DS02 Night of the Dragonstar by Thomas F. Monteleone, David Bischoff Page A

remember the pictures I showed you?”
    “Oh yes,” said Geoffrey, a slim and sturdy lad who seldom smiled. “Star batsman and all that, you’ve told us. But really, Father, cricket is just old hat, and besides, it’s much too English for me. If I told my friends at school you were teaching us cricket, they’d just laugh themselves silly. I mean, cricket is the sort of game Prime Minister O’Dowd plays, and who wants to be like the old boy, with all his funny clothes?”
    Coopersmith tossed the cricket ball away. He let go of his anger. After all, he was trying to get closer to his children, not alienate them. They’d grown up so much in the time that he’d been away. And many times during his absence he’d thought he’d never see Brian and Geoff — or their mother, Leticia — again. That’s why he was back here at home now, why he’d made preparations to resign from the IASA and was looking for a job in London. To make up for the time he’d lost, to try to find his life back on Earth again.
    He clapped his hands with an air of exasperated gaiety. “Right, then. Football it is. I suppose we can get Brian to exercise a little more — he’s getting rather roly-poly of late. Eh, Brian?”
    “He eats far too many sweets, Father,” said Geoff.
    “Oh, shut up, Geoff. I’ll tell him about your little dolly girl.”
    They began kicking the ball around, and Geoffrey managed to plant an accidental-on-purpose kick in Brian’s shin. Brian collapsed in exaggerated tears.
    “Now what the devil was that all about, Geoff?” Ian demanded after making sure his youngest wasn’t maimed.
    “God, you look at the little wimp cross-eyed and he breaks into tears. It was just an accident anyway, Father, you needn’t beat me.” He looked down at Ian’s tight grip on his forearm. “Mother strongly disapproves of that sort of discipline, you know.”
    “Well, I don’t, and the next time I catch you doing anything like that, I’m going to ...”
    Suddenly he was aware of his wife’s presence at the back door. Leticia was watching him expressionlessly, as though waiting to see what he was going to do next.
    “Phone call, Ian,” she said, her arms crossed.
    “If it’s another from the media, tell them simply no comment,” Ian said, letting go of his oldest son’s arm.
    “It’s Winston Arnold, Ian,” she said.
    “Well, in that case I’d better talk to him.” Arnold was actually a friend. Coopersmith had known him a long time. They even had the same school tie, though that had just been a joke. He was with the BBC, and he seldom used his friendship with Ian to get any kind of information. Maybe this was about something other than the Dragonstar.
    “You should invite Winnie over for dinner sometime,” Leticia suggested, a smile coming naturally to her attractive oval face.
    “Excellent idea,” Coopersmith said, striding past her into their model kitchen, done in shades of blue and green. He picked up the receiver. “Hello there, Winnie. Thanks so much for the nice letter. You did a wonderful job on that story. The only decent one I’ve seen.”
    “Oh, super, Ian, because I rather have a favor to ask,” came the less than cheerful voice over the phone.
    “Something wrong, old boy?”
    “Well, normally I wouldn’t do this with you — you changing your phone number for privacy and everything — but Ian, I’ve been put under a bit of pressure to at least approach you on the subject.”
    “Subject? You mean the Dragonstar? Winnie, I told you all that I’m ever going to tell anyone.”
    “Yes, yes, Ian, I know. But there’s been a leak concerning some incident of violence on the ship. IASA hasn’t released anything official yet, and I thought you might know something specific.”
    “Violence? What sort of violence?”
    “Then you’ve heard nothing about it?”
    “No.”
    “Oh, good. Well then, I feel much relieved. I can just tell the top boys that and they’ll get off my back. Believe me, it