Powersat

Matagora Island, Texas

It was a week later: a balmy, sunny Sunday afternoon. The Astro complex was quiet. Most of the staff were home enjoying the weekend. A skeleton crew stood by the launchpad, where the spaceplane had been mated with a fresh booster, ready for another flight to the powersat if necessary.

Nacho Chavez sat glumly in front of Dan’s desk. Beside him, Kelly Eamons looked on the verge of tears.

“It was my fault,” she said to Dan. “I encouraged her to play up to al-Bashir.”

“You warned her it was dangerous,” Chavez said. “You planted the tracker on her.”

“A lot of good it did.”

Dan could barely believe what they’d told him. “April’s dead? She was killed in the bombing of that villa?”

“With al-Bashir and almost a dozen others,” Chavez said.

“And al-Bashir was behind it all?”

“All of it. The crash of your spaceplane, the murders of Dr. Tenny and that technician, Larsen.”

“And they used my powersat to try to assassinate the president.”

Chavez nodded. Then he said, “None of this leaves this room, Mr. Randolph. We’re depending on your discretion.”

“We thought you’d want to know about April,” said Eamons.

Dan felt stunned. April got herself mixed up in this cloak-and-dagger stuff? he kept repeating in his mind. And she’s dead? Killed. He couldn’t get himself to believe it. He expected her to pop through his office doorway any minute. But she’s dead. They killed her.

“Why in the ever-loving, blue-eyed world would she get herself involved so deep—?”

“For you,” Eamons replied. “She did it for you. I think she was in love with you.”

Dan grunted as if he’d been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. His breath caught in his throat.

“She was a very wonderful woman,” Eamons went on. “More wonderful than you know.”

Dan’s head sank halfway down to his chest. “Jesus,” he mumbled. “Sweet Jesus Christ Almighty.”

“We’re getting a good deal of information out of this Williamson guy,” Chavez said, trying to sound brighter. “He’s being very cooperative.”

So what? Dan wanted to say. Instead, he heard himself ask, “And the French? How do they feel about us bombing one of their villas?”

Chavez put on an innocent expression. “Who bombed one of their villas? The terrorists blew each other up.”

“The French are going along with that?”

“We’ve allowed them to participate in Williamson’s interrogation. I’m sure we’ll make other concessions to them, as well.”

Dan shook his head wearily. “I suppose I could offer them electricity at a cut rate.”

“The powersat is back in operation?”

“Since yesterday. Delivering ten gigawatts to White Sands, day and night. I’m getting bids for the electricity from six different power utilities in the States, and another one in Canada.”

They chatted for a few minutes more, never mentioning April again. Then Chavez got to his feet and Eamons followed suit.

“We’ve got to get back to Houston,” Chavez said.

“I can fly you.”

The FBI agent shook his head. “We’ll drive. Officially, we haven’t been here. This is all on our own time.”

“I’m really sorry about April,” Eamons said, her voice trembling.

“Yeah,” said Dan, his own voice faltering. “Me, too.”

And then there was nothing left to say. Dan shook hands with the two agents and went out to the catwalk with them. He watched them walk slowly down the metal stairs, their footsteps echoing in the empty hangar, and walk out to where Chavez’s car sat parked in the nearly empty lot.

Chavez drove away, and the hangar grew very quiet. Won’t be for long, Dan said to himself. We’ll start building two new spaceplanes in a few weeks. And laying out plans for the next power satellite.

He walked back into his office and booted up his computer to look at his appointments for the coming week.

“Testimony to Senate science subcommittee,” he read from the screen. I wonder if Jane will be there? he asked himself.