Zero-G (36 page)

Jim walked slowly around the building toward the back. The man named Alderman followed. “If there's a problem, I'm not aware of it.”

“Have you spoken to Ground Control or whoever you talk to in there?”

That had been a bit of a puzzler. “Of course.”

“Was it everything you expected?”

Jim hesitated, reluctant to admit that he had detected a note of stress and detachment in the Ground Control tech's voice, but beyond that, there was nothing indicating a problem. The pilot told Alderman so.

“What about communication with your spacecraft. Have you been able to maintain contact with them?”

Jim told him no. “Once the craft separate I lose contact with
Legacy
. Part of that is by design — too many people trying to speak to the spacecraft at one time muddles communication. Even in Ground Control, only one person can speak to the pilot at a time.”

“You don't know if everyone is safe?”

“If they weren't, I would know about it.” Jim started to turn.

“Then tell me why the monitors are blank.”

Jim redirected his gaze to the monitors spaced out before the crowd — the monitors that allowed some of the guests a view of the video feed from
Legacy
. “It's possible we've lost the video feed for a short time. Such things happen.”

“It happened during test flights?” Alderman was becoming edgy.

Jim was beginning to lose patience with the man.

“Just what kind of bad guy do you think is in there?”

Alderman looked around, lowered his voice, and said, “I've been tracking Edwin Quain for well over a year. He's smart, he always has a plan, he never makes a mistake, and he has a loose gear up here.” He tapped his head. “He also has a thing against Commander Tucker.”

“What do you mean ‘a thing'?”

“Quain was in the Navy but not for very long. He never finished his enlistment. Our background research shows that he was bounced out of the ser vice for several things, including a complaint filed by then Lieutenant Tucker.”

“What kind of complaint?”

“Quain was a pharmacist mate on the same aircraft carrier as Tucker. His name then was Edward Yates. Since then, he's had several identities. Someone told Tucker that Quain had been stealing medications —drugs — and selling them to other members of the crew. Tuck confronted him and with the help of Quain's supervisors was able to find Quain's stash.”

“That would get a man booted pretty quick,” Jim agreed. The pilot looked Alderman over again as if in doing so he would somehow be able to read the man's thoughts. “All right, let's assume for moment I believe you. What do you think your man is doing in there?”

“He has a sophisticated MO. His weapon of choice is a biological agent he created while working for my client's firm. Actually, I think he's created several bio-agents. Some work faster than others. Maybe he has a way of slowing the effects or speeding them up. I don't know for sure. Some have died quickly, while others die hours later.”

“What firm?”

“I'm not going to tell you that. Truth is they're not really my client anymore.”

Jim crossed his arms. “Did you get canned?”

A shadow of emotion passed over Alderman's face. “No, I would be fine with that. Quain killed the people who hired me. He used a biological agent spread on a letter that appeared to be from the IRS. I'm afraid he's planning on using the same agent inside the hangar.”

“Look, pal, if this guy is such a bad man, why haven't you called the police? If what you say is true, there should be cops all over the place.”

“We don't have time to argue about this. I've told you, Quain always has a plan. I'm the best there is in this business, and he's been evading me for well over a year. If cops show up, then I'm sure he will turn this into a hostage situation. I don't want that and neither do you. I can guarantee that several, maybe scores of people would die.”

Jim placed his hands behind his back and began a slow stroll away from the hangar to the area behind the bleachers. He could hear the crowd talking eagerly, and a few complaining about the blacked-out monitors. Alderman walked by his side.

“There's something else you should know.” The words came from Alderman with difficulty. “Quain is responsible for the
Atlantis
tragedy.”

Jim stopped and stared Alderman in the eyes. “Investigators deemed that the accident was caused by a faulty dermal patch . . .” Jim let his words trail off as the comment percolated to the forefront of his mind. Alderman was telling him who his client was without actually revealing the name. A mistake? No, Jim reasoned. “The company that made the dermal patch was investigated thoroughly and found guilty of producing a faulty product. As I recall, it was all due to the malfunction of a machine.”

“You remember correctly.”

“You're telling me somebody inside a company purposely poisoned the dermal patches that killed the
Atlantis
crew?”

“I have said no such thing.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “You're not denying it either.”

“I don't think we have much time.”

“Hey, mister?”

Jim looked down and saw a blond-haired boy no older than eight. He held a pen and piece of paper. Jim knew where this was headed. “Yes.”

“You're the guy who flew the plane, right. The one that took the spaceship up?”

“That's me.”

“Can I have your autograph?”

“Um, sure. Why not?” Jim took the pad and pen and began to write. A moment later, he handed it back to the child and as he did, he caught sight of something beneath the bleachers. “Is that your backpack, son?”

“No, sir. It belongs to the man who drove that car.” He pointed at a black Lincoln Continental. “He left it there. I think it's his lunch or something. He was kind of strange.”

“Strange how?”

The voice shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe it was his ear. He had a funny-looking ear. Anyway, thanks for the autograph, mister.”

Jim said the boy was welcome and looked at Alderman. The blood had drained from his face.

THIRTY-FOUR

M
ayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Benjamin Tucker, commander of the commercial spacecraft
Legacy
.I'm declaring a medical emergency. Repeat, I'm declaring a medical emergency. Request instructions for landing.”

The return to Earth had been painfully slow for Tuck. Had the situation been otherwise, he would have enjoyed what amounted to a leisurely fall. With family and friends in danger, the cabin full of dying people, he longed for the rapid descent of the old Space Shuttle. The computer provided the proper guidance and brought
Legacy
into the thickening atmosphere in long lingering loops. It had taken an eternity to reach this point.

Tuck keyed the mike again and tried to raise the control tower at Edwards Air Force Base fifty miles away from where he had taken off that morning. He had changed the radio frequency to match that used by military aircraft. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Benjamin Tucker, commander of the commercial spacecraft
Legacy
. I have a medical emergency. Repeat, I'm declaring a medical emergency. Request instructions for landing.”

“Stand by,
Legacy.” Even over the headset, Tuck could tell the air traffic controller was confused. In his mind, he could see the man speaking to his superior and wondering if this were some kind of drill or joke.
“Um,
Legacy,
this is restricted airspace. You do not have
clearance to land.”

“Edwards, I repeat this is a medical emergency. I need ambulances standing by.” Tuck wasn't going to take no for an answer. In point of fact, he couldn't take no for an answer.

“Legacy,
you are hereby ordered off approach. We recommend
SCLA.”

Southern California Logistics Airport was too far and much too public. Not that it mattered now; Tuck had committed himself to Edwards Air Force Base the moment he entered information into the onboard computer. “Negative, Edwards. I am without power and in direct line with you. It's you or nothing.”

“Stand by,
Legacy.”

“You're going to make some general very unhappy.” Lance's words were soft but clear and the sound of them gave Tuck a moment of hope. His mind stumbled back to Jess and her fractured speech as the effects of the stroke that took her life manifested.

“Not a problem, buddy. I plan to blame you.”

“Somehow . . . I figured that.”

Tuck reached to his copilot and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Your job is to live to give me a bad time about it later.”

“Count on it.”

A new voice came over the headset. “Legacy,
this is
Colonel Riggins. Did we hear you right? You said your
name was Benjamin Tucker?”

“Roger that, Edwards. Commander Benjamin Tucker, United States Navy, retired.”

“My intel says you're supposed to be on the other side
of the desert.”

“Affirmative, Colonel Riggins. I hate to be a party crasher, but I need to sit down on your runway and I need to do it soon.”

“Legacy,
you're cleared to land on runway two-two.
Please be advised that we have gusty winds at one thousand
feet. Winds diminish below that. Copy that you
have a medical emergency. How many souls on board?”
The voice came from the traffic controller.

“Six souls. Two are crew. Five need immediate medical attention. Please be advised that we have a high-ranking member of government on board.”

“High ranking? Understood,
Legacy.”

“Runway two-two, Edwards, and . . . thanks.”

“You may thank me in person, Commander Tucker —
and you had better be Commander Tucker. Have I made
myself clear?”
Riggins had come online again.

“Colonel, there are days when I wish I wasn't.”

As they descended toward the long wide runway of Edwards Air Force Base, Tuck hit the switch that lowered the landing gear. He heard them rumble and lock into place. The airspeed of
Legacy
immediately dropped.

Approaching from the east, Tuck could see the brown desert turn pale beige as he passed over the dry lakebed on approach to the runway. It was the long runway and the land-capable lakebed that made Edwards Air Force Base the alternate landing site for all Space Shuttle missions. More than one crew had set down here; now
Legacy
was about to do the same.

As they dropped to a thousand feet of altitude, strong gusts of wind pushed the craft to the side and caused it to bounce in unsettling ways. The computer compensated beautifully and a few minutes later, it was clear flying. Tuck took hold of the controls and finished the landing manually. The
Legacy
rolled along the hard runway, and the sound of rubber tires on concrete reverberated through the spaceship. To Tuck, it sounded like music. A few minutes later, Tuck brought the craft to a halt.

Tuck released his harness and made his way to the door, where he released its locks, opened it, and extended the airstairs. Several military vehicles pulled alongside, as did the military police. Colonel Riggins was easy to identify both by bearing and in the way the men looked to him for leadership. Tuck didn't need to see the icon of rank.

Four medics started for the stairs, and Tuck extended a hand to stop them where they were. They looked confused. “Masks and gloves. There's something in their flight suits that made them sick. This is the same thing that happened on
Atlantis
. Watch their blood pressure.” No sooner had the last syllable flown from Tuck's lips than he was down the stairs. The colonel was there to meet him.

“I hoped to meet you, Commander, but I never expected it would be like this. Let me get a medic to look at you.”

“No need, Colonel, I'm fine, but I do need your help, and I need it fast.” . . .

Jim entered the code into the keypad lock on the rear door to the hangar and pushed it open, making certain it closed behind him. He entered like a man victorious from a successful flight, took several steps, and then stopped in his tracks. He stood frozen in place, taking in the scene. He already imagined what it would be like, but it was important for him to play his part. “Well, I feel like I'm interrupting something.”

“That's because you are. Who are you?” The man asking the questions did so with a confident air about him. Jim took in every detail of his appearance and couldn't help noticing a banged-up ear on the side of the man's head.

“Maybe I should be asking you that.”

“I'm your new host and I brought party games.” He held up the gun and an electronic device that Jim couldn't quite make out. “Now once again, who are you?”

Jim didn't answer. He was afraid that if he appeared too cool he might tip his hand.