But following a brilliant plan developed by Professor Ranoth, the other astronauts transformed the tractor into a boat and paddled up the ca.n.a.l to the island. Once there, they found Brent but not Zossima. Commander Brent said Hummingbird had malfunctioned. While waiting for rescue, he said, the Russian had wandered off into the dark and gotten lost. They never did find him.

Professor Ranoth was able to repair Hummingbird, but not the Hawk's communication system, which they discovered broken when they got back to the ship. Commander Brent decided to use what time they had left for further explorations. This time Professor Ranoth and Jessica Brent accompanied their commander to the island, finding a number of volcanic fissures. But their bad luck continued. The island erupted and their signal was cut off. Back at the Hawk, Gary and Lauren knew their partners were dead. They had no choice but to blast off. But even that proved difficult. The Hawk's main generators failed next, and it took two days to repair them. Their long and difficult landing had consumed most of their fuel. After blast-off, they were only able to attain a shallow orbit.

Their controls were working poorly. They b.u.mped into the Nova and sheared off its antenna by accident. Eventually, when they did dock with the Nova, a fire started in the Hawk. Gary tried to put it out, but the lander exploded and badly injured his arm. They ended up having to jettison the ship, and Gary eventually had to have his arm amputated.

Their sorrows were not over. They were on their way home, asleep in the hibernaculums, when Lauren was awakened with an emergency in Mark's hibernaculum. It had shorted out for some reason and killed Mark. Lauren woke Gary up, and they performed a brief ceremony before sending Mark's body into s.p.a.ce. Then, finally, they returned to their hibernaculums and slept away the remainder of the long journey.

They said they were glad to be home.

Terry looked north in the direction of the shuttle landing strip, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. It had only been two days ago that the shuttle had brought Gary and Lauren down from the station. The public still thought they were in s.p.a.ce. The only reason Terry knew otherwise was that Dean Ramsey had called him and told him. Lauren hadn't called him. That worried Terry very badly. After all, he had let her sister die.

Terry walked toward the complex.

He was met at the door by an elderly major with thinning white hair and an extremely sunburnt face. The gentleman shook his hand politely and led him to a small box-like room separated from a larger room by a sheet of gla.s.s. Terry a.s.sumed the quarantine was still in effect. The major left Terry alone, promising to let Lauren know that he had arrived. Terry began to relax, looking forward to seeing her again. She couldn't hate him, he thought. She loved him too much to hate him.

Then suddenly she stood in the doorway on the other side of the gla.s.s.

She wore a white pleated skirt and a red turtleneck sweater. Her hair was long, much longer than he had ever seen it before, and she was very pale. To his surprise he saw she was wearing thick makeup, in particular, heavy lipstick. Lauren had always disdained painting her face.

She smiled when she saw him, yet her eyes were dark and cold. Terry wasn't given a chance to stand before she crossed the room and sat down on the opposite side of the gla.s.s. He briefly wondered if the outside sun had made him dizzy, for she moved in a blur.

He was at a loss what to say.

'Lauren,' he said finally. 'It's really you.'

Her smile didn't change. 'No. It's someone else.'

Terry forced a laugh. 'This is incredible. G.o.d, you're home.' He fidgeted in his seat as he fought to keep his eyes from tearing up. 'I thought I was never going to see you again.'

'It was nice of you to stop by,' she said. She crossed her legs and ran her fingers through her hair. He noticed that her nails were long.

He shook his head. 'It's just so good to see you.' He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead. 'This last year has been dreadful. I thought you were dead.'

For no reason his remarks amused her. She chuckled. 'Did you?'

Terry tried to laugh along. 'You must be happy to be back on Earth. It's been a long time. Two years. Jesus, it's been ages.'

'Yeah.' Lauren grinned and licked her lips in a curiously unpleasant manner. Her tongue was a dark red.

Terry lowered his head. 'I was sorry to hear about what happened to your friends.'

Lauren didn't respond. Her smile remained fixed like something painted on.

'I guess you must miss Jim,' he said, thinking, Jim and Jennifer both. ' 'Jim was a fool,' Lauren said.

'What?'

'Jim was a fool.'

'Why do you say that? Are you all right?'

'Don't I look all right?' Lauren asked.

For the first time Terry looked directly into her face, into her eyes. They were different from the eyes he remembered, darker and larger. Yes, they were very large. They seemed to fill the room, and for a moment he could see nothing else. But then he began to cough, and couldn't catch his breath. He felt suddenly anxious, as if the walls were closing in on him. He tore his eyes away and bent over and gasped for air.

'Are you sure you're OK?' he asked, thinking she should be the one asking the question.

Her smile widened. 'It wasn't so bad. Just a little pinch and then, sweet.' A throaty laugh came out of her mouth. 'Like when I lost my virginity. You remember when I lost my virginity, don't you?'

Sweet.

And Terry did remember, as if the event were happening that very instant. Of course, neither of them had been a virgin that night, but he caught her meaning. It had felt as good as the first time. They had been dating two months. They came home late from a movie and she invited him up. Inside her apartment they sat on the couch and drank coffee with the music down low. Jennifer was sound asleep in the back room. Lauren rested her leg against his. Well, here we are, she said. Yeah, he replied. What are you thinking, she asked. How beautiful you are, he said. It was a great line, it must have been. She fell into his arms and her tongue went into his mouth and neither of them had enough hands to do what they wanted to do. Their clothes were off in seconds and she groaned and lay back on the couch and spread her legs and it was a sight that made him groan. Does that feel good, he asked as he climbed on top of her. It feels like candy, she said, and laughed. I love you, Lauren. I love you, Terry.

Love me, Terry.

Yet that was not the way he remembered it right now, not exactly. He was on the couch on top of her, and her thighs were wrapped around his hips. Only now her sighs of pleasure were screams of pain. He was raping her, and each thrust he made into her made her squirt out bright red blood. But now he enjoyed himself even more. In spite of her screams, he found the s.e.x much sweeter. He lowered his head over her belly and the blood that spurted out between her legs was very sweet indeed.

Stop it! What am I thinking? Jesus Christ.

'Lauren,' Terry whispered. Sweat dripped from his forehead and stung his eyes. She uncrossed her knees and rested one ankle atop the other. She wiggled her big toe and shifted her hips more comfortably into the chair. The room swayed with her hips, and he swayed with them, and the taste of the sweet blood wouldn't leave his mind. He didn't just want to love her, he realized. He wanted to do other things to her, different things.

'Yes, Terry?' she asked gently. Her lips curled back over her white teeth.

'Nothing,' he whispered. The choking sensation returned. He thought he was having a heart attack. His dark l.u.s.t was drowned in his sudden fear. A heavy hand pressed his chest, squeezing him tight all the way up to his chin. He briefly closed his eyes, and vomit swelled from his guts into his mouth. He swallowed it in disgust, wondering why these things were happening to him, and why she was torturing him with her cold eyes.

'It's because of Jenny,' he said; forcing out the words. 'You're acting this way because of Jenny.' He pressed his face close to the sheet of gla.s.s. 'But I didn't know what she had in mind, Lauren, I swear it. The doctor said she was all right. Please listen to me!'

He knew he was losing it, for all the difference it made to her. Lauren stood as a prelude to leaving. Despite his confusion and pain, he couldn't help but notice how heavy her right arm hung at her side. The wrist also looked as if it had been broken; it was kinked at an awkward angle. She wore a silver ring he had never seen on her before.

Lauren noticed his gaze, and looked down at her hand. For a moment the irritating smile left her face. She slowly reached out with her left hand to touch the ring. Then she drew the hand back quickly, as if she actually had touched it, and found it hot. She looked over at him.

'It could be sweet,' she said. 'Or it can be different.' She put her grin back on, and this time her lips were as thin as blades although when she spoke next, her voice was weak. 'Goodbye lover. We'll meet again, maybe, and we'll dine together in our favorite place.'

'Lauren, don't go,' he protested, getting up. 'We have to talk.'

But she was gone, so quick he hardly saw her leave. Terry stumbled from his cubicle out into the hall. A pretty, dark-haired girl in running shorts and a tight T-shirt jogged on a treadmill in his head. She was a doctor, and it was possible she would be going to Mars in a couple of years. He was a drunk reporter about to kick a nasty habit. Life was good back then. Now it was bad. Terry found a water cooler and bent his head over it and tried to drown himself.

The old major who had let him in pa.s.sed by.

'Are you all right, Mr Hayes?'

Terry looked up. 'Yeah. Don't I look all right?'

The major studied his face. He was a shrewd old fellow. He nodded to himself. 'It's been a long time since you've seen her,' he said. 'I remember when I was twenty years old and went on an eight-month tour on an aircraft carrier. When I got home my wife didn't even recognize me. We couldn't talk about a thing. All we could do was fight. But look at us now, thirty years later. We're still married.' He patted Terry's shoulder. 'Dr Wagner's been through a hard time. You come back in a day or two and I'm sure things will be better.'

Terry figured he must look like a wreck if a complete stranger was worried about his emotional well-being. On the other hand, staring at the guy's sunburnt face, Terry was struck by how ill the major looked. His skin was a ma.s.s of blisters.

'You're right,' Terry said. 'I'll come back another time.' He could lie with the best of them.

The major continued to look him over. 'Hey, you want to come in the back and lie down for a few minutes? You look unsteady on your feet. I don't want you getting into your car and crashing.'

'No.' He wanted to get far away from the Air Force base as soon as he could. 'I've got to go. I have an appointment.' He walked toward the door that led to the outside sun. The major tagged along beside him.

'I'll walk with you to your car, then,' the man said.

'It's not necessary. Really, I'm all right.'

'It's no trouble. I haven't been outside today.' He opened the tinted gla.s.s door for Terry, and they stepped outside and into the heat. 'I need the exercise.'

'Are you sure you shouldn't stay inside?' Terry asked as they walked toward the parking lot. 'That's a nasty sunburn you've got.'

The man fingered his cheek. 'Yeah, and it's kind of strange. Most of the fellows here, they hate the sun. But ' not me - I love it. I go for a two-mile walk every day at lunch just to let the sweat flush out my pores. But yesterday I was only out for a few minutes and got this burn. I don't know, I wasn't feeling very good. I couldn't seem to catch my wind. Then I looked in the mirror later, and I thought I was looking at a tomato.'

'The desert sun can do that to you,' Terry said absently.

'Yeah, it sure can.'

'Maybe you should have a doctor look at it.'

'That's an idea,' the major said, as they reached the edge of the parking lot. 'Maybe Dr Wagner.'

'Yeah.'

The major suddenly stopped and put his hand over his eyes as he gazed up at the sky. He appeared to tremble. 'Whew,' he said.

Terry stopped. 'What is it?'

'That sun's bright.'

'Get inside,' Terry said. 'Your blisters are getting worse as you stand here. I'll be fine. My car's just over there.'

The man nodded. 'Maybe you're right.' He touched the tip of his nose. 'G.o.d, it feels like it's about to peel off.' He turned away. 'You take care, sir.'

'You, too,' Terry said. He watched as the major hurried back to the door. He was practically running by the time he got there, using both hands to shade his face. It was as if the man had developed an allergy to sunlight itself. It made Terry wonder, for a while.

A little pinch and then, sweet.

THIRTY-SEVEN.

Three days later Terry Hayes was back in Houston, sitting at the desk in his apartment. He had a bottle of Scotch in the drawer beside him, and he was going to open it as soon as he finished rereading the newspaper article on his desk, and as soon as the man who had called him while he was away in California called back. The man's name was Herbert Fry, and on the message tape he said he worked on the s.p.a.ce station and wanted to talk. Herbert also said that Terry should go out and buy a newspaper and read about Lisa Jackson. For a man who didn't give a s.h.i.t about anything, including his latest book, Terry took a great deal of interest in what he was rereading. The article was on the second page. He was surprised to read (UPI). Last night, at approximately 10:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, Lisa Jackson, a computer specialist aboard s.p.a.ce Station One, entered the station's kitchen and removed a paring knife. When asked by a friend on duty what she wanted the knife for, Miss Jackson replied, 'To cut something.' She then left the kitchen and entered the hub of the station, which does not rotate and is therefore a weightless environment.

Floating alone in the hub and turning off all the lights, she took the knife and cut open the jugular vein in her neck and bled to death in a matter of seconds. Her body was quickly discovered because her blood was sucked into the ventilation system. It sprayed the engineering section and alerted the personnel on duty. The reason for her suicide has yet to be determined...

The phone rang. Terry set aside the paper and picked it up. Herb had indicated in his message that he knew the real reason Lisa had killed herself. UPI thought maybe she was bored.

'h.e.l.lo?' Terry said.

'Terry Hayes?'

'Yes.'

'Hi, this is Herb Fry. I called you earlier.'

'Yeah, I got your message.'

'Have you read about Lisa?'

'Yeah. Did you know her?'

'Yeah.' Herb sounded as if he were talking in a cramped closet with a stalking murderer outside the door. 'Mr Hayes, I didn't know how to get hold of you. A couple of years ago I used to read your articles on the s.p.a.ce program in the Houston Herald. I called the paper and got a Mr Brenner. He said you were no longer writing for the paper.'

'That's true. I got fired over a year ago.'

'That's too bad. I have a story for you. I don't care that you don't work for the Herald anymore. I know your stuff. You're good. You could publish this story anywhere, if you thought it should be published.'

'What's all this about? How well did you know Lisa?'

'She was my girlfriend.'

'Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. I really am. But I'm not interested in writing an article about anybody. I write books now. I don't work anymore.'

Herb was distressed. 'But I've got to talk to you.'

'Why me?' * 'Because you knew Lauren Wagner.'

Terry noted his use of the past tense. 'Talk. I'm listening.'

'No, not over the phone. Do you know where the Hopple is? It's a bar on the corner of Western and Fifth.'

'I know where all the bars in Houston are,' Terry said.

'Could you meet me there in an hour?'

'Are you in Houston?'

'Yeah. I flew in from Florida this morning just to talk to you. Could you please come?'

Terry glanced down at the article. There was a picture of Lisa at the top of it. She had looked like a nice girl. 'All right,' he said.

Terry arrived early and took a table in the corner. The bar was cool and dark, the way all bars should be. He ordered coffee and looked over at the rows of bottles behind the bartender. He thought of how he shouldn't have called the ambulance when he had woken up vomiting blood. The last three days had been difficult for him, to say the least.

A tall thin man with a scraggly red beard entered the bar a few minutes later. He glanced nervously from side to side, and over his shoulder. Terry decided he was looking at Herbert Fry. He waved, and the guy hurried over. Herb's handshake was quick and moist. He had prominent cheekbones and tired green eyes. They made some small talk, and Herb ordered whiskey. It came with Terry's coffee. Herb's mouth twitched as he raised the gla.s.s to his lips. Terry had to remind himself that Tom Brenner had told him that Herbert Fry was a bona fide employee of the s.p.a.ce station.