"Mike, I can't believe it," Bates said, hanging up the phone. The one in his office was among the few still working, and it had been ringing off the wall. "Know who that was?"
Vance had not been paying heavy-duty attention. He had been thinking about the woman out there now talking to the computer hacker with the scraggly beard.
"What? Sorry, Bill, I wasn't listening."
"Hey," he laughed. "Your mental condition isn't what it might be. Tell you the truth, you look like a guy who just mixed it with a twenty-horsepower fan, and lost. You really ought to go over to medical and get your face looked after."
"The Deltas are probably still over there. If I showed up, I might just get arrested. Don't think I could handle an interrogation right now. Better to hide out for a while longer." The fact was, he still felt too disoriented to think about how he must look. He hurt all over, and he almost didn't care.
"Whatever you say." Bates shrugged. "Anyway, that guy on the phone just now was a Jap by the name of Matsugami. He just happens to run NASDA."
"What's that?" Vance asked, trying to clear his mind enough to remember the initials. The information was back there somewhere, but he just couldn't reach it.
"You really are out of it, buddy. You of all people ought to know perfectly well it's their National Space Development Agency. He says they're disgusted with all the failures they've been having with the American and European commercial rockets. He wants to talk about a contract for SatCom to put up their next three broadcast satellites. That means we get to haggle for six months while they try to trim my foreskin, but I think we'll get the job. Laser propulsion is suddenly the hottest thing since Day-Glo condoms. That bastard who took us over just gave us a billion dollars of publicity." He laughed. "I'd almost like to kiss what's left of his ass, except it's probably somewhere in the ozone about now."
"Well, congratulations."
"Wait till Cally hears about this. She just may go into orbit herself."
"You've been on the phone for an hour." After Peretz was carried out, he had collapsed onto the couch in Bates’ office and tried to go to sleep, but the goings-on had made it impossible. Bates had been talking nonstop. "What else is happening out there in the world Ramirez was planning to nuke?"
"He did nuke it. He just didn't manage to nuke it the place he intended." Bates leaned back in his chair. "Well, it turns out good news travels fast. Since VX-1 is up, our two prime banks in Geneva are suddenly engaged in intimate contact between their lips and my nether parts. 'Roll over your obligations? Mais oui, Monsieur Bates. Certainement. Avec plaisir. Will you need any additional capitalization? We could discuss an equity position.' The cocksuckers. It was almost a shame to piss away that weapon on empty space. I could have thought of a much better use."
"Hallelujah." He felt his spirits momentarily rise, though not his energy. "Maybe this means all that stock you paid me for the boat will end up being worth the paper it's printed on. Truthfully, I was beginning to worry."
“Told you it'd all work out," he grinned. "No faith. Come on, amigo, I've got to break the news to the troops." He strode to the door, or the opening that was left after the C-4 had removed the door, and surveyed the remains of Command. The technicians and systems analysts were filing back in, but mostly it was a scene of purposeful lethargy. The horror of the last day and a half had taken a terrible toll. Eyes were vacant, hair unkempt, motions slow and aimless. Several of those who had previously quit smoking were bumming cigarettes.
He whistled with two fingers, and the desultory turmoil froze in place. "Okay, everybody," he said, his voice not quite a shout. "It's official. We're back in business. You've all still got a job."
The glassy-eyed stares he received back suggested nobody's thoughts had extended that far yet. Nobody was in a particular mood to let themselves think about the future.
“That's the good part," Bates went on, oblivious. “The other news is there won't be bonuses or stock dividends this year. We'll be lucky just to service our debt. But anybody who hangs in there for twelve months gets half a year's pay extra, as a bonus. I'll do it out of my own pocket if I have to. And if you play your cards right, we could be talking stock options, too."
There were a few smiles and thumbs-up signs, more to hearten Bates, whom they revered, than to celebrate. Nobody had the capacity left to feel particularly festive. At the same time, nobody was about to abandon ship. Not now, now that they were needed more than ever.
Vance was leaning on the wall behind him, watching it all and thinking. Okay, so Bill was about to be rich, and SatCom had gotten enough free publicity to last into the next century. But the real notoriety should be going to the question that had haunted the world for four decades: what would happen if terrorists got their hands on a nuclear device? This time the consequences-although intended to be devastating-had in fact been peripheral, an inconsequential detonation somewhere halfway into space. But the question that still hung over the world was, what would happen the next time? It was a question Bill Bates had too much on his mind today to think about. Maybe he never would.