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  Rhea pulled into the lot at the Angus Barn and pounced on an empty parking space. The Angus Barn was a good place, and it was always busy, even at eight p.m. during crappy, miserable weather. She ran the motor for a few minutes, waiting for a break in the rain. It didn't come, so she resigned herself to getting soaked and made a run for it. She wielded her small umbrella like a sword and let her briefcase fend for itself. A slightly damp young hostess got the door for her as Rhea stepped into the old building. It really had been a barn at one time.

  "Nice car," the hostess told Rhea as she checked the seating chart.

  "Thanks," Rhea said.

  "Will it really do two hundred?"

  "I don't know," Rhea admitted.

  "Wish I could take it out on a day like today—I've never driven a fast car in a storm like this."

  "Triumphs are too light to drive fast in bad weather," Rhea told her. Rhea thoroughly approved of the infant and child stages of the human life cycle. She would have loved to have had a childhood herself. Teenagers though, scared her, and she didn't scare easily. But she smiled and said, "Maybe the rain won't let up," in a voice that said she hoped the young woman got the chance to go out and speed through it. She didn't hope that, but she didn't want to be rude, either.

  "You think so?" The girl brightened. "I hope you're right. That'd be great." She looked into the vast main room. "Your reservation?"

  "Roberts, for eight o'clock."

  "Here you are... I can seat you now if you'd like."

  "Wonderful."

  "We'll put you at one twenty."

  "Good," Rhea said. "Mr. Roberts will be joining me shortly."

  "Got it," the hostess said, and led Rhea across the floor.

  Rhea sat and watched the table's hurricane lantern waltz shadows across the red and white squares of the table cloth. She wondered what was keeping Roberts. He'd probably run into the new construction on the interstate. On the best of days, that would slow him down ten minutes if he weren't expecting it, and today was not the best of days. Rhea considered the wine list as she waited. She settled on a glass of Chateau-Reep '85, and sipped thoughtfully, enjoying herself as her waiter pampered her. She had been in some so called "good" restaurants where the staff seemed to have forgotten just who was serving whom. Not here though. Her waiter was attentive without being smothering, and helpful without being obsequious.

  She took a cracker and loaded it with cheese from one of the three crocks on the table. Not bad.

  Roberts showed up about fifteen minutes late, looking a little pale. "Sorry," he said as they shook hands. "Some maniac in a Lincoln shot through the roadwork on I-40 doing eighty on the shoulder. An eighteen-wheeler jackknifed to miss him, and about a dozen cars piled into it. I was almost the thirteenth."

  "Are you okay?" Rhea asked in concern. "This can wait."

  He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Actually, as far as I can tell, no one was hurt, which has got to be a minor miracle." He sat down across from her and hefted the menu, which probably had more text than USA Today, although it had fewer pictures.

  "What looks good?" he asked. "It's been a year or three since I was here."

  "Well," Rhea said, "I think I'm going to start with the short ribs, but everything sounds wonderful, except maybe the broccoli."

  Roberts grinned. "Come on," he said, "how can you dislike such an essentially fractal vegetable?"

  "Well," Rhea said, "I prefer chaos theory myself, but it's certainly no strange attractor."

  Roberts settled on prime rib au jus, and after the waiter had taken their orders, he poured a glass of wine and sipped appreciatively. He did a good job of putting his traffic adventure behind him.

  "Well," he said after a moment, "I won't keep you in suspense." He set the wine glass down and rocked it around on its base. "I've been fighting a pitched battle the last few weeks, but I sneaked around their lines, came up from behind and yelled 'boo!' I don't think they knew what hit them, and I'm hoping they don't find out. If we can come to final terms today, I've got your funding."

  "That's good to hear," Rhea told him, trying to keep her voice calm and even. It was hard—what she really wanted to do was jump up and start singing like the frog in the old Warner's cartoon. Hello, my honey! Hello my baby! Hello, my ragtime gal! And wouldn't that have a salutatory effect on negotiations. She could still blow it, she reminded herself. She could be Michigan J. Frog on the way home if everything worked out. Rhea opened her briefcase, and pulled out a manila folder, which she offered to Roberts.

  "This is what my lawyers came up with, based on our last talk," she said. "I've read it, and taken out some of the more weasely sections. I think it's a good deal for both of us. See what you think."

  Roberts took the folder and skimmed the boilerplate with an expert eye. It didn't put him to sleep, though Rhea saw him suppress a yawn. When he hit the real meat of the contract, he pushed back from the table and read more slowly, absently whirling his half-full glass with his left hand. "Interesting," he said finally.

  Rhea wasn't sure that sounded good. "But?" she prompted.

  "Well," he said. "I don't see our little subagreement, the one where—"

  The Ride. Rhea suppressed a grin. She'd left that out on purpose to catch his attention and mask any other quibbles he might have had. She had him now.

  "I thought it might pay to be a little circumspect," she said. She held out a hand and took the folder back, flipping pages rapidly until she was about three-quarters of the way through. "Look here," she said and pointed to a short paragraph.

  "Primary TRITEL liaison representative will audit all final operational tests, wherever conducted..." Roberts read. He glanced from the paper to her, back to the paper, then back again to her. His eyebrow rose and a little half-smile curled across his lips. "Wherever conducted?"

  "Wherever," Rhea confirmed.

  The smile spread slowly across Robert's face until he was lit up like a lighthouse. He put the folder down carefully. "Ms. Samuels," he said, "we have a deal."

  It was all Rhea could do to stay in her seat, but she managed. "It just so happens that I have a pen with me," she told him. She smiled at her own excessive casualness—after all, he had to know what a boon this money was going to be for Celestial. "May I?" She took the contract and signed with a flourish, then passed the pen to him.

  "Shall I sign in blood, or will ink do?"

  Rhea winced. Even now, two years after the Unchaining, some people didn't take it seriously. "Not funny," she said. "Take my advice; don't ever joke about that. Not in North Carolina."

  Roberts looked properly chastised. "Sorry," he said, and signed his name with a bold sweep of the pen. "It's just so much like what we used to laugh at the Holy Rollers about that even now sometimes I can't take it seriously." He checked all the carbons and handed the contract back to Rhea. "Are you religious?"

  Rhea took the contract, separated the TRITEL carbon and put Celestial's copy in her briefcase. "No," she said. "Not religious at all. But I am... careful. Very, very careful." Which was true enough, she thought. She shut the case and spun the thumbwheels of the combination lock. "I don't believe in taking unnecessary risks." She set the case down and grinned. "I do have a pretty flexible definition of necessary though."

  Roberts smiled back at her and raised his glass. "A toast then," he said. "Ad astra per aspera. Bring on the necessary risks!" They clinked glasses and sipped appreciatively until the waiter arrived with the first course.

  The food was excellent, and they made amiable small talk as the Barn gradually emptied. Before Rhea knew it, she was using his first name, and he hers. Finally, over wedges of chocolate cheesecake so rich that Rhea could practically see the militant little calories overflowing her plate and mustering on the table cloth, Roberts got serious again.

  "You're an unusual woman, Rhea," he said. "Even today, it's still rare to find women in the sciences. And a physicist who understands business? Forget it."

  Rhea didn't like where th
is was heading. "And don't forget," she interrupted, "a physicist with 'great tits.'"

  Roberts paused, but he wasn't deflected. "Yes, they are," he admitted, "and you must have extraordinary eyes, too, to have read my screen from that angle at that distance. You weren't intended to see that. In my own defense, I'll say that it was a sincere appreciation from someone who intensely admires the female form, but realizes that packaging isn't everything." He looked her straight in the eyes. "And in your case, the content is quite as fine as the wrapper. I would consider it a great honor if I could see you socially sometime."

  Rhea had been afraid of that, and she didn't know why. Roberts was an attractive and interesting man, and she knew she could do worse. Had done worse, on several occasions. Somehow, though, the idea of the two of them just didn't feel right. She laid her hand on his and squeezed lightly. "Thanks, Al," she said. "That means a lot to me. And I want you to know that I think the same of you."

  "But—?" Roberts said.

  "But, I'm afraid I can't mix sin and business." She smiled a sincere, professional smile and met his eyes. She was lying through her teeth, but he couldn't know that. She'd mixed sin and business with relish before (and it had been an excellent sandwich, she thought. Best on whole wheat.).

  Roberts nodded. "Well the sin could wait," he said slowly. "But I understand." He freed his hand and proffered it. "Friends?"

  "Friends." Rhea took his hand again, and this time shook it. "Barbecues, movies, poker—you name it. Just no dancing."

  Roberts managed a convincing grin. "I can live with that," he said.

  Chapter 24

  "Jack!"

  Jack jumped backwards. His lab stool hit the floor and bounced twice; his multimeter swung from the probe he was holding and rapped him smartly on the breastbone. "Darnit, Jan! Don't do that!" He prodded his chest gingerly. That was going to bruise for sure.

  Jan didn't look very apologetic. In fact she looked pretty pleased with herself—or with him.

  "Why, Jack," she said, "I don't think I've ever heard you swear. That was—" She paused and considered. "—Lame. Very lame. Pathetic, even."

  Jack grinned. "Yeah. I guess it was, wasn't it?" He put down the multimeter and righted the stool. "So how do I merit a special yelling visit? I only paid for nonyelling."

  "You were resting your eyes so assiduously the first two times I called you, that I decided to throw in the third time for free."

  "I was sleeping? What time is it?"

  "Not that bad," she assured him. "It's only ten o'clock. I was doing a little work on my own time on the company computer, and noticed your light still on. But you look awful, Jack—the circles under your eyes are starting to get circles under their eyes. Go home!"

  Jack yawned. "You're right. It's just that I don't think I'll ever get a good night's sleep again until I crack this thing."

  "Look at it this way—if it's going to be bad no matter what you do, would you rather have a bad night's sleep in bed, or a bad night's sleep bent over a lab bench?"

  "Point taken." He stretched. The idea of bed seemed very welcoming right then. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

  Jack killed his bench light and locked the screen on his workstation. Jan flipped the overheads off, and they were out the door. All the other offices on the corridor were already dark. They headed for the stairs.

  "I got a call today," Jan said, "from an old friend at Rockwell. I've had my feelers out, and he says they're hiring. I told you I've got other offers. If I get this one, I think I'll have to take it. Shall I pass him your résumé, too? He's connected—it'll completely bypass Personnel."

  Jack held the stairwell door open and they started down. "Thanks, Jan. I've got my own in at Rockwell, but I'm not ready to use it. For now I'll tough it out here." He listened to his steps echoing in the stairwell and thought about working somewhere else, doing something else. "Where else am I going to get a chance to work on spaceships? To ride one? NASA? Forget it. It's been more than twenty-five years since they put a man on the moon, and they'd wet their shorts if anyone asked them to do it again." He gave Jan a tired smile. "I'm going to stick here until the bank starts carting off the furniture."

  They came out into the front lobby, and walked out into the parking lot. The night air was damp, but clean. The storm had moved off towards Raleigh. Jack waited while Jan rattled the doors behind them. The locks held.

  "I hear what you're saying," she said. She arched an eyebrow. "But are you sure that's your real reason?"

  "What do you mean?" he asked, but that was more a formality than anything; he figured he already knew what she was aiming at.

  "You couldn't have some other type of launch on your mind, could you? You know... what we were talking about the other day."

  He'd been right. "Yeah, I remember, but—"

  Jan reached up and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him down to her eye level. "Jack, I'm serious," she said. "Rhea's interested in you. I'm sure of it."

  "She tell you this?"

  "No. But she didn't have to. I've seen the way she looks at you. I've seen the expression on her face when your name comes up. You can go for it, or you can screw it up."

  "Or I can get fired for sexual harassment."

  Jan let go of his shoulder and grinned once more. "No," she said, "you can't harass your boss. Shit doesn't flow uphill—but if you play your cards right, you can be the harassee."

  He stood by her car as she opened the driver's door of the '55 and slid smoothly under the wheel. The dome light shone down on the trackless reaches of the back seat and Jack appreciated for the first time exactly what he had missed by being a teenager in the age of economy cars.

  She caught him lusting at her vehicle again and said, "Beats the hell out of a Volkswagen Rabbit, doesn't it?" She keyed the ignition. Jack nodded agreement, and stepped back. She dropped the three-on-the-tree into first, popped the clutch, and roared off for Cornwallis Road.

  Jack watched bemusedly for a second, then got into his own car, where he sat and thought. Maybe Jan was right. Should he make a serious play for Rhea? Jan was sure. Jan, however, was also sure that if Harrison Ford stopped into Celestial just once, he would fall head-over-heels in love with her and ask her to marry him. He needed to keep that little data point in mind before turning his life over because of something Jan said.

  Right now, he was one out of two in the relationship arena. That wasn't a great record, but he'd hate to drop it to one out of three. He especially didn't want to go to one out of three by being pushy. He yawned and turned the key.

  The Camry started smoothly and ran like silk. It might not have the flash and power of a '55 Chevy, but he'd love to see anyone get three hundred thousand miles on today's Detroit iron. Before he could take that thought any farther, a car turned off Cornwallis and headed across the lot straight at him. He was caught like a possum in the headlights. He gripped the wheel and spun it frantically with his left hand while his right slammed the stick shift at the elusive reverse, the bane of all Toyotas. The shift clicked home, and he threw out the clutch. The Camry bucked but didn't move. The brake! He released the hand brake and the car began to pivot, but there was no way he was going to make it. His heart was pounding and sweat rolled down his forehead. Jack braced for a crash.

  Suddenly the oncoming lights swerved to the side, and he heard the screech of brakes as the other car came to a stop beside him. Gradually his dazzled eyes began to work again, and he could see Jan rolling down her driver's window.

  "Hey," she called. "You were looking pretty ragged when I pulled out. Just wanted to make sure you didn't drive home asleep. I could just see you forgetting and going in the front door."

  Jack pried his hand from the wheel. There were new indentations in the hard plastic. The front and back of his shirt were soaked with sweat and he was aware of each individual beat of his heart. "Thanks, Jan," he said finally. "I don't think sleep will be a problem now."

  She threw him a cheerful wave, yelled, "G
reat," and peeled back out of the parking lot.

  He watched her taillights as she left again, then turned his car off and got out as the engine rumbled to a stop. He thumbed around his key ring for his building key. He was suddenly wide awake. Might as well make some use of it.

  Chapter 25

  Connie Franklin was a tiny girl, Glibspet thought. She might be flirting with her hundredth pound, but it hadn't slept over yet. What there was of her was nicely rounded, naturally blond and on public display—he could see how she had passed for the eighteen her big sister's ID claimed. Not that the penthouse suite of the downtown hotel was any place for big sis, either.

  Trouble in school, trouble in church, boyfriend nixed by her folks, and every Full Mental Jackit CD ever made in her room, and band posters on the wall... it hadn't been too hard to find Connie. Not with the Fulmens coming to town for a two-night gig.

  She'd been in the lobby with the rest of the wannabees when he'd found her that morning, but after he'd dropped a penthouse elevator key by her feet the rest was inevitable. Now it was time to reap the rewards of his careful planning.

  Glibspet looked at his watch. He had six minutes left. It was funny; he'd never synchronized watches before, but Connie's mother had insisted on it. She'd seen it in a movie once, and felt that this was The Way Detectives Worked, and if they didn't work that way, they damned well ought to. He'd left her down in the car, her own watch gripped tightly in her left hand, while she crossed herself feverishly with her right. That and her incessant praying had moved his start time up by several minutes. There had to be a limit to what he would put up with for a couple of souls and a lot of cash, and sitting in the car with that woman was several steps beyond it.

  He checked his watch again—time to make his move.

  Glibspet crossed the room slowly, navigating the thick marijuana haze like a plane on instruments. He stopped by Connie. "Why don't you come downstairs with me, sweetcheeks?" he suggested.

  She looked up at him. Glibspet watched the rapid calculation in those sullen eyes. He obviously wasn't in the band and didn't even look like a roadie. No way was she going to let some other groupie get a piece of her.