think Dr. Twining had anything to do with whatever was going on. But I also knew what kind of reaction I would get from Dr. Puckett if I failed to follow up on an angle for sentimental reasons.

I was just logging off when Dr. Magon came into the room. A short, enormously cheerful man, Dr. Magon was my favorite of the seven “Mad Scientists” who ran the BS Factory. He had a flair for practical jokes that kept everyone hopping. (It hadn't amused everyone, but I still have fond memories of the time he slipped a new compound he had been working on into the staff coffeepot and turned everyone's skin green for a week.)

“Ah, it's the Timemaster! Good to see you, Rusty. Is Antoine around?”

I shook my head. “He left about twenty minutes ago.”

“Curses, foiled again,” said Dr. Magon, shrugging philosophically. “Oh, well. If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him.” He started to leave.

“Wait!” I said.

He turned back.

“There was something I wanted to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“Did you ever hear of a guy named Hank Smollin?”

Dr. Magon paused. “Sounds familiar,” he said. “Smollin. Smollin. Didn't he used to work here?”

It was so quick that if I hadn't been watching like a hawk, I would have missed it. Just a slight lifting of the eyelids, a minuscule flaring of the nostrils. But it was a perfect demonstration of what Dr. Puckett had told us.

No matter how casual Jymn Magon was trying to act, I was convinced he knew very well who Hank Smollin was.

It was an interesting afternoon. Now that I had new evidence that my dead man really did exist (which meant, among other things, that I wasn't just losing my mind), I began to feel more confident about what I was doing.
And
more justified in my actions. This investigation meant annoying people, intruding on them, stretching the truth. I had found all that hard to do when somewhere in the back of my head there was still a nagging doubt that maybe I really had been hallucinating, that nothing had really happened after all.

But I couldn't have created Hank Smollin's face out of thin air. And now that Millie had named him for me, and I had gotten that strange reaction from Dr. Magon, I was convinced I truly was on the trail of something important. I wasn't just trying to satisfy my curiosity now, or deal with an unpleasant personal experience. We were talking about a man's life.

All of which explains why I became quite a bit bolder after my conversation with Dr. Magon.

The next person I spoke to was Dr. Jefferson. Virginia Jefferson was considerably taller than me, a slender, elegant black woman with a ferocious intelligence and a cool reserve that I had never seen anyone shake. Her research involved the effect of null-gravity situations on the nervous system.

“Dr. Jefferson!” I called when I spotted her in the hall on the way to her lab. “I was just looking for you. I've got a message for Hank Smollin, and I was wondering if you could tell me where to find him.”

She paused. Was that a flicker in her face? I couldn't tell—both because I wasn't close enough, and because she was so cool she probably wouldn't have batted an eye if I had told her I had just found evidence that I was her long-lost son.

“Smollin,” she said, in much the same way Dr. Magon had. “Smollin. Seems as though there used to be a man by that name working here. Not for me, though. And I don't think he's around any longer.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway. I'll just ask one of the others.”

I pushed myself down the hallway, feeling stymied. I had seen rocks with more expressive faces. I had to remind myself that Dr. Puckett had never claimed that watching people's eyes would be foolproof.

Dr. Durkin's lab was next in line. He wasn't there when I knocked, but I went in anyway. This wasn't totally out of line. Dr. Durkin and Dr. Twining worked together so often that I had gotten to know him fairly well. On a number of occasions I had helped him with some piece of research, or carried something over from our lab. Whenever I did he encouraged me to just come right in.

I looked around, wondering how long it would be before Dr. Durkin returned. I was tempted to use his computer to check his staff records, as I had in Dr. Twining's office. But that really would have been past the bounds of acceptable behavior. I hadn't gotten quite that bold.

Yet.

A sound from the far side of the lab caught my attention.

It was my old friend, Ron.

“Hey, fella,” I said. “How ya doing? Where's Nancy?”

Ron was one of a pair of chimps Dr. Durkin was using in his studies. Nancy was his mate.

Right now Ron was sitting in the corner of his cage, looking depressed.

“Poor fella,” I said, crossing to him. “You must be lonely.”

I hoped nothing had happened to Nancy. I was fond of both chimps, and I enjoyed talking with them through the limited sign language they had been able to learn.

“Where's Nancy?” I repeated, signing it this time instead of speaking it out loud.

“Don't know,” signed Ron. Then he added, “Don't feel good.”

My heart went out to the miserable-looking chimp. I was about to open the cage to give him a cuddle when Dr. Durkin stepped into the lab.

“Rusty!” he shouted. “For God's sake, get away from that cage!”

Chapter 10

One-Way Ticket

I jumped back as if I had just touched an electric fence.

“What's the matter?” I asked. I was annoyed with myself because my hands were shaking.

“Ron is sick,” said Dr. Durkin, “and I don't know yet whether what he has is contagious.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Really, I'm surprised at you, Rusty. You can see there's something wrong with that chimp. And you've certainly been trained not to approach a lab animal that's ill when you don't understand its condition. I know you and Ron are friends. But
you
know that any animal's behavior becomes unpredictable when it's ill. What if he had bitten you? You could have become infected, too!”

I felt myself begin to blush. Dr. Durkin was right. Even if I didn't really believe Ron would ever bite me, what I had done was still pretty stupid. Even worse in terms of my standing in the BS Factory, it was unprofessional. “I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking.”

Dr. Durkin took another deep breath. “Well, no harm done, I guess. But you gave me an awful scare. Actually, I'm glad you're here. I've been wanting to apologize for the way I brushed past you in the hall the other day. I didn't mean to be rude to you. I was angry with somebody else, and you just happened to get in my path.”

“It's all right,” I said with a shrug. Actually, I didn't feel as casual as I was trying to act. I was fond of Dr. Durkin, and it had bothered me when he went rushing by that day. I hadn't spent time brooding about it. (That would have been almost impossible, considering everything that had happened since then!) But even so, the fact that he took the time to apologize now made me feel good.

“Just take it as an unwarranted salvo from the midst of a midlife crisis,” said Dr. Durkin. “By the way, if you happen to see Antoine, tell him I was looking for him.” He paused. “Well, now that the excitement's all over, what brings you here?”

I swallowed. After my stupid mistake and Dr. Durkin's gracious apology, I felt lousy about not being completely straightforward with him.

“I'm trying to contact a man named Hank Smollin. Somebody told me you might know where he is.”

“Hardly. I fired him six months ago. What on earth would you want to talk to him for?”

“Uh—someone gave me a message for him,” I said, trying not to sound too stupid while I absorbed this new piece of news. “They knew he used to work here and thought maybe I could find him for them.”

“Why don't ‘they' just use the Directory? I can't stand people who are lazy like that. You shouldn't cater to them, Rusty. It only encourages them.”

“You're right,” I said. “I'm too easy.”

Millie wasn't around when I got back to the landing area. But true to her word, the scooter was waiting.

I took a piece of paper out of my backpack and scrawled her a note:

Millie—

You can stop asking around. I found out who Smollin worked for. Thanks for the help.

—Rusty

I stuck it on her clipboard, which was lying on her desk, and climbed into my scooter.

Getting out of the BS Factory was a little trickier without Millie around. I had to go through a complicated set of procedures to activate the air locks. Though they were a pain in the neck, I didn't really mind, because they were designed to prevent careless errors that might cause some kind of major accident.

Pretty soon I was out in space again. I circled once around the BS Factory just to enjoy the view, then headed back toward the colony.

How can I tell you about being in space? When you're out there on your own, with nothing but a bit of metal between you and the void, it makes you feel incredibly tiny. Usually. Every once in a while, if I'm in a particularly good mood, just the opposite happens. I feel as if I merge into the void, somehow become a part of the whole thing, connected to it all.

Then I feel enormous.

Sometimes the whole thing just makes my brain start to spin around. I'll stare at the stars and start thinking about how far away they are and about how some of the things I'm seeing aren't stars at all, but whole other galaxies, with billions of stars of their own. And then that old question starts to rattle around inside me, the one about “It can't possibly go on forever—but if it does have an end,
what's next?”