Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [44]
She had never been in space. She had been trained for it, but she had never been chosen. Instead, she treated flyers and their dependents, and got in flying time when she could, and hoped for a lucky break.
There was a tap at the door. Sergeant Breslov, a young man of no more than nineteen years, proud to be a sergeant in the Red Army; only, of course, it wasn't the Red Army anymore and hadn't been since Stalin had been forced to rename it during what he had to call The Great Patriotic War. Breslov would have preferred the Red Army. He often talked of carrying freedom across the world on the point of his bayonet.
"There is a long message for you, Comrade Captain. You have been transferred to Baikunyar." He frowned at the bottle which Leonilla had forgotten to put away.
"Back to work," Leonilla said. "That is worth celebration. Will you join me?" She poured a glass for Breslov.
He drank standing at stiff attention. It was one way of showing disapproval of officers who drank before lunch. Of course, many of them did, which to Breslov was another indication of how things had gone downhill since the Red Army days his father boasted of.
In three hours she was flying toward the spaceport. She could hardly believe it: urgency orders, authorizing her to fly a jet trainer, her belongings to be sent after her. What could be so important? She pushed the question from her mind and reveled in the joy of flying. Alone, in the clear skies, no one looking over her shoulder, no other pilots eager for their chance at the stick: ecstasy. Only one thing could be better.
Could that be why they'd sent for her? She knew of no space missions. But perhaps. I've been lucky for a long time. Why not more luck? She imagined being in a real Soyuz waiting for the big boosters to roar and fling the spacecraft up into clean space, and for the hell of it she flipped the jet trainer into a series of aerobatics that would have got her grounded if anyone had been watching.
A sudden gust across the San Joaquin Valley shook the trailer slightly, bringing Barry Price to instant wakefulness. He lay still, listening for the reassuring sound of the bulldozers, his crews were still at work on the nuclear power plant. There was light outside. He sat up carefully to avoid waking Dolores, but she stirred and opened one eye. "What time is it?" she asked, her voice heavy with sleep.
"About six."
"Oh, my God. Come back to bed." She reached for him. The covers fell away, revealing her tanned breasts.
He moved away, avoiding her, then caught her hands in one of his and held them while he bent to kiss her. "Woman, you're insatiable."
"I haven't had any complaints yet. Are you really getting up?"
"Yes. I've got engineering work to do, and we've got visitors later, and I've got to read that memo McCleve sent over yesterday. Should have got to it last night."
She grinned muzzily. "Bet what we did was more fun. Sure you won't come back to bed?"
"No." He went to the sink and ran water until it was hot.
"You wake up faster than any man I've ever known," Dolores said. "I'm not getting up at the crack of dawn." She pulled the pillow over her head, but she continued to move slightly under the covers, letting him know she was awake.
Still available, Barry thought. Yo ho! Then why am I putting on my pants?
When he was dressed he pretended to think she was asleep and quickly left the trailer. Outside he stretched in the morning sunshine, breathing deeply. His trailer was at the edge of the camp that housed much of the San Joaquin Nuclear Project work force. Dolores had one far away, but she didn't use it often these days. Barry walked toward the plant with a grin that faded as he thought about Dolores.
She was wonderful. And what they did in their copious free time hadn't affected their work at all. She was more administrative assistant than secretary, and he knew damned well he couldn't get along without her; she was at least as important to his work as the operations manager, and that terrified Barry Price. He kept