A one-way ticket to the Moon. Just thinking about it made Maria feel cold inside. But with people trying to kill her and Rik nowhere to be found, what else could she do? She couldn't go to her sister's or to any of her friends. She'd only be taking the danger to them. And she wanted to put that damned package firmly into Rik's hands and make it his problem again.
“First time?”
The voice had come from the seat next to hers. “Sorry?”
“In space? You seem a bit nervous.”
The speaker was a woman in late middle age. Maria studied her carefully. She looked harmless enough. She was even holding a bundle of knitting in her lap. Could they have found her already? She'd paid cash for everything. She'd used false names whenever she could. But she'd had to use her cogplus at the passport scanner. Would they have access to government datastreams? Would they have people on the inside watching for her leaving the country? And if they did, how did they get the old woman on the gondola so quickly, and in the seat next to hers?
Shaking her head, she relaxed into her seat, laughing at herself.
“I'm sorry,” she told the woman. “Yes, it's my first time. I should try to relax more. I'm driving myself nuts worrying about every little thing.”
“That's right. Now me, I'm a seasoned traveller. I've been whizzing up and down this wire since they built it when I was a little girl. And I'm pretty sure I'll wear out before it does.” She gave a small, cackling laugh. “My name's Kirsty – bit old-fashioned, but then, so am I. Kirsty Winters.”
Maria introduced herself. “What takes you up into space so often?”
“Men. Husband was an astro-engineer. Worked on half the cities on the Moon, spent most of his life up there. I wouldn't stay with him. The Moon's no place to raise kids. So I used to go and visit a lot. He passed away nearly ten years ago. Molotov's Syndrome. You ever hear of it? You get it from breathing too much of that moondust. Rots your lungs.”
“I'm sorry. He can't have been very old.”
Kirsty Winters gave a dismissive wave. “Occupational hazard. At least I don't have to worry about Bren going that way.”
“Bren?”
“My oldest boy. He's an engineer too. Working on Alltheway Station. Only thing I need worry about with him is solar storms. They're killers, those storms.” She paused and put a hand on Maria's arm. “You should look out the window, you know. You're missing the view.”
Maria turned away from the chatty old lady and looked out at the view. The sky above had turned to a velvety twilight, while below, the Gulf of Mexico shone like polished silver. The coasts of Louisiana, Texas and Mexico itself were a beige arc at the limits of her vision.
“Wow.” She'd seen it on vids, of course, but the reality made her heart skip a beat. She was in space. Just a couple of hundred kilometres up – she still had weight, even – but space, all the same.
“Still a long way to go,” Kirsty said. “But I like the view from around here. There ain't nothing can beat it.”
Maria watched her planet inching slowly away from her, and wondered how long it might be before she could go back. The ground below looked bright and inviting, while above her, a terrible darkness was gathering.
-oOo-
“What do you mean, he's disappeared?” Newton Cordell rounded on his wife, eyes bulging.
“Don't take that tone with me. I'm not one of your nasty little henchmen.” She sat down in one of the square-sided armchairs, her white business suit matching the white leather, her long legs sliding against one another as she crossed them.
Cordell looked away sharply and made an effort to control himself. “I'm sorry, darling. But you know how important this is!”
Peth picked up a reader from a coffee table and began flicking through the pages of a magazine. “His wife's gone, too,” she said.
“His wives, you mean. Two wives. The evil, fornicating...” He pulled himself up. “Both dead.”
Peth kept flicking through the magazine. “I mean his ex-wife. The one in New York. When our people got to her house, they found a dead man and no trace of the woman.”
“Why would she run?” Cordell asked. He steered his wheelchair erratically about the enormous room, its motors whining and pausing, whining and pausing. He needed the practice.
“Because people are trying to kill her?”
“Did they search the house?”
“Of course, but it had already been ransacked before we got there. There was nothing left to find.” She looked across at him. “You know we'll find her again, don't you?”
Cordell ignored her. “Our people in the FBI say the Bonomi woman doesn't know anything. Her husband is still in a coma and might not live. We should search that bar in Heinlein. Get somebody on that right away. And stake it out. Drew might go back there.”
He shook his head. His voice, when he spoke again, was full of admiration. “How in the world did they get to him before we did? We've got the police in our pockets, scores of agents all over the world; we even put a tracker in him! Yet that black-skinned demon just whisks him into space like... like Satan taking our Lord up to a high place.”
Peth snorted. “I don't think you can really compare Drew to Jesus, darling. You'd understand if you'd ever met him.”
Again, Cordell turned to his wife. “This is no time for flippancy. What's the matter with you? You're acting as if losing track of both of them hardly matters.”
Peth finally put down her reader and gave Cordell some attention. “It's a setback, that's all. We always knew there was a chance we might lose track of him. But as long as Lanham's people have him, we'll find him again. And what does it matter? He doesn't have the phials. We're pretty sure the wife has them.”
Cordell stared at her, blinking for several seconds. “They blew GeneWerken up. They are trying to ensure that I can't have another batch brewed. And how could I, when the half-dozen people alive who knew how to do it have all been killed?”
“Killed? All of them?”
“Yes. All of them. Some died in the explosion. The rest met with accidents, all in the last couple of days.”
“Are we sure it's Lanham who sent that zombie after the package? They seem to have become too violent too soon.”
Cordell shook his head and continued his motorised wanderings. “I know. There's something not quite right about it. My sources tell me it's the Mafia. The Chicago Mob, would you believe? But why would they want to become involved? How would they even know what this is all about? I need you to dig deeper into this. I need us to pray for guidance. There's something strange going on, someone else hiding in the shadows.” He spun his wheelchair to face her. “And I need you to find Drew and that damned woman.”