Wild Cards 13 : Card Sharks

by George R. R. Martin

  "And twenty-nine when you're thirty-three."

  "My. A college graduate." There was that smile again. She looked over at the table in the corner, where Enloe, Guinan and the others had their heads together. "Do you suppose Casey's ever going to come back?"

  I glanced at the clock. "He's probably waiting for the eight P.M. news."

  "You're probably right. Damn you and that stupid Russian rocket. I hope it blows up."

  "It might do just that." My head was clearing.

  Then Dr. Rowe walked in.

  He was dressed as he always dressed, except for the fact that his tie had been slightly loosened. For the first time, there was relative quiet in Pancho's. Rowe seemed amused. "Anybody know what happened with the Russians?"

  "Pancho, what's the matter with you! Turn the damn radio on!" Dearborn shouted from the table.

  Rowe stepped up to the bar and ordered a beer. As he waited, he glanced at Margaret and me. "Margaret. Ed, what do you think?"

  "I don't think they've had enough test flights."

  He got his beer and stared into it for a moment. "I hope you're right." He looked up. "And I hate myself for it."

  Three minutes to eight. Rowe went to a table - alone. Margaret slid off the stool and took my arm. "Let's go," she whispered.

  "Don't you want to know?"

  "No."

  We found her car. She slid behind the wheel and I got in beside her. Then we just sat in silence. Finally I said, "What was the big rush?"

  "I just wanted to get out of there." She pulled up her knees, dropping her shoes. Through the car window came a hot breeze that rippled her hair and blouse. Suddenly I pulled her toward me. After a moment, she pushed me away. "Something wrong?"

  She smiled, and unbuttoned her blouse. "I've just decided we're perfect for each other."

  (A handwritten note:)

  I can still remember each time we made love ... each move within each time. On the couch in her office one Friday when everyone had gone. (Sliding my hand under her skirt to her moist center. We didn't even take our clothes off.) In the car outside a motel in Rosamond, where Deb and the kids had come to visit me. (Her head in my lap ... hair caught in the steering wheel ... stains on my jacket.) The motel in Lancaster on a hot afternoon. (The shades drawn against the heat if not the light, her riding me, drowning me in her breasts....)

  Pathetic. But this is what happened.

  (From the notebooks of Edgar Thayer:)

  The news of the Soviet failure encouraged all of us. We started receiving visitors ... a couple of generals from the Western Development Division, which supervised the missile program and who, until that week, had believed the idea of space travel to be so much cream cheese, and from Aeronautical Systems, who were running around trying to take credit for Rowe's project, which they had been forced to fund.

  A Senator Kennedy showed up, too.

  Since I was spending twelve hours a day in flight control, I was oblivious to most of this. We were debugging our data processing network while at the same time the engineers in Hangar Three were putting together and tearing down the LOX pump that had caused the pogo. There were orbital operations to be rehearsed and worldwide communications to integrate.

  Oh, yes: on April 20, after Sampson and Dearborn flew another test, Rowe announced that Enloe and Guinan would make the first all-up flight. Major Wilbert Wood Enloe would become the first man in space.

  I saw Dearborn moments after the announcement. He was still shaking his head, like a man who'd been in a bad fight. Sampson didn't react at all. I concluded that he hadn't expected to get the first flight.

  Enloe began to fly daily landing approaches in an F-104 that had been modified to handle like the X-11A.

  ***

  I didn't see Guinan at all in those several days between the incident at Pancho's and the announcement. When I chanced to meet him at the commissary on Wednesday the 21st he acted as if nothing whatever was the matter. "No hard feelings?" I said.

  "Like I told Mikey, if she wanted to be with me, she'd still be with me." He was piling enough food on his plate for three men. "Enjoy it while it lasts, buddy boy. Because one of these days, she'll pull the same thing on you."

  I hated Guinan for saying that, though I already suspected it was true. Margaret had told me - confessed is not the word; she might as well have been discussing a change in the weather - that she had slept with three of the four pilots so far.

  Dearborn, Mr. Lucky, had been first. "He made a pass at me five minutes after we'd been introduced. I mean, I was putting a cuff on him - to check his blood pressure - and just like that he had his hand on my thigh." (I had my hand on her thigh.)

  "You were powerless to resist," I said. "After all, he is an ace."

  "I'd like to think that was it. I just took his hand away. He couldn't believe it for a moment. Then the next thing I knew I was locking the door and, well ... you know." She blushed.

  "Show me." And she shifted so her head slid down my stomach.

  Sampson had been second. "Dearborn told him about me, then told me he had told Sampson, just to get his reaction. You know, Mike had been sitting in the office outside ..."

  Except for that drunken night at Pancho's, I would have sworn Sampson was a straight arrow. It was hard to picture him lusting after Margaret, and I said as much. "That was the whole idea. He's not married, he doesn't have a girlfriend. No one could even remember seeing him with a woman. I think the guys thought he was some kind of freak."

  "Who knows what aces think of each other."

  "Anyway, I noticed he was hanging around the medical office one day for no particular reason. I pretty much teased him into asking me out to dinner.

  "It was very sweet. He insisted on picking me up - and he drives some beat-up little foreign car, a Renault, I think. Nothing like any pilot I've ever known - and taking me all the way to Lancaster to some romantic, out of the way little Italian place."

  "The only romantic, out of the way little Italian place in Lancaster."

  "That must be true, because who do you think we saw the moment we sat down? Wilson Rowe."

  "With Mrs. Rowe?"

  "Not unless he's married to a twenty-year-old."

  "His daughter."

  She laughed. "I don't think so."

  I raised myself on one arm, momentarily shocked out of the mood ... which was well into the realm of the ridiculous. Here I was, ensconced in the bedroom of a woman not my wife ... daring to be disappointed by the idea of Rowe having an affair.

  Then, in the time it took for Margaret to place her hand on my chest, forcing me onto my back, I relaxed, embracing it all. We were isolated, working impossible hours in reduced circumstances on what was supposed to be this magnificent adventure. The fact that Margaret had been intimate with the other aces, except for Enloe, made me feel I was part of a select club. After all, the normal rules of behavior no longer applied.

  "Sampson," I said, moving my mouth from one breast to the other. A cool wind had come up. Margaret's nipples were hard as pebbles.

  "Let's just say he ... surrendered."

  "He's an ace, too, isn't he?"

  "Mikey is ... intense. I mean, he went on for hours." She laughed. "No wonder he doesn't screw very often. He'd kill someone."

  "I must be a hell of a disappointment ..."

  "Not quite. It kind of scared me." We rolled over so that I was above her. "So it was only natural that I would turn to Casey." She laughed at some private joke, then whispered in my ear. "I was bad."

  "I'm listening."

  "I was like a dog. I just wanted to fuck him, then get rid of him." She laughed again. "Just like a man."

  "I'm hurt."

  "You don't feel hurt."

  I was inside her now. "All these aces ..."

  "I never overlap. When I find a new one, the old one is history."

  I lost my ability to speak.

  ***

  We had simulations the weekend of the 30th, so even if I had wan
ted to drive all the way down to Pasadena, I couldn't have. This left me with some free time to spend with Margaret, but, unfortunately, she was pulling the late shift at the clinic.

  About ten o'clock on Saturday night I was dozing on the couch in my room at the BOQ, too tired to function, too lazy to go to bed. "Have Gun, Will Travel" was on the TV.

  There was a knock at the door. Margaret, still in her nurse's uniform. "Come with me," she said. It never occurred to me to do anything else.

  She was unusually silent - tired, I thought - as we pulled out of the base on our way to Pancho's. But we went right at the gate instead of left. I said, "If this is a kidnapping, I insist that you have your way with me...."

  "All right."

  "Where are we going?"

  "It's a surprise."

  Moments later we drove through The NACA facility without stopping. I was disappointed. "I was sort of hoping you were going to sneak me into the 11A cockpit."

  "This is even better."

  It was still a bit of a drive ... out to the Mohave Highway, then east again, finally turning south onto Rich Road. Then, at Leuhman Ridge, she pulled off on a dirt road trail.

  "Isn't this the restricted area?" I asked as she got out.

  "Yes." She left the door open, the headlights on, and the radio playing loudly, some hillbilly music out of Bakersfield.

  In front of us stood a concrete bunker. Between our car and the bunker was a chain link fence with a padlocked gate. "I hope we're not supposed to climb."

  She produced a pair of keys. "Now that shows initiative," I said.

  Moments later we were opening the steel door to Baby's tomb.

  The surroundings were unimpressive. This was nothing more than a concrete and steel bunker, the kind originally used to store explosives. A row of bare lightbulbs provided the illumination.

  There, in the middle, sat Baby.

  I was surprised at how small it was, probably half the size of the X-11A. And where the spaceplane was sleek and winged, Baby looked like a seashell. Its skin was rough to the touch, like that of a shark. I ran my hands over it ... almost unable to believe that it had traveled here from another world, another star system.

  "Like what you see?"

  "Yes," I said. "Thank you." Only then did I turn and look at Margaret. She had slipped out of her uniform and stood there naked and, even in that ghastly light, golden. She glided up to me and brushed her lips against mine.

  "You have nothing on," I said.

  "Don't be silly," she said, unzipping my pants. "You forgot about the radio...."

  We made love right there on Baby.

  It was, I suppose, final proof that I was no longer the boy who lived the Tak World novels.

  ***

  On the morning of Tuesday, May 4th - launch minus one day - I arrived at the control center as usual at seven. Margaret had again had late duty at the medical office, so I had spent the night at the BOQ, the better to make my ritual early morning call to Deb and the children. (The more enmeshed I got with Margaret, the more faithful I was about calling. Strangely, I was looking forward to seeing them in as little as a week's time.)

  A delta-winged F-106 from the Tomlin test force roared overhead on takeoff, and I stopped to watch it climb into the sun. My ears were still ringing when I heard a man say, "Beautiful."

  George Battle stood behind me. In his mirrored sunglasses he looked like a demented Teddy Roosevelt. "Don't you love the smell of J-4 in the morning? I'd have given anything to be a pilot. Eyes."

  "Aviation's loss."

  Battle, from my brief encounter with him, was clearly one of those people who pride themselves on having a sense of humor - and don't. "In three days this place'll be swarming with reporters. Bastards."

  "I haven't noticed a lot of them so far."

  He gave a tight smile. "Thank you."

  "Well, this will be the first manned space flight in history. People will be interested."

  "I encourage people to be interested in the rocketry and such. My worry is that some of these reporters will cover the human angle." I didn't know what he meant, so he prompted. "What do you really know about Margaret Durand?" he said, straining to keep things casual.

  "I know all I need to know," I said. "Since you've obviously been spying on us -"

  "I'm in charge of security around here -"

  "- Maybe you should just tell me what exactly -"

  "- It isn't as though either of you've been a model of d discretion."

  Both of us stopped. We realized we were shouting. "Look," I said, "I realize it looks bad -"

  "- How it looks isn't the point -"

  "- But we're all under a lot of strain -"

  "- Oh, that excuse!"

  We were talking over each other again. This time Battle took the lead and I tried to restrain myself. "Her background checks out fine. Medical school in Texas, ten years as Navy nurse until hired by the Committee. Never married. Church goer." He added the last item with a certain relish. "It's perfect. Too perfect, maybe. I'm just warning you - all of you - that once your rocket goes up" - he was oblivious to the double entendre - "your lives are going to change. You're going to be under a microscope. And you'd better be ready. Dr. Rowe." Battle made the transition from warning to greeting so smoothly I was late in catching it.

  Rowe was just getting out of his car. "Good morning, George. Don't arrest Thayer until after tomorrow. I need him until then."

  Battle, still oblivious, cleared his throat. "We were just talking about the weather."

  "A personal conversation? Well, don't let it happen again." Then Rowe gestured toward me. "Ed, come here a second." Dismissed, Battle slunk away. Rowe opened the trunk of his car and pulled out what looked like a magazine wrapped in plastic. "Recognize it?"

  Inside the plastic was a gray pamphlet published by the Smithsonian Institution and dated December 1919. I didn't need to open it to know what it contained. "Goddard's paper on multi-stage rocketry and flights to the Moon."

  "'A Method of Reaching Extreme Altitudes.' The very paper ridiculed as 'absurd' by The New York Times." He handled it as if it were a priceless artifact. Which it was, to the two of us. Then, a bit too casually, I thought, he tossed it to me. "I want you to put this in Woody's personal pack."

  "For the flight?"

  "It should get into space, don't you think? After all that was said about it."

  Rowe walked over to the fence and leaned on it. From our vantage point we had a clear view into Hangar Three. The tech crew was hard at work preparing the X-11A for its big day.

  "Battle says everything changes tomorrow."

  "Everything changes every day."

  "You don't think the world will be different once Enloe lands?"

  He had a distant look in his eye. "I suppose." He stepped back from the fence. "Maybe I'm just looking at the end of an era and not liking it much. Because it's my era. When rockets were toys for bright children and crazy adults."

  "It has to grow up sometime. If we're ever going to get to the Moon. Have cities on Mars."

  "I know." He smiled sadly. "I just wish it didn't have to hurt so much." He clapped me on the shoulder and nodded at the package in my hand. "Don't forget."

  ***

  I had a few moments before the seven-thirty briefing, so I decided to drop by the suiting room. I found Major Meadows there giving a tour to some ten-year-old boy. "I told you not to touch the helmet!"

  The kid just rolled his eyes. "This looks like airplane stuff. Where's the spaceman things?"

  "These are the spaceman things," Meadows explained patiently. "My son, Mark," he said, by way of introduction and apology.

  "Pleased to meet you, Mark."

  He ignored me. "Come on, Mark. I'll drop you at school."

  I held the door for the two of them.

  It's funny, when I think back. If I hadn't held the door, I wouldn't have seen Margaret come into the building with Enloe.

  They were laughing. I knew that laugh.r />
  Margaret leaned close and said something to Enloe. Her secret voice.

  They were holding hands. My hands.

  I ducked back into the suiting room. I was too stunned to do anything but find Enloe's personal pack, open it, and gently place Rowe's gift inside it.

  Then I stood there for what seemed like a long time.

  Eventually I heard voices. Enloe and Guinan on their way to the briefing. My briefing. I knew I should leave. Right now. Any moment. Finally I forced myself out the door.

  ***

  The next morning, Wednesday, May 5th, 1958, dawned beautifully bright in the high desert. I was up at four, unable to sleep later, and at the control center by five-thirty. As was everyone else. It was like Christmas morning: something grand was going to happen.

  I stopped by Hangar Three, where Sampson, in white overalls, was setting up the cockpit.

  Guinan's tank had already rolled out to the flight line. He was in the cockpit. Ridley and Sergeant Vidrine waved as they walked toward the tank.

  I spotted Enloe on his way to breakfast with Grissom, Dearborn and Meadows. He gave me a double thumbs up. All I wanted to do was make the final suit check, and get to my console.

  Going into the suiting room, I ran right into Margaret.

  She seemed startled, almost pale. "Ed!"

  "Sleep well?" I said. I couldn't hide my emotions any better than she could.

  She sighed as her color returned. "You knew it was going to happen eventually -"

  "Eventually. Not this fast."

  "It pretty much had to be this fast, Ed." She looked at me with defiance. I never wanted her more than at that moment.

  "Well," I said. "I suppose I should take one last look -"

  I tried to brush past her, but she blocked me. I put my arms around her and pressed her against the wall. She wiggled away, smoothing her hair back. "Not out here."

  We literally fell into an equipment closet. It was dark, crowded, with barely enough room for one person. Which is what we were, briefly. It was a fast, almost brutal collision of raised skirt, cold belt buckle, and torn panties.

  For a moment we held each other, panting. "What about your rules against overlapping?"