emotions, and gave up. Words weren’t actions, and never would be. Luckily, he was a civilian. His offense against the moral equilibrium fell awkwardly between statutes. A Federal prosecutor introduced a charge, based on deprivation of the civil rights of everyone in the United States, but it was thrown out; after all, it was the Indians who’d been threatened. And in the public scuffle NASA kept very quiet, stepping gingerly around the fact that Dave had been lying behind that media-measured Cheshire-cat grin of his. The whole story about Icarus skipping on the upper atmosphere, like a child’s accurately skimmed rock, was a hastily improvised song and dance.
And so it had passed.
After a year and a final receding volley from the
Times
(“Remembering the Abyss”), other worries furrowed the world’s brows. Once out of the limelight, NASA began gently easing Len and Nigel out. Oddly enough, in obscurity lay more threat. Exposure of Dave’s lie in full view would have cost NASA support on all sides. But if the facts wobbled into view before an obscure committee, years later, it would do little harm; timing was everything. The trump cards he and Len held slowly devalued, like an inflated currency. Thus the worst time came when he could finally walk into a supermarket without being harangued, insulted, treated to a garlic-breathed debate.
That, too, he had survived.
“Ready yet?” Alexandria said, bringing the jug of orange juice into the dining nook. It rattled with ice cubes.
“Right.” Nigel shook off his mood and fetched the souffle. As he served it up with a broad wooden spoon, the crust cracked and exhaled a cloud smelling of omelette. They ate quickly, both hungry. It was their policy to eat virtually no supper and a thorough breakfast; Alexandria felt the body would use the breakfast through the day, and simply turn a supper into fat.
“Shirley’s coming over after supper tonight,” Alexandria said.
“Good. You finish that novel she gave you?” Alexandria sniffed elegantly. “Nope. It was mostly the usual wallowing in postmodernist angst, with technicolor side shows.”
Nigel popped a Swebitter grape into his mouth; his lips puckered at its tartness.
Alexandria reached for a grape and winced. “Damn.” “Wrists still hurting?”
“I thought they were getting better.” She held her right wrist in the other hand and wriggled it experimentally. Her face pinched for an instant and she stopped. “Nope, it’s still there, whatever it is.”
“Perhaps you sprained it.”
“Both wrists simultaneously? Without noticing it?” “Seems unlikely.”
“Damn,” Alexandria said abruptly. “You know, I don’t believe I want those Brazilians to get our company after all.”
“Uh? I thought—”
“Yes, yes, I started it all. Made the first moves. But damn it, it’s
ours.
We could use the capital, sure …” She twisted her mouth sidewise in a familiar gesture of irritation. “… but I didn’t realize…!”
“That was part of the soft sell, though. They’d get something thoroughly American—
American
Airlines.”
“Compared to us, the way we do things, those preening dandies can’t tie their shoelaces without an instruction manual. They don’t
know.
”
“Ah.” He enjoyed watching the flush of eagerness and zest stealing the cool and proper manner from her features. Watching her this way, chattering on about indices and margins and accountable funds, suspended halfway between the soft and easy Alexandria of the night, emerging into the precise, efficient executive of the day, he knew again why he loved her.
He left for the Lab a few minutes after Alexandria, as soon as he could finish the dishes, and barely caught his bus. It meandered along Fair Oaks, three-quarters filled even this late in the morning. Nigel pulled his personal earjacks out of his pocket and plugged into the six-channel audio track. He tuned out a jingle suitable for morons, a sportscast ditto, paused at
And so it had passed.
After a year and a final receding volley from the
Times
(“Remembering the Abyss”), other worries furrowed the world’s brows. Once out of the limelight, NASA began gently easing Len and Nigel out. Oddly enough, in obscurity lay more threat. Exposure of Dave’s lie in full view would have cost NASA support on all sides. But if the facts wobbled into view before an obscure committee, years later, it would do little harm; timing was everything. The trump cards he and Len held slowly devalued, like an inflated currency. Thus the worst time came when he could finally walk into a supermarket without being harangued, insulted, treated to a garlic-breathed debate.
That, too, he had survived.
“Ready yet?” Alexandria said, bringing the jug of orange juice into the dining nook. It rattled with ice cubes.
“Right.” Nigel shook off his mood and fetched the souffle. As he served it up with a broad wooden spoon, the crust cracked and exhaled a cloud smelling of omelette. They ate quickly, both hungry. It was their policy to eat virtually no supper and a thorough breakfast; Alexandria felt the body would use the breakfast through the day, and simply turn a supper into fat.
“Shirley’s coming over after supper tonight,” Alexandria said.
“Good. You finish that novel she gave you?” Alexandria sniffed elegantly. “Nope. It was mostly the usual wallowing in postmodernist angst, with technicolor side shows.”
Nigel popped a Swebitter grape into his mouth; his lips puckered at its tartness.
Alexandria reached for a grape and winced. “Damn.” “Wrists still hurting?”
“I thought they were getting better.” She held her right wrist in the other hand and wriggled it experimentally. Her face pinched for an instant and she stopped. “Nope, it’s still there, whatever it is.”
“Perhaps you sprained it.”
“Both wrists simultaneously? Without noticing it?” “Seems unlikely.”
“Damn,” Alexandria said abruptly. “You know, I don’t believe I want those Brazilians to get our company after all.”
“Uh? I thought—”
“Yes, yes, I started it all. Made the first moves. But damn it, it’s
ours.
We could use the capital, sure …” She twisted her mouth sidewise in a familiar gesture of irritation. “… but I didn’t realize…!”
“That was part of the soft sell, though. They’d get something thoroughly American—
American
Airlines.”
“Compared to us, the way we do things, those preening dandies can’t tie their shoelaces without an instruction manual. They don’t
know.
”
“Ah.” He enjoyed watching the flush of eagerness and zest stealing the cool and proper manner from her features. Watching her this way, chattering on about indices and margins and accountable funds, suspended halfway between the soft and easy Alexandria of the night, emerging into the precise, efficient executive of the day, he knew again why he loved her.
He left for the Lab a few minutes after Alexandria, as soon as he could finish the dishes, and barely caught his bus. It meandered along Fair Oaks, three-quarters filled even this late in the morning. Nigel pulled his personal earjacks out of his pocket and plugged into the six-channel audio track. He tuned out a jingle suitable for morons, a sportscast ditto, paused at
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