Delta Green - [37]

Pearson retrieved fresh underwear, a jumpsuit, and her hygiene kit from her locker, then unzipped the side of the curtain. “When I get back, you won’t be here, right?”

“Only if I get another kiss.”

She peeked out into the corridor, which was vacant, then turned back to him. He pulled her close.

Strength was very deceptive in a zero-gravity environment, but McKenna always radiated strength. She felt it in the way, however lightly, his hands gripped her upper arms. He could be tender when he tried.

She kissed him lightly on the lips, so as not to get anything started, then pushed through the curtain, got a toe on the hatchway jamb, and launched herself toward one of the hygiene stations, all of which were unoccupied according to the indicator lights.

After fifteen minutes with a sponge bath and the vacuumized accessories in the hygiene station, she emerged to find McKenna dressed and floating in the corridor near his own cubicle, which was across the corridor and two down from hers. He shoved off the bulkhead directly at her.

“McKenna!”

She dodged sideways, and he landed lightly on the wall beside her.

“Got something for you,” he said.

“Not out…”

He held up his hand. Between his thumb and forefinger was a pair of silver eagle rank insignia.

She fastened her eyes on his. The gray of his irises was light, maybe a little amused, but warm.

“I’d like you to have mine,” he said.

“Kevin…”

“These were my father’s,” he said. “He was Army, but they work about the same way.”

No one aboard the space station wore rank insignia except for those newly promoted.

“Thank you.”

He unzipped her jumpsuit a few inches — with her eyes darting back and forth for intruders — and inserted his left hand inside the suit’s left shoulder and used his right hand to position the eagle, then snapped the pin clasps in place. He reversed his hands to fasten the insignia on her right shoulder.

When he was done, he floated a couple feet away, then snapped a crisp military salute that she hadn’t known he was capable of performing.

“Congratulations, Colonel Pearson.”

She returned the salute smartly. “Thank you, Colonel McKenna.”

She felt like crying.

“Now, can we get back in the sack?”

“Damn you, Kevin.”

“I don’t want you to get maudlin,” he grinned.

MERLIN AIR BASE

The last of the Space Command’s Learjets at Merlin Air Base had taken off from the single runway at seven o’clock the night before, taking with it General Delwin Cartwright and his aide, Major Mikos Pappas.

Lynn Haggar didn’t know where the two of them were going, nor did anyone else as far as she could tell. The rumors had a new commandant coming in, but they might have been optimistic rumors.

Heaven on Earth was rampant with rumors, but then it was no different than any other military enclave in the world. There would be nothing to talk about if not for conjecture sworn to as fact.

She was eating breakfast with Olsen, Conover, Abrams, and Munoz after having succumbed to a four-hour nap which had rejuvenated her. Not, apparently, as much as a similar nap had revived Jack Abrams. He had poured half a bottle of picante sauce over his scrambled eggs.

“Tell me what in the hell is that supposed to be,” Ben Olsen said.

“That, Swede, is a Frank Dimatta Special,” Abrams said, working the sauce into the eggs with his fork.

“Aren’t you confusing excess with taste, Do-Wop?” Haggar asked.

“Of course not. I’ve seen him do this many times.” Abrams took one forkful, savored it, closed his eyes in pain, then proceeded gamely on with his breakfast.

“Looks good to me,” Munoz said and dumped the rest of the jar’s contents over the two eggs on his plate.

Haggar decided to ignore the two of them and finished her orange juice, then her grapefruit while half-listening to the banter.

She liked all of them, much as she liked and loved the three brothers she had grown up with in Atlanta. Sometimes, she found humor in the way they struggled to be macho fighter jocks and still obviously tried to avoid what they thought might be interpreted as sexual harassment. Only Tony Munoz was unconcerned about what he might say to her, and he was so good-natured, she would never have taken anything he said as anything but the good humor it was.

Breakfast over, they left the room full of people who were eating roast beef and steaks for dinner and walked back to Hangar One.

Deltas Red, Yellow, and Blue were all prepared for flight. As soon as they saw the flight crews enter the hangar, the ground crews began to assemble for final chores.

“I wish to hell Snake Eyes would quit screwin’ around and get back here,” Munoz said morosely.

“Go back to bed, Tony,” Olsen told him. “The search is the boring part. If it gets interesting, I’ll give you a wake-up call.”

Munoz stood to one side and watched while the Yellow and Red crews slipped into their environmental suits.

Haggar stood still while her crew chief vacuumed her, then climbed the ladder to her cockpit, slid over the coaming, and settled into the reclining seat. The crew chief followed her and helped connect the communications and nitrogen/oxygen fittings.