“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.
“OK. See you whenever you get there.” He turned and started to leave.
“Wait!” I called. “What is your name?”
“Gregory Molina,” 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 from behind startled me. I turned and saw that it was Molina. 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.”
“OK. 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 taped 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, señorita, 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 perdón, 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 taped 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. Molina 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-g. 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 the 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 bom?” 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.”
“Dictator?” I snapped. “Ecuador is a democracy.”
“Democracy hell! It’s a dictatorship, run by a little clique of fascist bastards.”
I felt myself shaking from head to toe. My throat went dry with suppressed anger.
“Someday I’ll go back to Ecuador,” Gregory Molina said. “Someday there’s going to be a reckoning. The people won’t stand for this corrupt regime much longer. Revolution is on the way, you’ll see.”
In the shadows of the parking lot I could not make out the expression on his face or the fire in his eyes. But I could hear it in his voice, his passionate, fervent voice, filled with hatred for my father. And if he knew who I really was, he would hate me, too.
I slept hardly at all that night, worrying about my father and the rebels and the seething hatred I had heard in young Gregory Molina’s voice. When I did manage to close my eyes I was racked by terrifying nightmares in which I was struggling to climb the sheer face of a high cliff with Sam up above me and Spence below. I saw the rope connecting me to Sam begin to fray. I tried to shout but no sound would come from my throat. I tried to scream but I was helpless. The rope snapped and I plunged down into the abyss, past Spence who reached out to save me, but in vain.