The Sam Gunn Omnibus (51 page)

His
mischievous grin told me that he had something unusual in mind. I merely stared
at him, saying nothing, knowing that he was bursting to tell me whatever it
was.

Sure
enough, Sam could not remain silent for more than two heartbeats. “Ever been in
orbit?” he asked. Quickly he added, “Literally, I mean. In space.”

I
blinked with surprise. “No. Never.”

His
grin widened. “Okay, then. Pack an overnight bag. You’re going up tomorrow morning.
I’ll have you back here in time to be at your desk first thing Monday morning.”

“You’re
taking me into space?”

“Space
Station Alpha,” he said. “You’ll love it.”

“With
you?”

He tried to put on a serious expression. “Strictly business, Esmeralda.
Strictly business. You’ll have a private compartment in the one-g section.”

“But
why?”

“Company
policy. Everybody who works for VCI gets a chance to go into orbit.”

“This
is the first time anyone’s told me about it,” I said.

His
grin returned. “Well... it’s a new company policy. I just made it, as a matter
of fact.”

I
realized his intention. “So you merely want to get
me
into space with you.”

“It’ll
be business, I swear,” Sam said, trying to look innocent.

“What
business?” I asked. All my instincts were ringing alarm bells within me.

“I
need a woman’s opinion about my plans for the orbital hotel. Can’t ask Bonnie
Jo, she’s dead-set against the idea.”

I m
ust have frowned, because he
swiftly added, “I’m talking about the way the compartments are done up, the
facilities and the decorations and all that. The food service. I need a woman’s
point of view, honest.”

He
almost sounded reasonable.

But
his grin would not fade away. “Of course, if the mood strikes you and you start
to feel romantic I could show you the zero-gee section of the station and we
could accomplish feats that could never be done on Earth.”

“No!”
I snapped. “Never!”

“Aw,
come on,” Sam pleaded like a little boy. “I’ll behave myself, honest. I really
do need your opinion. It’s business, really it is.”

My mind was racing furiously. The more
I knew about Sam’s operations the easier it would be to trip him up, I reasoned.
However, I knew that no matter how much he protested, his lecherous male mind
still entertained the hope that he could seduce me, still harbored fantasies of
making love with me in zero gravity. I had to admit to myself that I harbored a
similar fantasy—except that it was Spence I fantasized about, not Sam.

“Listen,” Sam said, interrupting my
train of thought. “I know you think I’m a male chauvinist and all that. Okay, maybe
I am. But I’m not a rapist. If anything happens between us it’ll be because you
want it to happen as much as I do.”

“I should be perfectly safe, then.”

He laughed. “See? You’ve got
nothing to fear.”

Still I hesitated. His reputation
worried me. Apparently he could be irresistibly charming when he wanted to be.

He heaved a great, disappointed
sigh, threw his hands up over his head and said, “All right, all right. You
want a chaperone to go with us? You got it. I’ll ask Spence to come along, too.
How’s that?”

I
had to exert
every iota of self-control I possessed to keep myself from leaping out from
behind my desk and shouting Yes! Yes! Very deliberately, I turned my gaze away
from Sam’s eager eyes and studied the blank wall behind him, pretending to
think mightily.

At last I said, “A chaperone is
proper. But it should be a woman. A
duena.”

Sam sighed again, this time from
exasperation. “Look, I can’t shuttle people up and back to a space station just
to keep your Hispanic proprieties. D’you know how much it costs?”

“But you are taking me,” I said.

“I need your mother-loving feminine
opinion about the hotel accommodations, dammit! And Spence has useful work to
do for the company at Alpha. That’s it!”

“Very well,” I said with as much reluctance
as I could feign. “Spence is a married gentleman. He is not as good as a proper
duena
,
but I suppose he can be trusted to act as our chaperone.”

Sam jumped to his feet, bowed
deeply, and pranced out of my cubicle. Only when I was certain that he could
not see me did I allow myself to smile.

Less than a quarter-hour later a
young man appeared at my open doorway. He looked like a Latino: somber dark
eyes, thick curly black

hair,
skin the color of smoked parchment. He was handsome, in a smoldering, sullen
way. Sensuous lips.

“Ms.
O’Rourke?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m
supposed to give you an orientation tour. For your ride up to Alpha.” His tone
was little short of insolent.

“Right
now? I’m
busy....”

He
shrugged disdainfully. “Whenever you’re ready, princess. Sam told me to hang
around until you’ve got an hour of free time.”

Princess?
I seethed inwardly, but maintained a calm exterior. I would not give this
sneering youth the satisfaction of seeing that he could anger me.

“I
won’t be ready until sometime after six,” I said.

Again
he shrugged. “Then I’ll hafta hang around until after six.”

“Where
will I find you?”

A
spark of something glinted in his eyes. Perhaps it was anger. “I’ll be in the
simulations lab, back down the main corridor, past—”

“I
know where the simulations lab is,” I said.

“Okay.
See you whenever you get there.” He turned and started to leave.

“Wait!”
I called. “What is your name?”

“Ricardo
Queveda,” he answered over his shoulder. “Extension 434.”

It
was close to seven-thirty before I finished my day’s work and made my way to
the simulations lab. Although quitting time at VCI was nominally six, there
were still plenty of people in the corridors and offices. Many of Sam’s
employees worked long hours. Most of them, in fact..

But
the simulations lab seemed deserted. The computer in its center was dark and
silent. The overhead lights were dimmed. I stood in the doorway frowning with
uncertainty. He had said he would be here. How dare he leave without informing
me?

“You
ready for your orientation spin?”

The
voice behind me startled me. I turned and saw that it was Queveda. He held a
frosted can of cola in one hand.

“Dinner,”
he said, hoisting the can before my face. “Want some?”

“No
thank you. Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay.
It’s pretty simple,” he said as he ushered me inside the lab. The ceiling
lights brightened automatically. “IAA safety regulations require anyone flying
into orbit for the first time to have an orientation simulation and lecture.
The lecture is recorded and you can see it on one of the display screens here
or take a copy home with you and view it at your leisure. Which do you prefer?”

“I’ll
see it here,” I said.

He
nodded. “Sure. There’s another half-hour I’ll have to hang around twiddling my
thumbs.”

His
attitude angered me. “Really!” I snapped. “If it’s your job to do this, why are
you so nasty about it?”

He
stared straight into my eyes. “My
job,
senorita, is maintaining
these goddamned computers. What I’m doing now is extra.”

“Maintaining
the computers? But I’ve never seen you here.”

“You
haven’t noticed,” he replied sullenly. “I’ve been here. I’ve seen you plenty of
times. But you just look right past the hired help, like some goddamned
princess or something.”

“That’s
no reason to be angry with me.”

“That’s
not why I’m pissed off.”

“And
there’s no need for such vulgar language!”

“Dispense
Usted perdon, princesa,
” he said, with a horrible accent.

“Where
are you from?” I demanded.

“Los
Angeles,” he said as he guided me to one of the monitoring desks that ringed
the computer.

“And
what makes you so angry?”

He
snorted. “The thought that a refined lady like you would willingly ride into a
tryst in space with an Anglo.”

“A
tryst? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“What
else?”

I
wanted to slap his sullen, accusing face. But I decided
that I would not dignify his anger with any response whatsoever.

“Let’s
get this orientation over with,” I said, barely controlling my temper. “Then we
can both go home.”

I
watched the recorded lecture. Then he silently led me
to one of the simulation areas and helped me don the VR helmet and gloves. I “rode”
in virtual reality aboard a Delta Clipper from Cape Canaveral to Space Station
Alpha. The simulation did not provide the physical sensations of acceleration
or zero gravity: it was strictly a safety review, showing the interior layout
of the Clipper’s passenger cabin, the escape hatches, and the emergency oxygen
system.

At
last it was finished and I pulled the helmet off. Queveda was standing beside me;
he took the helmet from my hands.

“I
am not engaging in a tryst with Sam Gunn,” I heard myself mutter as I wormed
off the VR gloves.

He
gave me a smoldering look. “I’m glad to hear
it,
even if it’s not true.”

“I
do not tell lies!”

For
the first time, he smiled at me. It was only half a smile, really, but it made
him look much better. “I’m sure you’re telling the truth. But you don’t know
Sam.”

I
almost wanted to tell him that I loved Spence, not
Sam. But that would have been foolish. Apparently the rumors flew thick and
fast through the whole company. Already it was taken for granted that Sam and I
would make out in zero-gee. Besides, telling him how I felt about Spence would
have made him angry all over again.

So
I tried to shift the conversation as we walked along the corridor to the
building’s front entrance. The halls were mostly deserted now. Even Sam’s most
dedicated employees eventually went home to their families and friends.

“I
am from Los Angeles, too, you know,” I said.

“Really?
What part?”

Quickly
I realized I had put my foot into a quagmire. “Oh, I went to UCLA,” I said. “I lived
just off the campus.”

“Westwood,
huh?”

Actually
I had lived in a leased condominium in Pacific Palisades, with a magnificent
view of the beach and the sunsets over the ocean.

“When
I said Los Angeles,” he told me as we reached the front door, “I meant the
city. The barrio. Downtown.”

“Oh.”
I had heard about the squalor and crime in the downtown area, but had never
visited such a slum.

We
stepped out into the soft warm breeze of a balmy Florida evening.

“You
were born there?” I asked as we walked toward our cars.

It
was dark in the parking lot. Suddenly I was glad of his companionship.

“No,”
he answered. “My parents came to Los Angeles when I was an infant.”

“And
where were you born?” I asked.

“In
Quito.”

I
felt stunned. Quito!

“That’s
the capital of Ecuador,” he explained, misunderstanding my silence. “My father
was a university professor there but he was driven out by the dictator”