Zero-G

by Alton Gansky

  “What is?”

  “NASA has so much security. I could get family tours from time to time, but Roos allows much more intimate tours for the families of his workers. There are some secrets, of course, but at least you can get close enough to see inside and touch things.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Have you met the passengers yet?”

  “No. I know about them. I’ve read their files. Lance Campbell has been handling their training.”

  “I assume there’s still bad blood between you two.”

  “I’m afraid so. He’s still arrogant and he still blames me for his finishing lower at Annapolis than I did. Ridiculous.”

  Ben swiveled his head from side to side. “He accused you of cheating.”

  “He never believed the decision of the investigation. His allegations were groundless. I graduated in the top five of the class and he a little farther back. I got a couple of choice assignments in the Navy and he got a couple of dogs. Still, he proved himself a capable pilot and sailor.”

  “That’s the problem with some people. They can’t be happy at being great as long as someone finishes ahead of them. Is he going to be a problem for you?”

  “No. He’s let me know that he still resents me. We’ve had words but nothing too bad. I’ve only wanted to punch him five or six times. Roos keeps a tight leash on him.”

  “How did he take the news that you were selected to be the lead pilot on the first flight?”

  “Not well, but I’m not fooling myself. Roos gave me that position because of its marketing value. I have higher name recognition — unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.”

  “I’ve never met someone so uncomfortable with being considered a hero.”

  “We’ve been through this, Dad. I’m no hero. I didn’t even land the Shuttle; they did that from the ground.”

  “But you did do your best to save lives and fought against crippling illness to do so.”

  “I did what any one of the crew would have done. I neither deserve nor want the attention.” Tuck poured milk into his coffee.

  “Didn’t the Navy teach you to drink your coffee black?”

  “They taught me many things but not that.”

  The bustle of the late-dinner crowd filled the few moments of silence the men shared. Tuck enjoyed the time he spent with his father. The man before him had earned his respect, not just because he was Tuck’s father but because of the nobility in the man himself.

  “I appreciate you bringing me all the way out here. I’ve never been on a fancy business jet like that before.”

  “The boss owns that. I still prefer my Corsair.” Tuck gazed out the window of the hotel and watched the twinkling lights of the Victorville, California, traffic roll by. “You’ve been at every one of my launches. I can’t see any reason to change now. Besides, you’re my good luck charm.”

  “I thought you told me your wife was the good luck charm.”

  “Can’t have too many of those — good luck charms, not wives.”

  Ben chuckled. “I was hoping you’d clarify that.” He sipped his coffee. “How are they doing with all this?”

  Tuck returned his gaze to his father. “Just like they always have. They’re worried about me, but they deal with it. Myra has resigned herself to having married a crazy man. The kids . . . well, the kids know that a man has to do what a man has to do. They’re back in the room watching a movie. I’m always a little antsy before a big flight. I appreciate you giving me a little distraction.”

  Ben looked into his coffee cup as a gypsy fortuneteller looks into a crystal ball.

  “What?” Tuck said. “Something swimming in your drink?”

  “Nah. I pulled that out a few minutes ago.”

  “Then what? I know that look.”

  “It’s just that your family isn’t dealing as well with it as you might think. Penny talked to me earlier. You were still at the launch site.”

  Tuck’s chest felt empty. “She’s had the most difficulty with me flying again. Never got over the Atlantis tragedy.”

  “None of us have. Have you?”

  Tuck shook his head. “No. Not over it, but beyond it. I’ve compartmentalized it to the past.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “No, but I tell myself it is. So what did Penny bend your ear about?”

  Ben looked out the window and waited for the waitress who appeared from nowhere to refill his cup. A second or two after she left, Ben said, “She asked if I was praying for you.”

  “She has always been the spiritual one.”

  Ben frowned, and Tuck realized he had offended the old man. “There shouldn’t be a spiritual one in a Christian family, Son. Are you saying Myra and Gary are less spiritual?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that Penny is more involved in church than the rest of us. We all attend but she likes to do the other things — with the youth group, I mean.”

  “Reminds me of a young man I used to know.”

  The reference was clear. “It’s true. I used to be very active in church when I was young, but things change.”

  “Things don’t change, Tuck, people do. You’ve changed.”

  “What do you mean?” Tuck said defensively. “I’m still a believer.”

  “I don’t doubt your belief; it’s your practice I worry about.”

  Tuck leaned back in the booth. “Wait a minute, Dad. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m faithful to my wife and my family. I don’t chase women, I don’t get drunk, and I mind my language.”

  “Is that what you think Christian faith is all about —good morals?” Sadness covered Ben’s face. “Then I think I owe you an apology.”

  “No need, Dad. No harm done.”

  “I’m not being clear. I’m not apologizing for what I said. I’m apologizing for not having been a better Christian example. Somehow, I failed to get the core idea across.”

  “Nonsense. No man could have been a better father than you’ve been to me.”

  “I failed to instill in you the proper understanding of faith, Tuck. Apparently, I didn’t say the right things, didn’t do the right things, didn’t exemplify what a Christian man is. That’s why I need to apologize.”

  “I believe in God, Dad.” Tuck lowered his voice. “I still claim Christ as my Savior. That hasn’t changed.”

  “But your relationship to Him has. Do you still blame God for what happened on Atlantis?”

  “I never blamed Him. I’ve never said anything against God.”

  “Have you said anything to Him?”

  The distinction shot past Tuck’s brain. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you pray? Do you worship?”

  “I attend church. Perhaps not as much as I should, but I still attend. And I read my Bible from time to time.”

  Ben pursed his lips. “Look. You’re a grown man capable of making his own decisions, but you’re still my son. Don’t you see? Ignoring God is the same thing as denying Him.”

  “So what do you want me to do, Dad? Fall on my knees right here?” Tuck pushed his cup away. His tone came harsher than he intended.

  “No, Son. I don’t. Every Christian father’s fear is that his children will depart from the faith. I know you haven’t denied your faith, but I fear that it’s dying of atrophy. I’m as proud of you as I have ever been. You are the joy of my life and have been since the day you were born. Even then, I knew you were special. I saw it in your childhood: keen intellect, curiosity, and the necessary lack of common sense that keeps the rest of us from climbing on top of rockets.”

  “I got all that from you. As I recall you used to be the first into burning buildings. You are a legend at the fire department.”

  “Maybe, but I never went into situations like that without being fully prayed up.” He paused, then added, “God didn’t kill your crew. An accidental mix of medications did.”

  “He . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Let it go.”

  “Do
you think God doesn’t already know what’s on your mind? Just say it, boy.”

  Tuck leaned over the table and whispered the words. “God may not have killed my crew, but He didn’t save them either.”

  “Ah, so that’s it. You do blame God for Atlantis. Not for killing your crew but for not saving them.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t given it any thought.”

  “And there, Son, is the problem. You need to think about it and think hard.” Ben pushed the coffee cup aside and folded his hands. “I’m not going to give you a sermon, Tuck. I never could preach much. I have no talent in that area. Still, I’ll tell you this: I’m dying. You’re dying. Everyone is dying. Your crew died before your eyes, so that makes it far worse than most of us can imagine, but in the end, it is no different than someone dying in an auto accident. Chris tians aren’t promised trouble-free lives, but we are promised help in the days we have and an eternity after this life ends.”

  “I know that.”

  “I know you know it, Son. I’m just not sure you live it.”

  A heavy pause separated the men and Tuck felt lost. His father ended the awkwardness. “You know I love you, Son. Maybe I’m losing my grip on things. I’m getting close to the end of my life, and I just want to know that your faith is more than a belief held, rather, a life lived.”

  “You’ve got plenty of years left.”

  “No, don’t say that, Tuck. No one knows what he or she has left. None of us is promised another sunrise. Tomorrow you go into space again. God forbid that something should happen, but it could. For that matter, something deadly could happen on the way to the launch site. Parents shouldn’t outlive their children, but if that happens the only comfort available to me will come from God. He was there for me when your mother died. He’s always been there.”

  “I think I understand, Dad. I really do.”

  “I hope so, Son. Myra and the kids need to know that as well.”

  An odd feeling filled Tuck. He was chilled and warmed at the same time. Guilt swirled in his mind and mixed with embarrassment.

  The silence returned. Tuck paid the check, and as the two left, he placed an arm around his father’s shoulders. “You know, for a really, really, really old man, you’re pretty smart.”

  “A man is only as old as others make him feel.”

  “Hey, are you trying to lay another guilt trip on me?”

  Ben smirked. “No. You make me feel young. Young and proud.” . . .

  “Is there something wrong with your meal, sir?” The waitress was stout and well into her fifties.

  “What?”

  “Your meal. You’ve hardly touched it.”

  The man looked down. “No, nothing is wrong with the food. I’m just not as hungry as I first thought. Please bring me the bill.”

  “Do you want a container for the food? The rooms all have microwaves. You can reheat it if you get hungry later.”

  “No, thank you. Just the bill.” He fixed his gaze on the two men who left the restaurant.

  “The rooms have refrigerators — ”

  “I’m not staying in the hotel. Please bring me the bill.”

  “Easy, honey. I’m just trying to do you a favor.” She huffed and left.

  Anthony Verducci didn’t wait for the ticket. He rose, withdrew a twenty from his billfold, and dropped it on the table.

  He slipped from the restaurant and into the cold desert night. He walked to a van parked in the lot and entered the back.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “No,” Ganzi replied. “I’ve kept my eye on everyone coming and going. The family is still in the suite, and Tucker’s old man is in the suite next door.”

  “Anything on the mike?”

  “Not a thing. I can’t get much from inside. I even tried the laser microphone, the one that reads the vibrations of the window, but I still don’t get much. So far, all I can tell is that the kids and mom are watching some kind of movie. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just be vigilant.”

  “You know my PI license isn’t much good in California.”

  “That only matters if we’re caught. It’s worse for me. I’m a foreign national. Imagine what your Homeland Security can make of a nonresident alien with surveillance equipment. Have you heard from your Houston people?”

  “Yup. They’re bored stiff. Nothing happening in the neighborhood. The Tucker house is tighter than a drum.”

  “Okay. You’re going to be on your own for a while.”

  Ganzi gave a puzzled look. “Why? Where you going?”

  “To the airport. I’m picking someone up.”

  “Who?”

  “My employer. The man who is paying your salary and for all this equipment. His plane lands in about two hours.”

  “Close to midnight. The red-eye, eh?”

  “It’s a long flight from Italy.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Ginny Lin plunked her thin frame in a luxurious leather chair in the media room. Mounted to the wall opposite her hung a large flat-screen television. Although she hadn’t turned the television on, she could still see the pretty oval face of a starlet who had yet to see thirty years of age. It was her image reflected on the screen: cropped blonde hair with expertly added highlights, large almond eyes, and a long graceful neck.

  “It’s not too late, kiddo.” Ginny didn’t bother turning. She knew her manager’s voice all too well.

  “Not too late for what, Denny?” She pulled a cigarette from the pack of Virginia Slims she held and inserted the filtered end into her mouth. She fumbled with a gold-plated lighter.

  Denny Loft stepped to his charge, snatched the cigarette from Ginny’s mouth, and crushed it in his hand. “No smoking in the house. That was part of the agreement.”

  “What are they going to do, sue me?” She forced her eyes away from him. She found him painfully handsome with his ice-blue eyes, smooth jaw, and sensual mouth. She would have made a play for him long ago if he weren’t the same age as her father.

  “Look, kid, we’re lucky to have this place. The doctor who owns the mansion agreed to rent it to us for the week but made it clear that smoking was a no-no. Besides, smoking ages you prematurely.”

  “That’s why studios have makeup artists.” She extracted another cigarette and started the routine again. This time Denny not only took the cigarette but snatched the pack away as well.

  “If you prefer,” he said, “we can book a room in one of the local hotels, but last time I checked there wasn’t a hotel in the high desert that would suit you. Or we can drive out to the launch site. Roos and his buddies have set up some short-term housing for the passengers.”

  “I’m not staying in a white-trash trailer park.”

  “They’re custom-made modular buildings designed for his guests, Ginny. It hardly constitutes a trailer park. I checked them out myself.”

  She narrowed her eyes, determined not to let logic and reason spoil a good pity party. “I can’t believe people live out here. It’s the ugliest place on the planet.”

  Denny frowned. “Some people find it beautiful.”

  “They’re wrong.” She crossed her arms like a disappointed child.

  Denny sat in one of the leather chairs facing the large-screen television. He had to turn to face Ginny. “I repeat: it’s not too late.”

  “And I repeat: Not too late for what?”

  “To back out of this deal. We can get in the car and I can have you back in LA in two hours.”

  “I’m not backing out. I paid over two hundred thousand dollars for this; I’m not going to walk away from it.”

  “I know that’s a lot of money, but maybe we can get some or all of it back. I’ll make up an excuse. You’ve come down with a cold. They won’t let you fly with a head cold. You can express your supreme disappointment. We can then let the attorneys fight it out over the money.”

  “I’m going into space tomorrow, Denny. I said I would and I will. Besides, you know what i
t will do for my career.” She paused and played with the lighter. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Denny laughed. “Look, kid, you’re beautiful, talented, and my favorite client, but you are a lousy liar. I can see the fear. In fact, I can smell it. Look at you —you’re fumbling with a cigarette lighter. You stopped smoking two years ago and here you are, ready to get into a fist fight with me for a single smoke.”

  “I’m nervous, not afraid. There’s a difference.” She turned her face from him.

  “All I’m saying is you can still back out. Only you and I will know the real reason.”

  “My knowing is enough. I’ve never backed away from anything.”

  “Backing out now is not quitting; it’s an exercise in logic. All it would mean is that you have come to your senses.”

  “I think you’re worried for my safety.”

  “Of course I am.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “This is dangerous work.”

  “Maybe you’re worried about losing my fee.”

  “There are other actresses and actors who want my time, Ginny. I wouldn’t even notice the blip in my income.”

  “So you wouldn’t mind if I fired you.” Her jaw clenched.

  “We’ve been over this. You can’t fire me, Ginny. I’m part of your contract. You owe the studio another picture, and they hired me to help manage your career and to keep an eye on you.”

  “Did they tell you to talk me out of this?”

  “Yes, but I’d try even if they didn’t.”

  He leaned back in the seat. Ginny could see Denny’s reflected image on the television screen. “Really?”

  “Absolutely, kid. You’re not just a client to me.”

  “Sometimes it feels that way.” She turned to him. He didn’t return the gaze.

  “Yeah? Well, emotions are great little liars. Life goes better when one spends more time thinking than feeling.”

  Ginny laughed. “And I thought I was a cynic.”

  “Cynicism has served me well.”

  Ginny longed for her own bed with its well-used pillows and the smells of her own house. She stood.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to bed. Tomorrow is a big day. Besides, you’re boring me to tears.”