"Mike, I can't believe it," Bates said, hanging up the phone. The one
in his office was among the few still working, and it had been ringing
off the wall. "Know who that was?"
Vance had not been paying heavy-duty attention. He had been thinking
about the woman out there now talking to the computer hacker with the
scraggly beard.
"What? Sorry, Bill, I wasn't listening."
"Hey," he laughed. "Your mental condition isn't what it might be. Tell
you the truth, you look like a guy who just mixed it with a twenty-
horsepower fan, and lost. You really ought to go over to medical and
get your face looked after."
"The Deltas are probably still over there. If I showed up, I might just
get arrested. Don't think I could handle an interrogation right now.
Better to hide out for a while longer." The fact was, he still felt too
disoriented to think about how he must look. He hurt all over, and he
almost didn't care.
"Whatever you say." Bates shrugged. "Anyway, that guy on the phone just
now was a Jap by the name of Matsugami. He just happens to run NASDA."
"What's that?" Vance asked, trying to clear his mind enough to remember
the initials. The information was back there somewhere, but he just
couldn't reach it.
"You really are out of it, buddy. You of all people ought to know
perfectly well it's their National Space Development Agency. He says
they're disgusted with all the failures they've been having with the
American and European commercial rockets. He wants to talk about a
contract for SatCom to put up their next three broadcast satellites.
That means we get to haggle for six months while they try to trim my
foreskin, but I think we'll get the job. Laser propulsion is suddenly
the hottest thing since Day-Glo condoms. That bastard who took us over
just gave us a billion dollars of publicity." He laughed. "I'd almost
like to kiss what's left of his ass, except it's probably somewhere in
the ozone about now."
"Well, congratulations."
"Wait till Cally hears about this. She just may go into orbit herself."
"You've been on the phone for an hour." After Peretz was carried out,
he had collapsed onto the couch in Bates' office and tried to go to
sleep, but the goings-on had made it impossible. Bates had been talking
nonstop. "What else is happening out there in the world Ramirez was
planning to nuke?"
"He did nuke it. He just didn't manage to nuke it the place he
intended." Bates leaned back in his chair. "Well, it turns out good
news travels fast. Since VX-1 is up, our two prime banks in Geneva are
suddenly engaged in intimate contact between their lips and my nether
parts. 'Roll over your obligations? _Mais oui, Monsieur Bates.
Certainement. Avec plaisir. _Will you need any additional
capitalization? We could discuss an equity position.' The cocksuckers.
It was almost a shame to piss away that weapon on empty space. I could
have thought of a much better use."
"Hallelujah." He felt his spirits momentarily rise, though not his
energy. "Maybe this means all that stock you paid me for the boat will
end up being worth the paper it's printed on. Truthfully, I was
beginning to worry."
"Told you it'd all work out," he grinned. "No faith. Come on, amigo,
I've got to break the news to the troops." He strode to the door, or
the opening that was left after the C-4 had removed the door, and
surveyed the remains of Command. The technicians and systems analysts
were filing back in, but mostly it was a scene of purposeful lethargy.
The horror of the last day and a half had taken a terrible toll. Eyes
were vacant, hair unkempt, motions slow and aimless. Several of those
who had previously quit smoking were bumming cigarettes.
He whistled with two fingers, and the desultory turmoil froze in place.
"Okay, everybody," he said, his voice not quite a shout. "It's
official. We're back in business. You've all still got a job."
The glassy-eyed stares he received back suggested nobody's thoughts had
extended that far yet. Nobody was in a particular mood to let
themselves think about the future.
"That's the good part," Bates went on, oblivious. "The other news is
there won't be bonuses or stock dividends this year. We'll be lucky
just to service our debt. But anybody who hangs in there for twelve
months gets half a year's pay extra, as a bonus. I'll do it out of my
own pocket if I have to. And if you play your cards right, we could be
talking stock options, too."
There were a few smiles and thumbs-up signs, more to hearten Bates,
whom they revered, than to celebrate. Nobody had the capacity left to
feel particularly festive. At the same time, nobody was about to
abandon ship. Not now, now that they were needed more than ever.
Vance was leaning on the wall behind him, watching it all and thinking.
Okay, so Bill was about to be rich, and SatCom had gotten enough free
publicity to last into the next century. But the real notoriety should
be going to the question that had haunted the world for four decades:
what would happen if terrorists got their hands on a nuclear device?
This time the consequences--although intended to be devastating--had in
fact been peripheral, an inconsequential detonation somewhere halfway
into space. But the question that still hung over the world was, what
would happen the next time? It was a question Bill Bates had too much
on his mind today to think about. Maybe he never would.