"Yeah, that was Mike. Mike Smith. One of the other crew members. We're in crew quarters. You remember, in medical quarantine until we go out to the pad."
"Yeah."
After a moment she said, "So did you call just to hear me breathe?"
He surprised them both when he said, "Yeah. I think I did."
Neither one of them knew what to do with that, so she said, "You've met the parents?"
"They're great people, Kenai."
She smiled. "I know. They seem equally impressed with you. I talked to them before you left the dock." She yawned. "Dad wants to know if I'm sleeping with you."
"Oh," he said uncomfortably. "Yeah. I kinda blew it."
"He told me."
"Sorry," he said.
"I'm not," she said. "Are you?"
For the life of him, he couldn't come up with a respectable answer, probably because he didn't know what it was.
"Never mind," she said. "Let's not go there, at least not now. I've got other things to worry about."
"How's the Arabian Knight?"
"Right now, he's vetting the menu. Making sure everything's halal."
"What's halal?"
"It's Arabic for kosher, I think. Whatever. It keeps him out of our hair. Now if we could just gag him for the rest of the trip when we strap in."
"There have been protests about him."
"Yeah, they told us. Bunch of right-wing Muslims protesting a devout's close contact with secular infidels?"
"Pretty much."
"Do we got trouble in River City?"
"Nah. For one thing, the launch is miles away from anything that looks like access. I suppose they could barricade the gates or something, but what would be the point?"
"And that's not what they want, anyway," she said cynically. "What they want is film at eleven."
"Speaking of which-"
"Oh yeah," she said, and laughed. "I forgot. How many television cameras you got on board?"
"Only one, fortunately, and even that feels like one too many. They restricted it to three pool reporters, one from the Miami Herald, one from NPR, and one from CNN. And they all want to talk to Nick and Doreen."
"How they holding up?"
"Pretty well. That little prep course NASA runs the friends and relatives through must be pretty effective. They both smile right into the camera like it's their new best friend, and they'll talk the ear off of any reporter about how their little girl started reading Robert Heinlein by the time she was in the second grade. Oh, and I didn't know you did bead-work?"
"I do what?"
"Make bead jewelry."
"I do?"
"Yeah. Doreen seemed to feel it necessary to establish your feminine side."
Kenai snorted. "I cook. Isn't that enough?"
"You cook?"
"I make one hell of a spaghetti sauce, smartass."
"I'll let you try it out on me when you get back."
Another silence fell. "I'm not loving this," he said.
She didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "Don't worry. We'll all come back alive."
He thought of the virtual bomb she would be riding into orbit that evening, and said, "Bet your ass. Hey."
"Hey, what?"
"What if I love you?"
"What if I love you back?"
They considered this in startled silence for a moment. "Probably just the situation," she said finally. "You've never had a girlfriend before who rides rockets. I've never had a boyfriend who didn't come unglued at the thought."
"Yeah," he said, "you're probably right. Take care up there."
"I will."
"We've got a date the instant you're out of debrief and Munro's in dry dock."
"You going to kill me if I say I'm not anxious for my first time on orbit to be over?"
He laughed. "No. I think the right thing for me to say right now is, have fun."
"It'll do. See you in a week."
"See you," he said, but she had already hung up.
SOUTH OF ABACO, ON BOARD FREIGHTER MOKAME
There was a hatch that led up to the bow of the sailboat, and before their first dawn Akil had it propped open so they could get some fresh air. They took turns sitting beneath it, letting the elusive breeze tease their faces. By afternoon the sun turned the cabin into an oven, and the combination of the heat and the oily swell passing beneath the hull that pushed the sailboat into a long, continuous roll put half of them on their knees in front of the toilet in the tiny bathroom. The smell of vomit spread the malady to all of them.
The moaning of the migrants was another constant irritant and through the walls they could hear others vomiting, sounds of protest ruthlessly subdued by crew members. Screams were quickly muffled during what sounded like an attempted rape, cut short by a meaty thud of wood on skull, a subsequent dip of the sailboat to port, and a heavy splash. After that, the moans and cries of the other passengers died to the occasional whimper.
"Why do they want to go to America so badly?" Yussuf said in wonder.
"Because they believe the lies," Akil said. " America, the promised land, where all your dreams come true." He looked around the room, meeting everyone's eyes in turn, willing them to believe. "They don't understand that America is a nation of unbelievers, crusaders who are determined to destroy Islam so they can remake the world in their own image. They will wipe us out, if we don't wipe them out first."
"What we are doing won't stop them."
"No," Akil said, surprising the engineer who had spoken words he thought wouldn't carry, "it won't. Not alone. But we are not alone. We are many, and our numbers are growing. They make the West fear us. Look how we have disrupted their lives. They fear to board an airplane. They fear what their own ships may be bringing into their own seaports. They can't defend themselves from us, and they know it. Each and every day, one of their newspapers has a story about how we could poison their water supply or explode a nuclear weapon in the center of one of their cities. They fear us, because they don't know where we will strike next." He paused for effect. "After tonight, they will fear us more."
"I still don't understand how we are to do this thing," the engineer said, apologetically but nevertheless insisting on an answer. "We have had training with the small arms, yes, but none of us knows how to fire the big gun."
Akil refrained from damning the engineer with a glare. This was how these things started, one man voicing doubts. It was good that he had come. He kept his tone instructive, almost pedantic. "Did I not say that Allah would provide? Trust in him, Hatim." He smiled. "And in me."
They needed more, though, he could tell from their bent heads and sidelong looks. He shrugged mentally. There were none coming back from this mission, and no opportunity for them to betray it, not with him at hand. "I have a confession to make, my brothers. I have been guilty of practicing a deception."
Their heads came up at that. "You knew you had become a part of al Qaeda."
There were nods all around. ~
"And you are all familiar with that martyr to our glorious cause, al-Zarqawi, most foully murdered by the infidel in a cowardly attack from the air."
More nods.
"Have you heard of Isa?" They exchanged wondering glances. "Isa sat at the right hand of Zarqawi. Trained by Zarqawi, he set up al Qaeda's online communications and banking systems so that the agents of the West would never be able to track them. He-"
"You are Isa," Yussuf said.
Akil, put off his stride, took a moment to regroup. "I am."
Most of them knew the name, and expressions varied from awe to fright to exhilaration, but Yussuf's face seemed lit from within. "Then we are truly members of the glorious al Qaeda."