Starfire (19 page)

Everyone, it seemed, knew John Hyslop. Every few steps he paused to exchange a few words with a person or a group. Sometimes it was a question, such as how a repaired life-support subsystem on Sky City was performing. Sometimes the exchange concerned the airy web of the space shield. Never, Maddy noticed, did anyone ask or offer anything personal. No wife or kid talk, no flirting, no social chat. It was all microprocessors, monofilament strengths, q-bit rates, rolfe performance, and shield capabilities.

Geeks, she decided. Sober, serious engineers, dedicated and hardworking, the purest geek form in the universe.

And what did they think of her? Hard to tell. She was eyed with a good deal of curiosity, but no one asked who she was or hinted to John that he might provide an introduction.

So to hell with them. Except for John. He was a major challenge. There was real passion in him—you heard it when he spoke of aerospikes and dynamic tests. How could you transfer that to the human domain? Most interesting of all, how could you transfer that to
you
?

She examined the set of his shoulders and the straight line of his back. She was listening, but hardly listening, to a discussion of the installation of smart strain gauges on extended fullerene members under extreme stress, when the thin, moon-faced man talking to John brought her awake by saying, "You know, you ought to talk to Lauren. She was around here just a while back, asking if anyone had seen you. She says she really has to meet with you."

At last, a personal remark! Maddy's muddled brain was asking,
Who's Lauren? Old girlfriend, present girlfriend?
Then she remembered where she had heard the name before. It was nothing personal at all. Lauren was Lauren Stansfield, the woman who would take over John Hyslop's duties.

No, get it right.
Half
his duties, the ones connected with Sky City. Someone else, a man—name? Don't recall—would be responsible for engineering work on the shield itself.

The voice inside Maddy's head was busy.
If people will just go on talking to John, so I don't have to talk anymore at all, maybe I can avoid making a total fool of myself . . .

"This will do." They had reached an empty table at last, and John guided Maddy to a seat. "What would you like to eat?"

"Mmm." She had professed to be starving, but in fact she was sure that any solid food would stick in her gullet. "Could I have soup? And a hot drink. But look, I'm fine, I can go with you and help myself. And I have a job to do. I'm supposed to—"

She managed to choke back the rest of the sentence. She said, "I'm supposed to rest, so thank you. I'll wait here." She had been about to say, "I'm supposed to stick to you tighter than Gordy Rolfe's tiny ass."

Maddy leaned her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands, covering her eyes. The only thing she could do was sit tight, bite her tongue, and pray for the Asfanil to wear off before she said or did something awful. She felt amazingly horny. Loose as a goose, the doctor had said. How would John Hyslop react to a quiet hand sneaking up his thigh under the table? Stare down his nose at her, probably. Explain to her that she was not a certified engineer and therefore not qualified to handle extended members under extreme stress. But he was wrong about that. She was Maddy Wheatstone, and she could handle anything.

"Here we are. I hope this is all right."

Maddy took her hands away from her eyes. John was back, heavily laden. "Got you soup and a drink. But I thought you might be able to manage something a bit more substantial once you started." He pointed to the contents of the tray. "So I brought you a Sky City special. It's easily confused with real food."

He was staring at her uncertainly. Bless him, could it be a joke? And he didn't know how she was going to react.
Look at the worry lines on his forehead, and see the concern in those lovely gray eyes. Smile at him, at the very least, show you appreciate what he's doing for you.

"Thank you, John." Maddy gave him her top-quality seductive smile. "That's very sweet of you." She patted the chair next to her. "Come on. You sit down right here."

He ignored the invitation and sat down opposite. "Look, Maddy, I did something else when I was ordering the food. I hope you don't mind."

I don't think I'd mind anything you do.
Not the right answer. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me what you did?"

"I put out a general message. For Lauren Stansfield, asking her to come to table forty-seven. That's us. I know you're not feeling well, and I should have asked you first. But Lauren has been telling people that she really needs to talk to me, and if she's still here, I didn't want to miss the chance."

I hate Lauren Stansfield, and I don't want her here. On the other hand, I think I may
need
her here.
"Of course I don't mind. Where is she?"

"For all I know, she left. But if she gets my message, she'll join us."

Maddy squeezed the plastic bowl and took a mouthful of soup. It had a gritty consistency but no flavor whatsoever. He was watching as she forced it down. He watched as she swallowed another mouthful. If she didn't find something to distract him, he was going to monitor every blessed milliliter she drank and every movement that she made. And if he looked a few inches lower, he couldn't miss the fact that her nipples were erect and pushing against her green silk blouse.

She met his eyes and cleared her throat. "You know, when we were coming up on the shuttle I thought you were sitting there doing nothing."

"That's all right. I thought the same about you."

"But you weren't doing nothing, were you? You were monitoring the flight performance."

"That's right. Monitoring, and estimating. That's my job, though it doesn't usually apply to shuttle flights. But you really
were
doing nothing."

"No." Maddy reached out for the drink that he had brought her. It was, thank God, coffee, hot and even drinkable. "I was watching the passengers. That's
my
job."

It was the wrong thing to say, and she knew it at once. He was leaning forward, palms flat on the table and eyes fixed on hers. "It's odd you should say that. I've been wondering since our first meeting, just what
is
your job? In fact, I don't really know what anyone does who works for the Argos Group."

You
are my job, you strange, sweet man. I'm assigned to you.
Maddy leaned forward also, and by an act of will kept her hands away from his. He, she noticed, had not eaten a bite. "There's a joke about that in the Argos Group. We say it's our goal to have a piece of everything, and do nothing. Maybe it's like your job. You're a top engineer, but you don't actually
make
anything, do you?"

"Not for a dozen years." He had a broad, full-lipped mouth, and it twisted downward. He didn't like giving her that answer.

"So what do you do?"

"You saw it today. I look and listen and analyze, then I tell other people to do things."

"Right. So would you say you're an engineer, one level removed?"

"Two, really. The people I tell then tell other people, or they instruct the machines. The rolfes do most of the real work."

"Well, it's the same with the Argos Group. We're managers, not engineers, but we bid contracts for major space projects, like the Aten asteroid capture and mining that you'll—that
we'll
be involved in." Maddy was puzzled. Gordy Rolfe had not told her that she would be involved beyond the initial phase. That
we
had pushed its way in from nowhere. She added, "But we don't perform the contracts. We farm them out, to companies who do the actual work."

"And what do
you
do?"

"I suppose that I'm like you. I'm a troubleshooter. I keep an eye on things that might go wrong, and I make sure that they don't. But I don't mean technical things. You listen to engines. I listen to people. And I watch them, and I steer them. Do you know what I've been thinking?"

Maddy was talking more than her share—more than she should—and he wasn't talking enough. She had seen the file on his background, he was a Scots-Irish mixture, but apparently the taciturn Scottishness came more easily to him than Irish blarney. She, on the other hand, didn't seem able to shut up. When he shook his head in answer to her question, she went on, "I was thinking that you and I live in two different worlds. Even when we are on the same shuttle flight, even when we sit in seats right next to each other, what we notice is totally different. Your world is mostly engines and numbers and performance levels, mine is mostly people and their interactions and their motives. It makes you wonder, could two people like us live happily together?"

Maddy was far out of her depth. She should not be talking this way, especially to her assignment. She felt one tongue-slip away from inviting him to bed. Gordy Rolfe would skin her if he ever found out, but John was looking intrigued and decidedly puzzled.

Change the subject.

What to?

Anything. Get
him
talking.

"How long have you been working on Sky City?"

Maddy knew the answer: He had come eleven years ago.

"Eleven years."

Bad question, if he could get away with two words.
"What made you decide to come here, instead of taking a job down on Earth?"

"Well . . ."
One-word answer. Come on, sweetie, you can do better than that.
"Well, you know what they say, the fool of the family goes to space. But down on Earth I trained as an engineer under Giorgio Hamman." He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for a nod of recognition.

Maddy had never heard of Giorgio Hamman, but John was talking at last. She nodded and repeated, "Giorgio Hamman."

"Right. Old Giorgio was over eighty when I met him, but he was still the best engineer in the world. I worked with him restoring the big suspension bridges that had been damaged after the supernova, and if I'd been left to myself, I would probably still be doing bridge work. But Giorgio wouldn't let me. He said, 'Bridge repairs are a good job for an old man, they bring back happy memories. The Messina Strait bridge, now, what that means to me. Hard days and hard nights, sunshine and wine and beautiful girls. But
you,
young fellow'—I was young, but I didn't feel it—'you, young fellow, you don't have those memories. You ought to be
building
memories, to keep you warm in your old age. You must go where the action is. The space shield is the toughest engineering job in the history of the world, and it presents problems and opportunities that no one has ever dreamed of. With the talent that you have, you ought to be out there. So I'm going to do you a big favor.' "

John smiled at Maddy. "You know what his 'big favor' was? Giorgio fired me. It didn't feel like much of a favor at the time. But he gave me a farewell party that lasted two days, and sent me off with a terrific recommendation to the space shield council. And here I am."

Building memories, to keep you warm in your old age—I like the sound of that. But I'm not building anything, and I wonder if you are, now that you're not working on the shield.

You love that old man, don't you? I bet the thought has never occurred to you. And did you know that when you smile like that, your eyes crinkle at the corners? I bet that has never occurred to you, either.

And I bet you don't realize there's not a dry seat in the house when you look at women like that.

Down, Maddy. But keep him talking, so you don't have to. He'll do it; you just have to push the right button.

"Is Giorgio Hamman still alive?"

"He's not only alive, he's out here in Sky City. He came four years ago, when he hit ninety. Not for the engineering, though—I've tried to get him involved in that, but he won't listen. He says he made a mistake. What we're doing with the shield isn't
real
engineering, the way that the big suspension bridges are engineering. Instead of the cables and girders and caissons that he's used to, we're piddling about with robots and computers and strands of gossamer. He says we're building a spiderweb. The fact that it's a hundred thousand kilometers long doesn't change things."

"If he doesn't like it, why does he stay on Sky City? Because it's easier on his heart?"

"Giorgio isn't worried about his heart. He says a good engineer doesn't have one. He stays here because he's sour on Earth. Maybe it's just an old man's memories, but the way he tells it, people on Earth before the supernova were different. More easygoing. I pointed out that there were twice as many people back then, but he says that's not what he means. Half the world died, but it doesn't explain why the ones who are left are so much tougher and more selfish."

You're describing Gordy Rolfe perfectly. Actually, you're describing the whole Argos Group. And I'm part of it. I'm the hotshot VP, the fastest gun in the place except for Gordy himself. And he's a disgusting, paranoid little shit.

Maddy had just enough self-control to say none of that. She was helped by something else that caught her attention. A woman had appeared at one of the hall entry staircases. She stood about fifteen meters away, regarding Maddy with a puzzled expression on her face.

Now she was walking toward them. Maddy did an instinctive point-by-point comparison.
About my height. Great carriage, sexy and regal at the same time—can't compete with that. Good figure, too, far as I can tell in those clothes—bet the men go ape over those breasts. Big, serious eyes. But they're sort of lifeless, I'll take mine any day. Nice auburn hair. Color looks natural. An odd style. And that's a strange hair comb, sort of tiara-shaped—looks like it's a real antique—

The woman halted at their table while Maddy was still busy with her inventory.

"Lauren. You got my message." John Hyslop finally saw the newcomer and gestured to her to sit down. "Come and join us."

John didn't notice as he made the introductions—of course he didn't, a geek engineer wasn't designed to pick up undertones—but some things are obvious even when you are drugged up to the eyes. Maddy could see that, so far as Lauren Stansfield was concerned, this meeting had one person too many.