The Write Stuff
By Terry Leatherwood <t_leatherwood@peoplepc.com>
Rated: PG
Submitted: March, 2006



This story takes place between the S3 episodes "Ordinary People" 
and "Contact." 

Chapter One

--- Thursday, early afternoon

Perry's bullhorn bellow penetrated his office door and inundated 
the bullpen in its echoes.  "Clark!  Lois!  Get in here!  We got 
something really hot!" 

Clark beat Lois to the doorway by scant inches, but still stepped 
back to allow her to enter first.  She cut her eyes at him as if 
reinforcing her natural superiority, but only he saw the soft 
smile creasing the side of her face. 

She skipped through the doorway and stopped in front of Perry's 
desk.  Clark closed the door and stood close but not quite 
touching her, just behind her left shoulder, and gazed admiringly 
at her profile. 

"What's up, Chief?"  Lois asked.  "City hall bribery scandal?"

Clark shifted his attention to his boss.  "Corruption on the 
state ethics board?" 

"Police brutality?"

"A new super-criminal on the loose?"

"Bio-terrorist threatens the city!"

"A cruise ship is in danger!"

"Carjackers are running loose in the suburbs!"

"The zoo's koala is pregnant!"

Lois froze with her mouth open, then slowly turned to face her 
partner.  "A pregnant koala?  Are you nuts, Clark?  That's not a 
story worthy of the best investigative reporting team on the East 
Coast!" 

"It stopped your babbling in its tracks, didn't it?  I win this 
round." 

"What?  Why, you - "

Perry held his hands up.  "All right, now, both of you just hush 
up!  You haven't even come close to this one, so I'll spell it 
out for you."  He pointed at the chairs behind Lois and Clark.  
"Have a seat." 

Lois plunked herself down and leaned forward.  "Okay, Chief, 
spill it!  What's our next assignment?" 

"It's a juicy one.  I figure you two deserve something meaty but 
not quite so dangerous after that Spenser Spenser fiasco." 

Lois frowned.  "I thought we all agreed that the less said about 
that whole situation the better." 

Perry folded his hands and exhaled deeply.  "You're right, we 
did.  Well, you two are assigned to this story as a team, but you 
won't be working next to one another." 

Clark's eyebrows folded inward.  "What does that mean?"

"We're coming up on the second anniversary of the arrival of the 
first colonists in space, thanks to Superman.  EPRAD has given us 
the opportunity to have a reporter at their headquarters and send 
another to Prometheus to cover the celebration at the station.  
And - " 

"The space station!"  Lois began bouncing in her chair and waving 
her hand in the air like a second-grader with the right answer.  
"Oh!  Oh!  Perry!  Pick me!  Pick me!" 

Clark put his hand on her arm and gently pulled it down.  "Lois, 
I think I might be better suited to go to space than you are." 

"What?  You Kansas hayseed, you wouldn't know which way was up!"

"Space is a zero-gravity environment.  There is no `up' up 
there." 

"I'm the senior partner so I get to go!"

"But I'm stronger and better suited to handle the stress of 
liftoff - " 

"Wrong answer, Clark!  I'm smaller and won't be as stressed by - 
" 

"Hey hey hey!"  Perry's shout overrode both of them.  "I like a 
lively debate as much as the next man, but there's no 
volunteering on this one.  The matter's already settled." 

Clark grinned smugly.  "Thanks, Perry."  He turned to his 
partner.  "Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it when I come 
back to Earth." 

Lois shot him an evil glare as Perry cleared his throat.  "I'm 
sorry about this, but - you're grounded, Kent.  Lois is going to 
the station." 

Clark's face almost fell off his head.  "What!"

"Oh, Perry, that's wonderful!  Thank you!"  She leaped over the 
desk and hugged her editor's neck.  "Thank you, thank you, thank 
you so much!" 

Perry patted her shoulder awkwardly.  "That's good, Lois, that's 
nice, that's very nice, in fact that's quite enough, okay?" 

She released him.  "Oh, sure, sorry," she giggled.  Then she 
turned to Clark and momentarily stuck her tongue out at him. 

He frowned back at her.  "Promises, promises.  Perry, why is Lois 
going instead of me?" 

"Because we only have one hundred sixty-three pounds of mass 
available for a person, clothing, equipment, and anything else we 
send up.  That's all the room the next shuttle has left.  I don't 
know how much you weigh, Clark, but it's gotta be more than that 
if you were in your birthday suit." 

Lois laughed and slapped her knee.  "Clark Kent, the naked 
astronaut!" 

Clark glowered at her.  "Not funny.  Space is cold enough as it 
is without totally exposing yourself." 

"Then I get the headline exposure by myself this time."  Lois 
clapped her hands together.  "When do I go up, Perry?" 

"You have the rest of the afternoon and tonight to get ready.  
EPRAD has already gotten the Planet's background check on you and 
you passed.  You have -" 

"Background check?"  she shouted.  "Do they think I'm going to 
rob the place?" 

"Everybody gets cleared or they don't go up.  The Planet has the 
right to do criminal background checks on its employees at any 
time.  All of you signed the form last year." 

Perry lifted his index finger to forestall her next outburst.  
"You're legally cleared to go.  Now listen." 

She put her hands on her hips and glared but didn't say 
anything. 

Perry nodded.  "You have an appointment with the Planet's doctor 
in three hours for your pre-flight physical exam.  You don't lift 
off until tomorrow morning at 5 o'clock, but you'll have to be at 
the launch site by midnight to get fitted for your pressure suit 
and get your station issue coveralls.  Don't give me that look, 
young lady!  Everyone wears the same thing up there." 

"That sounds so boring."

"I'm sure it is, but it also cuts down on the station's laundry 
bill.  Now get a move on.  Jimmy has all the research material 
you'll need for your side of the story." 

"I'll get on it right away."

Clark stood with her.  "Maybe we can have a going-away dinner 
tonight, Lois." 

Perry cleared his throat.  "I don't think you should do that.  
Lois is gonna need all the time she has between now and liftoff 
just to get started on the background material." 

"I know, Perry.  But maybe I could help her study?"

He frowned at Clark.  "I've heard that one before, son, back when 
my boys were in high school, and I know what actually gets 
studied.  You have your assignment, she has hers, and you two can 
get together and compare notes when she gets back.  Besides, 
she's not supposed to eat a big meal for at least twelve hours 
before liftoff." 

Lois gave him a mock frown.  "Oh, Perry, you're just an old 
fuddy-duddy!" 

He lifted his hands to his sides.  "I'm only telling you what the 
EPRAD people told me.  If you want to barf all over yourself in 
public, who am I to stand in your way?" 

"Don't worry, I'll be just fine."  

She turned to leave, but Perry stopped her.  "One more thing, 
Lois." 

"What?"

"Um."  He pointed at her head.  "It's your hair."

"Huh?  What about my hair?"

"It has to go."

"Go?  Go where?  Where's my hair going, if not with me?"

Perry lifted a sheet of paper with EPRAD's letterhead from his 
desk.  "You more than qualify physically, Lois, unless the doctor 
finds something none of us know about, but they have a rule for 
anyone on the station that his or her hair cannot be more than 
three inches in length from the scalp." 

"What!"  Lois pulled her locks around to look at them.  "Perry!  
You've got to be kidding!" 

"Is this my kidding face?  Do I look like I'm kidding?"

Her mouth worked but no sound came out.  Clark patted her on the 
shoulder.  "I can have it made into a wig if you want." 

She spun and glared at him, and this time there was no hidden 
smile.  "I don't think jokes are appropriate at a time like this! 
 Do either of you have any idea how long it took me to get my 
hair to behave at this length?  And how much any professional 
woman has invested in her appearance?" 

She took an angry step towards her boss.  "My hair is part of me! 
 You men, you get your hair lopped off and just let it grow back 
willy-nilly and you just comb what little there is of it left 
however you want, but a woman has to work on her hair, work with 
her hair, coax it to do exactly what she wants it to do and then 
maybe - just maybe - sometimes it looks halfway decent!  How many 
men have you ever heard complain of a bad hair day?" 

"Fabio?" offered Perry.

"Any 80's metal band?" Clark responded.

She lifted her face to the ceiling in frustrated complaint. 
"Arrghh!  Men!"  

Perry lifted his hand in finality.  "Them's the rules, Lois.  Cut 
your hair short or don't go." 

"Perry - "

"I don't make these rules, honey, I just enforce them.  Besides, 
if you show up looking like that, they'll either tell you to go 
home or pull out a pair of clippers and shear you bald." 

"They'd better not try something like that!"

"Then get your hair cut short."

"Nobody stopped me when I sneaked on two years ago!"

"They didn't have this rule then.  They do now."  She snorted.  
Perry shrugged.  "Okay, I'll see if Peggy Wilkins can go.  She's 
already got pretty short hair and - " 

"NO!"  Lois almost lunged over the desk.  "She's rewrite, Perry, 
not field reporting!  She can't do investigations or interviews, 
not as well as I can!  She won't be able to do this story 
justice!"  She took a deep breath and let it out explosively.  
"Fine!  I'll do it!  I'll do it for the paper!  And for the 
story!" 

Perry didn't blink.  "Okay, Lois.  Jimmy has the address of a 
hairstylist who's worked with EPRAD before.  He knows how it's 
supposed to be cut." 

"Why can't I use my own stylist?"

"Can you get an appointment this afternoon?"

She chewed her lower lip for a moment, then shook her head.  "No. 
 No way.  I'd have to book at least nine days in advance." 

"All right, then.  See Jimmy and do your homework and be there 
tonight by midnight for the final prep.  And make sure you do all 
your required reading." 

"Aw, Perry?"  she whined.  No response.  As a last resort, she 
tried her puppy-dog face on her boss, but it ricocheted off the 
Kevlar sheath around his heart and whined harmlessly out the 
window. 

So she spun and marched past Clark into the bullpen.  "Olsen!" 
she barked.  "Come on.  Let's go destroy my hair."  Over her 
shoulder, she called out, "And I better not hear a single word 
about this from you, Kent!" 

--- Thursday, mid-afternoon

Jimmy glanced nervously at the traffic zipping past them and 
began reading.  "'Space Station Prometheus has been in a constant 
state of construction since its inception nine years ago.  The 
first shipment of scientific personnel, a group of eight 
physicists who trained for the zero-gee environment at the EPRAD 
facility in Miami, arrived four years after assembly began.  
Since that time -`" 

"Skip the ancient history, Jimmy.  I need current info."

Jimmy leaned against the Jeep's passenger door and steadied the 
EPRAD manual in his lap as Lois whipped around a city bus.  "This 
is important, Lois.  Perry said you'd need all the station 
history you can get." 

"Perry's not writing this story, I am, and I only need to know 
what I need to know in order to get around the station.  Where 
did you say this hair salon is?" 

"North-east corner of Twentieth and Cooper.  We're about four 
blocks away." 

"Good.  Now give me something about Prometheus I can use."

Muttering to himself, Jimmy flipped towards the middle of the 
manual.  "Here we go.  `Station architecture.'  I know you'll 
need this." 

"Then start reading!"

"Okay, okay!  `Space Station Prometheus is laid out as a ring, 
which rotates around the hub, to which the ring connects with six 
tubular spokes, each being approximately fifteen meters in 
diameter and four hundred meters in length from hub to ring.  
Each spoke contains both person-accessible passageways, plus 
several or more tubes containing fuel, wiring of various kinds, 
access to scientific laboratories, and various storages.'"  He 
stopped and made a face.  "Eww.  Who wrote this?" 

"Probably some desk-bound bureaucrat with delusions of adequacy.  
There!  Is that it?  `Andre's Temple of Coiffure'?" 

"Bingo.  Andre himself is waiting for us, and we have the 
exclusive use of the place for an hour."  Jimmy pointed to the 
right.  "Look!  A parking space!  This has got to be fate or 
kismet or karma or something!" 

Lois sighed as she expertly tracked the Jeep into the empty 
space.  "It's me, Jimmy.  The universe is determined to give me 
short hair." 

Jimmy got out and fed the meter.  "Hey, I'm surprised your hair 
hasn't gotten blown off or burned off already, as many dangerous 
situations as you've been in over the years." 

She shot him a `don't go there' look and motioned for him to 
precede her into Andre's.  At least she could keep her hair for a 
moment longer, she thought. 

The opening of the door set off a three-tone chime that reminded 
Lois of an old television network opening.  She looked around to 
see the cleanest, shiniest, most effete room she'd ever been in.  
It was large enough to be called an atrium, and it was completed 
with skillfully placed plants and several impressive oil 
paintings on the walls.  A painfully thin man of medium height 
and apparently no body fat smiled at them, then stepped from 
behind the marble reception area and lifted his slender but 
muscular ebony arms to the ceiling.  She thought she recognized 
his face, but she couldn't quite place him. 

"Ah!  Yet another worshipper at the shrine of Andre!  Come in, 
come in."  His surprisingly deep and resonant baritone voice 
filled the room as he took Jimmy's arm and tugged him towards one 
of the open cubicles spaced around the walls of the salon.  "Come 
with me, my young friend, come with me." 

"We're with the Daily Planet and - wait, I'm not - "

"Do not be alarmed, young sir, you will be absolutely divine when 
I have completed my ministrations!" 

"Ministrations - wait a minute!  I like my hair like it is!  I 
don't - " 

Andre shushed him with a look and an upraised index finger.  
"Young man, there are civilizations in our world today where hair 
such as yours might earn you prison time, and while that can be 
most instructive in and of itself, it is not the healthiest place 
for an up-and-coming youth.  Now, allow Andre to perform his 
appointed task, and we will create in you a true work of art!" 

"No!  Wait a minute!  I don't need a haircut!"

"Haircut?  Bah!  Andre does not do haircuts!  Andre works magic, 
Andre performs miracles, and Andre will certainly need one today! 
 Still and all, my good man, you will be irresistible when I have 
completed my transformation!" 

Jimmy shot a pleading look over his shoulder.  "Lois!  Tell him 
you're the one!  Andre!"  he begged.  "Look, she's the one!  
You're supposed to cut her hair, not mine!" 

Andre jerked to a halt and looked back at Lois, who was convulsed 
in suppressed laughter.  He turned to Jimmy and said, "Are you 
certain of this?" 

Jimmy slowly extricated his arm from the man's grip.  "Oh, yeah, 
I'm sure.  She's the one who's going to the space station." 

Andre threw his hands in the air.  "Oh!  The Prometheus!  I see!  
Young man, I do apologize."  He grasped Jimmy's hands in his 
again and rubbed them with his thumbs.  "I saw your hair and I so 
desperately hoped that - oh, please forgive me." 

Jimmy cautiously drew his hands away from Andre.  "No problem, 
man, it's okay, it's cool, really.  Look, can you get started 
with her?  She's got a doctor's appointment in a little over two 
hours and I've got a lot of information to give her." 

"Of course, of course!"  He turned to Lois.  "You must be Lois 
Lane.  Please forgive me for not recognizing you." 

She fought to contain the chortle that desperately wanted to 
escape.  "That's okay, you were - distracted." 

Over Andre's shoulder, Jimmy gave her a warning look, and it had 
as much effect on her as her own puppy-dog look had had on Perry. 
 Andre stepped forward.  "If you are ready, Miss Lane, we can 
begin." 

Lois looked pointedly at Andre's bare skull and asked, "Do you do 
your own hair?" 

He laughed.  "Oh, no!  I shave my head.  I am also a competitive 
swimmer, and hair impedes one's progress in the water ever so 
slightly." 

She nodded.  "Makes sense."  Then she sighed.  "Well, I guess 
it's lose the hair or lose a great story, maybe even a whole 
series of them.  Let's get to it." 

He guided Lois to a cubicle and pulled the curtain shut.  Jimmy 
pushed it aside and stepped in.  "Hey, is there any reason I 
can't be in here too?" 

Andre looked to Lois.  "There are no body modesty issues of which 
I am aware, but many people do not wish others to see their new 
hairstyle before it is ready for a public unveiling.  It is your 
choice, Miss Lane." 

Lois snorted.  "Oh, come on in, Jimmy!  Just don't bump the man's 
arm while he's pointing sharp objects at my head." 

"Got it.  This chair okay?"

Andre observed him disdainfully.  "As long as you remain there 
and keep to yourself all of your comments pertaining to style, 
yes." 

Jimmy waved his free hand.  "Don't worry about that.  I'm no 
fashion critic." 

"Good.  Andre, start trimming.  Jimmy, start reading."

Jimmy opened the book again.  "Let me find where I was."

Andre stood back and studied Lois's head.  "Hmm.  You have a 
well-shaped cranium, Miss Lane.  Too bad you must cut your hair, 
this style compliments you.  Ah, me, it cannot be helped.  I 
shall begin." 

Lois closed her eyes.  "Jimmy, you find your place yet?"

"Not yet.  I'll let you know."

She sighed.  "I'll be here."  She shuddered as Andre ran a comb 
through her hair and snipped off a small bit.  Deciding that any 
conversation was better than none, she said, "Andre, my boss told 
me you do a lot of hair for people going to the station.  Do you 
know why I have to have my hair cut so short?" 

"Yes.  The longer one's hair is, the more likely it is that a 
single strand will break away.  On Earth, it occurs constantly 
and is not a problem, but in a very low-gravity environment, 
stray hairs will drift into machinery and jam air recycling fans, 
contaminate scientific experiments, and generally make a 
maintenance nuisance of themselves.  You cannot simply restrain 
your hair with a net for the same reason.  Also, hygiene is more 
difficult on the station.  Washing long hair requires more water 
than washing short hair, and water is almost as important and 
expensive to recycle as is breathable air.  And longer hair 
contains more inert microscopic particles and living bacteria and 
viruses that can be easily jarred loose, which things also go 
where they should not." 

Lois sighed.  "I guess that means hair spray isn't encouraged, 
either." 

Jimmy shrugged nonchalantly.  "Afraid not.  It's on the 
`absolutely do not bring aboard' list." 

"Great.  Maybe I'll just - "

"Ah!" Andre cried out.

Lois almost panicked.  "What?  What is it?  What's wrong?  What 
did you do?" 

He sighed deeply.  "My dear young lady, I have uncovered your ear 
and it is quite lovely!  As is your neck!  My, my, perhaps this 
new shorter style will agree with you after all." 

--- Thursday, late afternoon

Jimmy's voice droned on.  " `- and rotation of the station 
provides simulated gravity in the habitat ring and along the 
length of the spokes, although it is reduced as one traverses 
closer to the station hub, where there exists effectively zero 
gravitational pull.'  At least the quality of the writing hasn't 
declined." 

Lois sighed.  "Just read it, Jimmy, don't critique it."

"Okay, okay.  Um, let me see - oh, yeah.  Your quarters will be 
on the habitat ring, where the perceived  gravity is about 
three-quarters Earth normal." 

Lois had almost forgotten Andre's ministrations under the 
constant flow of information from Jimmy.  "Perceived gravity?  
Oh, right, because of the rotation." 

Jimmy nodded.  "There's a sidebar with a technical explanation.  
It says that the spin of the station actually tries to throw you 
away from the hub - that's the centrifugal force - but the outer 
ring stops you from falling, and since the station's rotation is 
constant, you never catch up to it." 

She frowned.  "I'm not sure I get that one."

Jimmy shrugged.  "That's all it says.  I don't really understand 
it either." 

Andre stepped from behind Lois's chair and put his hands on his 
hips.  "It is quite simple.  Permit me to demonstrate."  He 
unsnapped from his belt a ring of keys attached to a chain and 
held it up in front of Lois.  "If I drop the keys - thusly - the 
key ring falls towards the local center of gravity, the earth.  
You may also say that it is falling away from my other hand, the 
one which holds the other end of the chain.  Now please observe." 
 He stepped back and began spinning the keys on the chain.  "Were 
I to release this chain, these keys would travel as far as their 
Newtonian energy would take them." 

Jimmy frowned.  "Newtonian energy?"

"Newton's Laws of Motion, young man.  You should study them.  The 
one which applies to this explanation states that an object in 
motion will continue in motion unless acted upon by another 
force, in this case, the chain, which only allows the keys to 
travel so far before pulling them in a circle. 

"Now, because I do not release the chain, the keys, which are 
still trying to `fall away' from my other hand, as the outer ring 
of the Prometheus constantly `falls away' from the hub, are 
physically pulled at an angle away from the direction they are 
trying to fall.  You see how all the keys are pressed on the key 
ring as far from my hand as they can be, do you not?" 

Lois and Jimmy both nodded.  "This is a simulation of the 
artificial gravity generated by the rotation of a spatial body.  
Just as the keys constantly press against the key ring, you, Miss 
Lane, will constantly press against the outside of the station's 
habitat ring.  The farther from the hub you are, the more 
pressure you will exert against whatever part of the station upon 
which you are standing."   

He caught the key ring and returned it to his belt.  "You 
constantly `fall away' from the station's hub and also constantly 
have that angular momentum blunted by the floor of the ring, and 
therefore you have the simulation of gravity."  

 He returned to her hair.  "You will also have the simulation of 
weight, although you will feel somewhat lighter there than you do 
here.  I should caution you not to jump from a higher point to a 
lower one while you are on the station.  The additional velocity 
you generate by moving farther away from the hub will cause you 
to land harder than you would expect.  A long fall might 
seriously injure you." 

He lifted his scissors and hesitated.  "There is one other thing 
of which you must be aware.  Low gravity equals low traction, 
which means that the lower the apparent gravity, the less you may 
rely upon the soles of your shoes to retard your momentum.  The 
usual first injury for a new space station inhabitant is from 
colliding with a wall or another person while trying to stop or 
change direction using only one's feet.  The danger increases 
with proximity to the hub." 

Jimmy's mouth stayed open for a moment before he recovered.  
"Wow!  That was great, Andre!  You should be a science teacher!" 

Andre paused and fixed him with a laser glare.  "Young man, 
science teachers earn but a pittance compared to the income which 
this shop produces, and they must deal with unruly and 
disinterested students on a daily basis."  He huffed and 
straightened his shoulders.  "Without your own forced interest in 
the subject, I would never have mentioned artificial gravity or 
its effects to you." 

Lois decided to get Jimmy off the hook.  "Come on, Mr. 
Information, give me more data.  Read the book." 

"Uh.  Yeah, right.  Uh, it says that the spokes are mostly used 
for labs, storage, and air circulation - again with the uses of 
the spoke -  and that the perceived gravity gets less the closer 
you are to the hub." 

"Makes sense, especially after Andre's explanation."

"Yeah.  Let's see what else - oh, this is good.  The station can 
support a little more than three thousand permanent residents, 
but currently has only about eleven hundred or more adults 
aboard." 

Andre snipped some more of Lois's hair.  "That figure is somewhat 
out of date.  There are slightly more than thirteen hundred 
people assigned to the station as of yesterday on either 
long-term or open-ended contracts, long-term being two years or 
more.  And there are currently no children in permanent 
residence, save for a few who are undergoing experimental medical 
treatments, although quite a number of them travel there either 
with their parents or on some sort of scholastic voyage." 

Jimmy nodded and made a notation in the booklet he was holding.  
"Thanks for the update.  We can put it in with the technical 
sidebar on the station."  He began reading again.  "It also says 
that the station clock is synchronized with Greenwich Mean Time, 
which is four hours ahead of US Eastern daylight savings time, 
and they run three eight-hour shifts.  Huh.  They actually call 
them Alpha, Beta, and Gamma.  The Alpha shift runs from eight AM 
to four PM, followed by Beta which runs to midnight, followed by 
Gamma which goes until eight AM.  Meal and rest breaks are 
scheduled around the workload." 

Andre chuckled.  "There was much debate about the scheduling at 
the beginning.  A minority insisted that there should be four 
six-hour shifts, but others pointed out that such a schedule 
would leave workers with that much more free time, and since 
there were and are limited entertainment opportunities on the 
station, there would be that much more opportunities for the 
workers to create trouble.  Obviously, the eight-hour faction 
succeeded in convincing the administration of the rightness of 
their position." 

Lois smiled.  "How is it you know so much about the station, 
Andre?" 

"It is a hobby of mine.  I once had a yen to go to space, but I 
found fulfillment in other endeavors." 

Jimmy smiled.  "Yeah.  Kinda like CK what did."

Andre stopped and spun on dancer's toes, his hands on his hips.  
"And who is this CK person?" 

"Clark Kent.  He's Lois's boyfriend.  He grew up on a farm in 
Kansas and he's traveled around the world, but - as you put it - 
he now `finds fulfillment' reporting the news at the Daily 
Planet." 

"Ah.  Your paramour, Miss Lane?  Does he envy your opportunity to 
travel into space?" 

Lois thought back to the days when Clark - as Superman - had 
destroyed the threat from the Nightfall asteroid.  "He said he 
wanted to go, but I don't know that he'd enjoy it.  As much as 
he's traveled here on Earth, I'm not sure he'd like being closed 
up in a big tin can." 

"Perhaps not.  Please forgive me for interrupting, Mr. Olsen.  I 
will be silent so that you may continue." 

"Hey, no problem.  I like hearing what you have to say.  Let's 
see what else we have here.  Here we go.  `The original location 
of the station in geosynchronous Earth orbit is now the home of 
the Firefall Waypoint Station.  This facility can refuel a 
shuttle ascending to the Prometheus, and is the maintenance 
station for both the shuttle itself and the ion drivers which 
propel the shuttle to and from the Prometheus.' 

"'The station now occupies the L5, or fifth LaGrangian point, in 
the solution to the orbital mechanics of the three-body problem 
relating to the Earth, the Moon, and the station.'"  He stopped 
and looked at Andre.  "I don't suppose you could translate that 
one for me, could you?" 

Andre sighed.  "Do the high schools of this state no longer teach 
astronomy or physics?  Never mind."  He picked up a bottle of 
hair spray.  "Imagine that Miss Lane's head is the earth and this 
bottle is the moon.  The point between the two where the gravity 
of each pulls equally on an object is the L1 position, which is 
approximately two-thirds the distance from the Earth to the Moon. 
 The L2 position is on the far side of the moon, here, and its 
stability derives from its orbital velocity canceling out the 
combined gravitational pull of the Earth and its satellite.  The 
L3 position would be on the far side of the planet opposite 
Luna's current position and would follow approximately the same 
orbital path as does the moon." 

He pointed again.  "The L4 and L5 positions are at the corners of 
a rough equilateral triangle which intersects the Moon's orbit at 
those points and has Earth as its third point, and where the 
gravity wells of Earth and the moon again pull equally against 
any object occupying the position and encourage it to travel in a 
stable orbit roughly following the path of the Moon.  These two 
points are located ahead and behind Luna's position in its orbit, 
respectively.  

"Interestingly, there are clouds of space dust congregated at the 
L4 and L5 points involving our Sun and the Earth which were 
discovered in the nineteen-fifties and are currently being 
studied by remote probes.  The L4 and L5 points are also the most 
stable of the five and are the logical places to park objects 
such as a station which have very little inherent 
maneuverability."  He put the bottle of hair spray down.  "Is 
that a sufficient explanation?" 

Even Lois's eyes were wide.  "Wow.  I actually understood that.  
Thanks, Andre." 

A hint of a smile bent his lips.  "Thank you."

Jimmy asked, "Hey, Lois, have you asked anyone to house-sit for 
you while you're gone?" 

"House-sit?"  Her eyes went wide.  "Aggh!  No!  I didn't even 
think about it!  Are you by any chance volunteering?" 

He shook his head.  "Sorry, I can't.  I've got a two-week 
vacation to the Grand Canyon starting a week from Tuesday and I'm 
not missing that trip."  His eyes lit with an evil gleam.  "Hey, 
I bet Ralph would be happy to - " 

"No!" she barked.  "Absolutely not!  Don't even think about that! 
 No way I'm letting that slime mold near my personal space!  If I 
had my way he wouldn't work at the Planet!  I'd rather have Lex 
Luthor come back to life!" 

Jimmy's mouth twitched.  "Don't beat around the bush, Lois, tell 
us how you really feel about the guy." 

"You know, there's lots of comedy clubs with open mike nights.  
Why don't you go find a couple?  Preferably in Los Angeles.  Or 
maybe New Zealand." 

"Ooh, that's cold, lady.  So, who's going to watch your place 
while you're gone?" 

She sighed.  "I guess I could ask Clark."

He nodded.  "CK would do it, for sure.  You want me to give him 
your house keys?" 

"Okay.  I guess I won't see him before I leave.  Just tell him to 
feed my fish.  I think I forgot this morning." 

"Sure.  Assuming the little guys are still alive, that is."

She sneered in his direction.  "You and Clark are both 
hysterically funny.  And tell him I like my mess and it better 
not be clean when I get back." 

Andre sniggered.  Lois said, "What was that for?  Did you mess up 
my hair?" 

"Oh, no, Miss Lane.  It is only that asking your friend not to 
clean your home will undoubtedly result in you having to step 
around empty pizza boxes and crushed soft drink cans when you 
return." 

She grinned.  "Not Clark.  He'll have the whole place polished 
within an inch of its life.  My apartment has never been as clean 
as he's going to get it." 

Jimmy chimed in, "You'll have real food in your refrigerator and 
pantry, too." 

Before Lois could respond, Andre stepped back and announced, "I 
have finished!  It is yet another successful creation of Andre!  
Now, please observe for yourself the new Lois Lane." 

He spun her to face the nearest mirror.  Lois gasped as she saw 
herself.  Her beautiful long hair was gone!  In its place was a 
wispy, reddish brown halo around her forehead and  a ring of tiny 
strands around the sides, just touching her ears.  It was short, 
it was station regulation length, and it was somehow perfect for 
her. 

She stood and took his hand gently.  "Andre, thank you!  I was so 
afraid I'd end up looking like an Army recruit, but this is - 
well, it's way better than I expected!" 

He narrowed his eyes.  "The style you describe as `Army recruit' 
is actually the favored style on the station.  It requires almost 
no maintenance and may be renewed by any unprepossessing 
chimpanzee wielding an electric trimmer and a vacuum hose."  He 
shuddered.  "It is horrible to contemplate." 

She looked in the mirror again, turning from side to side to view 
the results.  "Well, this isn't horrible, it's excellent!  I like 
it.  I like it a lot.  I may keep it this length after I come 
back down to Earth."  Assuming Clark likes it, she thought. 

Maybe, she considered, even if Clark doesn't like it.

She opened her purse, but Andre waved her off.  "No, no, Miss 
Lane, that is not necessary.  The Daily Planet has taken care of 
my fee, including a generous tip." 

"Oh.  Well, in that case, I'd like some of your business cards.  
I know some people who need to know about you." 

He smiled a little more.  "Thank you, Miss Lane.  I will 
certainly accommodate that request." 

As Andre turned to reach for the cards, Lois tossed Jimmy her 
keys.  "Here, Jim, open the Jeep and let the hot air out." 

He caught them and lifted an eyebrow at her.  "Gee, thanks, Lois. 
 Anything else?" 

"Yeah.  Start it up and turn on the air conditioner.  I'll be out 
when it cools off." 

"Oh, be still my beating heart!  I get to cool down Lois Lane's 
Jeep!"  He gathered his material and headed for the door.  "This 
is indeed a red-letter day for Jimmy Olsen!  I can die happy now 
that I - " 

"Just cool it, Olsen!"

He stopped at the door and turned.  "Cool it?  Me or the car?  Or 
maybe both?  You really think I can handle all that?" 

"No, but give it your best shot anyway."

He shook his head and left the building.  

"Perhaps you were a bit harsh with the young man."

Lois shrugged.  "Maybe so, but I need to ask you something, in 
private, something I didn't want to ask you in front of Jimmy."  
She turned to Andre and stuttered, "You're not really - I mean, 
you're really - you don't really - do you?" 

He put his hands behind his back.  "Are you, by any chance, 
asking me if I am actually gay, Miss Lane?" 

"Uh - well, yeah, I am."

"Why?"

"Because you're obviously very good with hair, and I need to know 
if I should send some of my male friends here.  The straight 
ones, I mean." 

"Are you doing more research for your story?"

"No.  This is only for my own satisfaction.  I won't print a word 
about this conversation no matter what you tell me." 

"I see."  A real grin spread over his face as he crossed his arms 
over his chest.  He spoke in a far more relaxed tone.  "I'm not 
the least bit gay, Miss Lane, but if that got out, I'd lose a big 
chunk of business.  There are `society' women in this city who 
wouldn't trust a straight man within six feet of their heads, but 
they let me do their hair on a regular basis because I prance 
around like a newborn colt and flip my wrists at them.  And," he 
said as he wiggled his eyebrows, "they're terrific tippers." 

Lois shared his laugh.  "I won't breathe a word of your secret, I 
promise.  Either one of them." 

He lost his grin.  "Other secret?  What other secret would that 
be, Miss Lane?" 

"That you're also a closet scientist with a knack for teaching.  
Where do you do that, by the way?" 

He sighed.  "You're as good as they say you are.  I teach physics 
and calculus at Metropolis Community College, which is also where 
I do a lot of my swimming practice.  Very few of my students 
belong to my circle of customers, and the inverse is also true, 
so there's not much chance that my dual identity will be 
revealed." 

"I was right, you do have a secret identity."  She grinned and 
tapped him lightly on the chest.  "I thought I recognized you 
from the Nightfall press conference almost two years ago.  You 
were there taking notes, and I thought you were a reporter until 
you walked past two phones that weren't being used.  A real 
reporter would have knocked someone down to call in that story." 

"I seem to recall that almost happening that day.  Am I imagining 
things?" 

Lois blushed slightly.  "No, you're not, and I assure you that 
I've mended my ways since then."  She glanced at the door.  
"Gotta go.  Jimmy won't wait forever, and I've got some more 
studying to do before I leave." 

He stepped back into character and smiled at her.  "Then I bid 
you a good afternoon, Miss Lane.  Have a safe and pleasant 
journey." 

"Thanks, Andre.  You keep that dual identity thing going.  It can 
be rough sometimes, but the results are worth it." 

Lois walked out the door and smiled when she saw Jimmy pouting in 
the passenger seat.  She climbed into the cool vehicle and gave 
him a light apologetic punch on the shoulder.  "Hey, bud, thanks 
for the briefing in there.  I didn't even notice how long it 
took." 

"You're welcome.  Here."

Without turning to face her, he held out two thin pamphlets to 
her, both facing down.  Lois frowned and took them.  "What are 
these?"  She turned the first one over and read aloud, "Use of 
the zero-gravity toilet for women."  She looked up at him and 
tried not to laugh.  "So - this is for - for me to read on my 
own?" 

Still looking out the window, he replied, "That one and the other 
one." 

She turned the second one over and read aloud, "Disposal of 
feminine hygiene products aboard the Prometheus." 

She couldn't hold it in any more.  She sputtered, then leaned 
back in the seat and laughed aloud.  "Oh, Jimmy, that was 
refreshing!  Thanks for the homework." 

He turned towards her.  "Homework?  Oh, the pamphlets."  He 
reddened and looked straight out the windshield.  "I'm sorry, 
Lois, but there's no way I'm gonna read either one of those to 
you." 

She put the Jeep in reverse and quickly backed into a gap in 
traffic.  "No problem.  I probably would be laughing too hard to 
drive safely if you did." 

They lurched forward and swerved around another driver who backed 
out without looking.  Jimmy grabbed the door handle to steady 
himself.  "Whoa.  Lois Lane, driving safely.  What a stunning 
concept." 

She whacked him on the upper arm.  "Ow!  Hey!  Lois, that really 
hurt!" 

"Yeah?  Well, the beatings will continue until morale improves, 
so shape up!" 

--- Thursday, nine forty-eight P.M.

Clark opened his oven and sniffed, then smiled.  The quiche would 
be ready soon, and for a change he was really hungry.  He and 
Lois had spoken briefly by phone several times during the day, 
but he hadn't seen her since she'd left for Andre's, and he hoped 
she was taking the loss of her hair well.  He'd gotten used to 
that longer style on her, since that was what her hairstyle had 
been since he'd met her, and he hoped it would grow back 
quickly. 

His own EPRAD briefings had gone smoothly.  He'd spoken at length 
with Dr. Billie Jo Parker, an astrophysicist on loan from 
Louisiana State University, and they'd established a comfortable 
rapport with her which he felt would allow him to get past the 
pat smiley-face answers and get to the root of what was actually 
happening, should anything important actually happen. 

Just as he put the quiche on the table, his phone rang.  He 
turned the Mozart CD down before answering.  "Hello?" 

"Hi, Clark, it's Lois.  How's the party going?"

"Party?  What party?"

"You know, the `girlfriend is out of town' party.  Sounds like a 
real swinging time over there.  Wish I could come." 

"Nah, you'd hate it.  It's just a bunch of the guys from office.  
Ralph even showed up.  Besides, the stripper grandma is just 
about to come out of the cake, and then we get to play 
pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey." 

"Stripper grandma, eh?  Taking off her long johns accompanied by 
Mozart?"   

"You can take the boy out of the country, but you can't take the 
country out of the boy." 

She chuckled ruefully.  "You and your wild idea of a bachelor 
party."  She paused and sighed.  "You're by yourself tonight, 
aren't you?" 

"Yep.  You?"

"I wish I were.  I'd have a lot more privacy."  She sighed again. 
 "I'm in the ladies' dressing room at the launch center, 
shivering in my station issue underwear, waiting for my pressure 
suit to be altered.  They issued me four sets of coveralls a 
little while ago, too.  They're all dark blue, and you would not 
believe how unflattering those things are." 

"Lois, I wouldn't believe anything could be unflattering if 
you're wearing it." 

"Oh, Clark!"  He heard a sniff.  "Doggone it, don't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Be so sweet to me over the phone when I can't be with you and 
let you know how much I appreciate it." 

"In your station issue underwear?"

Her nose and her tone both dried in an instant.  "In your dreams, 
Kent." 

"Well, you know you're with me there, Lois.  And not always - you 
know." 

Her voice turned low and sultry.  "No, Clark, I don't know.  Tell 
me, how am I dressed in your dreams?  How do I act?" 

Even though he was alone, he felt himself turning pink.  "You're, 
ah, you're, you're very playful.  Sometimes I imagine you turning 
cartwheels in cheerleader's outfit, or leading the band as a drum 
majorette - " 

"Cheerleader?  Drum majorette?"  She huffed at him.  "I'm flying 
to outer space in a few hours, Clark, so I wish you'd be 
serious." 

He smiled.  "Sorry.  I'll try to save up all the romantic stuff 
for when you get back." 

"I should think you would."

"Shouldn't be a problem for me.  By the way, Jimmy gave me your 
house keys and your message.  I've already trashed the place for 
you.  The pizza fragments should be quite fragrant by the time 
you get back." 

"Good.  I'd hate to come back to a clean apartment.  It'd make me 
think you actually care for me or something." 

He smiled wider.  "I guess we can't have that happening.  Hey, 
since I'm sure you haven't had the opportunity, do you want me to 
give your parents a call and tell them you're about to go into, 
over, and above the wild blue yonder?" 

"What?  NO!"  she shouted.  "You will NOT call my mother and tell 
her about this assignment!  She'd go totally berserk!  She'd fly 
up here and threaten to sue Perry, the Planet, EPRAD, and 
probably me too!  She doesn't even like me to drive in 
Metropolis!" 

"That's probably because she's ridden with you."

"Oh, ha-ha-ha, Mr. Funnypants.  I suppose you could do better in 
a city full of Demolition Derby wannabees." 

"Maybe not.  I don't drive that much."

"Of course not.  You can just fly anywhere you want when you 
want." 

He paused.  "That does bring up a point, Lois.  Superman won't be 
able to come to your rescue if you get in trouble up on the 
station." 

She sighed.  "I'm going to write about the anniversary of the 
colonists' arrival, Clark, not investigate a terrorist 
organization.  I doubt I'll need Superman's help."  She sighed 
again.  "At least, not his professional help." 

"I hope not."

"Me, too.  At least that would be different, not needing 
Superman's help." 

He wisely chose not to pursue that subject any further.  
"Speaking of different, and being not so different, I found out 
this afternoon that you'll have an e-mail account while you're up 
there, and you'll have access to the Planet's database on the 
Internet feed.  The station administration is setting you up just 
like a regular employee." 

"Good.  Get ready for some sad and lonely e-mails from me."

"Sad and lonely?  You practically trampled me to get to this 
assignment." 

"That was before I realized I wouldn't see you for almost two 
weeks." 

"Actually, I'm glad you're the one who's going.  I was thinking 
about this assignment, and I realized that it might be a little 
awkward if Superman was out of the city at the same time I was on 
the space station." 

"Yeah, that might be hard to explain."  She paused, then 
continued, "You really think I should be going instead of you?" 

"Of course.  It's the best solution for both of us.  Besides, 
you're an award-winning investigative journalist.  There's no 
reason to think you'll do anything less than a totally terrific 
job." 

"Thank you."  She hesitated.  "I'm - I'm really gonna miss you, 
Clark." 

He softened his tone.  "I'm going to miss you, too.  I guess I 
shouldn't try to make you laugh any more?" 

He could hear her wan smile through the connection.  "Not 
tonight.  But save the humor for when I get back.  I have a 
feeling I'll be ready for some corn-fed Kansas jokes by then." 

"I'll pick up a Midwestern joke book at Maisie's the next time I 
visit my parents." 

She laughed a little.  "You do that.  Oh, they're back with my 
pressure suit.  They've got to finish fitting me and I've still 
got ten thousand things to do before we lift off in the morning 
and I'm sorry but I have to go!  I'll e-mail you every day and 
I'll see you as soon as I get back, I promise!  Bye, Clark!" 

She hung up abruptly, just before he could say, "I love you, 
Lois." 

Oh, well, at least the quiche was ready.

Chapter Two

--- Friday morning

A bored young woman checked the straps on Lois's seat.  "Fifteen 
minutes to go, ma'am.  You'll have to remain here until we lift 
off." 

"I will, I promise."

"Are you comfortable?  Anything we can fix quickly?"

"I'm as comfy as I can be, I guess.  I'll be fine, thanks."

"Yes, ma'am.  Thank you for flying the shuttle Valkyrie to 
Prometheus."  She gave Lois a perfunctory smile and continued her 
routine with the rest of her charges. 

Lois looked around at the inside of the shuttle's passenger 
compartment, with its five columns of single seats for immediate 
access to any of the eighty passengers who might become 
distressed, and wondered when launching human beings into the 
airless void of space had become routine to the public.  Despite 
having been willing to commit any number of petty crimes - and a 
couple of felonies - to stow away on the first colonists' 
shuttle, the Messenger, none of the subsequent missions had 
grabbed her interest as a reporter.  She supposed the lack of 
public interest in the most recent launches was like the 
difference in interest between major and minor surgery.  Since 
she was riding this shuttle, however, she was very interested in 
what went on.  It put in her mind the thought that minor surgery 
was something that someone else had done, like someone else's 
shuttle rides had been unimportant to her. 

She picked up the single-page folded pamphlet from the back of 
the seat facing her.  It described the immense and incredibly 
powerful external jet engines which would carry the winged 
shuttle from a horizontal takeoff to an altitude of about forty 
thousand feet and then fall away, only to drift back to Earth on 
their parachutes.  Then the rocket motors, which would lift them 
into a stable Earth orbit at about ninety miles, would ignite.  
After that, the ion drivers at the Firefall waypoint - the 
original orbital site for the Prometheus - would be attached, and 
they would push them out of orbit and link them up with 
Prometheus Station. 

They still had a journey of nearly a quarter of a million miles 
in front of them, and it would only take two days to arrive.  
Lois mentally went over her baggage list, even though she knew 
there was no way to bring anything else aboard at this point. 

She glanced at the chronometer suspended from the ceiling of the 
passenger compartment.  Eleven minutes to go. 

Her suit itched and pinched in places she couldn't scratch or 
straighten without taking it off, which she couldn't very well do 
at this point.  Besides, being strapped into a nine-gee couch 
tended to make one immobile.  For the next two days, the couch 
would be her bed, her resting place, her favorite chair, her 
dinner table, her workout bench, her office, and, if absolutely 
necessary, her bathroom. 


Lois wasn't real happy about that aspect of going to space.  She 
knew she'd need the information in the zero-gee toilet pamphlet, 
but she desperately hoped she wouldn't need the emergency drain 
in her suit or the changes of underwear they'd put in one of the 
suit's zipper pockets. 

At least EPRAD had progressed beyond the technology in the first 
spacesuits, she thought.  She was too young and fit to wear 
Depends adult diapers for any reason. 

A row of yellow LEDs flashed along the middle of the walkway.  
The computer announced that there were five minutes until 
takeoff, and she heard the bored attendants shuffle towards their 
own acceleration seats in the rear of the compartment. 

Two of them spoke loudly enough for her to overhear them.  " - 
need some excitement, man!  This job is deadly dull!" 

"You're in space, aren't you?"

"Sure, but we might as well be - "  

Lois didn't hear the rest of it, but maybe there was a reason 
that space flight had seemed so pedestrian and routine to her 
until this morning.  Maybe the crew's boredom would be the key to 
unlock the door to their more newsworthy experiences.  Maybe 
they'd be more willing to talk to her if there was nothing else 
to hold their interest. 

She was trying to relax when the intercom clicked on.  "Ladies 
and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.  Thank you for 
flying the shuttle Valkyrie.  We're due to lift off in a little 
over three minutes.  Please don't, for any reason whatsoever, 
unstrap your seat harness until we're in stable orbit.  We'll 
tell you when we get there.  Also, please don't try to move your 
head or lift your arms or legs as we're accelerating.  We don't 
want any broken limbs or dislocated joints on this flight. 

"If you are injured because you ignore these warnings, the 
company's insurance won't pay for your treatment, so please don't 
make us remind you of the health and personal damage waivers each 
of you signed before you boarded.  I'm required to assure you 
that they're ironclad and impossible to break, unlike your own 
bones, so please observe these rules.  They're in place for your 
own good. 

"We'll be lifting off towards the rising sun, so you'll see 
sunlight not long after we take off.  Those of you with window 
seats, please make sure now that you have activated the 
polarization filter for your window.  You probably won't be able 
to do it after we take off.  It's the blue button under your 
right thumb." 

Lois heard several clicks as people pushed their blue buttons.  
She pushed her own blue button and saw the filter slide up into 
place. 

"Thank you.  We hope you have a pleasant flight with us, and 
remember that there are airsickness bags at the side of each seat 
and on each seat back.  Should you feel queasy once we achieve 
orbit, please alert an attendant and we'll give you some medicine 
to soothe your stomach." 

Well, she thought, that's one problem I plan not to have.

The quality of his voice morphed from the dryness of reading a 
prepared script to being filled with warmth and anticipation.  
"Enjoy the ride, ladies and gentlemen.  There's not another one 
like it in the entire world." 

Lois smiled as she heard the wonder in the pilot's voice.  At 
least it wasn't routine for one person.  Flying with Superman for 
fun was surely better, but very few ever experienced that joy. 

With nothing else to do, she watched the ceiling clock tick off 
the seconds.  As soon as it displayed five AM, she felt the jet 
engines move the shuttle forward on its disposable takeoff gear.  
The computer held the craft down until they reached takeoff 
airspeed plus the ten percent recommended safety margin, then 
they lifted away from the runway as smoothly as if she had been 
riding a magic carpet.  The noise level dropped appreciably, but 
the pressure forcing Lois into her seat increased. 

And then it increased some more.  She imagined wildly for a 
moment that she couldn't breathe, so she began taking short, 
sharp breaths as she had been advised in the pre-flight briefing. 
 The high oxygen content of the cabin's atmosphere allowed her to 
stay ahead of oxygen debt, and her breathing eased as the minutes 
passed and she became more accustomed to the pressure against her 
body. 

Even though the pressure eased a little, she still couldn't move 
and her eyeballs still felt like they were trying to drain 
backwards into her skull as they climbed higher.  The computer 
voice announced again, "Prepare for rocket motor ignition in five 
- four - three - two - one - now." 

Suddenly, with a dull bass roar, an immense gorilla jumped on her 
chest and began pushing her even farther back into the seat.  The 
gorilla brought along an anaconda to play, too, and it wrapped 
itself around Lois's torso and squeezed until she thought her 
heart would burst.  She would have cried out in fear had she been 
able to. 

After a few seconds and several subjective years, the pressure 
finally eased.  She inhaled deeply, then almost regretted it when 
her stomach spasmed.  Too bad she'd missed the centrifuge 
training given to the real astronauts.  Maybe Clark would've been 
the better choice for the station assignment after all.  She 
doubted that Superman ever got nauseous or threw up. 

Her empty stomach complained at the treatment it was receiving.  
She would have told it to shut up had she been able to find the 
strength. 

--- Sunday morning

Lois drifted freehand back to her seat from the ladies' room, 
pleased at how well she'd adapted to the absence of gravity.  
Except for that first moment of nausea just after liftoff, she 
hadn't experienced any stomach problems.  She smiled at the pale 
woman hurriedly jerking herself along one of the lines rigged 
along the wall of the compartment, one of several of her fellow 
travelers who hadn't found her space legs yet. 

Glad that she didn't have to throw up into either a zero-gee 
toilet or a plastic tube, Lois lightly plucked a tube of 
strawberry-flavored protein pudding from beneath the retaining 
spring on the snack cart as it drifted past her and daintily bit 
the end open.  She floated near the ceiling above her seat as she 
sucked the last of the surprisingly tasty breakfast goop from its 
container, then slipped it into the nearest disposal tube and 
pushed herself back to her seat. 

Unlike many of her fellow passengers who were bored to 
distraction, she'd kept herself busy by making notes and throwing 
out story ideas onto the hard drive on her laptop.  She smiled as 
she thought about all the material she already had.  The only 
problem she'd have on this assignment was to decide what to leave 
out, a problem she seldom faced and one she gleefully anticipated 
dealing with. 

She lost track of time while working, so the computer voice which 
wafted softly out of the ceiling startled her.  "Twenty minutes 
to Prometheus approach.  Twenty minutes to Prometheus approach.  
Please return to your seats and secure for docking.  Please 
return to your seats and secure for docking." 

One of the flight attendants drifted past her.  "You'll have to 
stow your computer, Miss Lane.  Sorry to derail your train of 
thought." 

She smiled at him.  "No problem, Dennis.  I can pick it up again 
after we dock." 

"I'm glad.  Did you get everything you needed from me?"

"Sure did.  You gave me a ton of very useful stuff.  Thanks again 
for spending all that time with me." 

"No, thank you, Miss Lane.  You've helped make the last two days 
pass quickly." 

"I'm glad.  How long before you get to go back to Earth?"

"We'll leave for the return trip in about thirty-four hours.  The 
technicians on the station will refuel the maneuvering thrusters, 
refill the air and water reserve, clean out the toilets, all that 
fun stuff." 

The shared a chuckle.  Lois said, "What will you do between now 
and then?" 

"Oh, we'll eat, we'll visit the movie theaters, we'll drop in on 
the stage if there's a show on, visit the gym and watch the 
ladies exercise in low gravity - " 

"Dennis!" she scolded gently.  "You're such a scoundrel."

He winked.  "That's okay, the women in our crew go to look at the 
men work out." 

"Oh, okay, as long as you're all equal opportunity lechers."

"We are, thank you."

"You're welcome.  Before you go, will you help me make sure I'm 
strapped in properly?  I'd hate for the captain to have to slam 
on the brakes and splatter me against the seat in front of me." 

He chuckled.  "That won't happen, I promise.  We're traveling in 
a curved path to the anti-Luna side of the station, the side 
facing away from the moon, remember?  We'll intersect the L5 
position at the same speed we have now, but we won't hit the 
station because it's moving away from us at almost the same 
speed.  If the computer and the pilot are in sync, we won't even 
feel a bump when we engage the magnetic docking port." 

She nodded.  "That's right, I forgot.  It was all in the 
pre-flight briefing.  Sorry." 

"That's okay, Miss Lane.  A lot of first-time spacers forget it.  
I think sometimes they lose the briefing along with their 
breakfast." 

They shared another brief laugh, then Dennis said, "I've got to 
check on our other passengers.  I hope I see you on your trip 
back." 

"Me too, Dennis.  See you later."

He pushed himself along the rows of seats, alternately cajoling 
and insisting that the passengers belt in for safety's sake.  
Lois saved the file she'd been editing and shut down her laptop, 
then stowed it under her seat. 

She leaned back and smiled to herself.  All she had to do now was 
check in with security and take her carry-on bag to her room, and 
she was set for the next ten days of reporting a story that would 
almost kneel in front of her and beg to be written. 

She could already smell the Kerth nomination.

--- Sunday, mid-morning

As Dennis had predicted, Lois didn't feel a thing.  The computer 
voice suddenly called out, "Docking procedure complete.  Please 
disembark in an orderly fashion.  Thank you.  Docking procedure 
complete." 

She tuned out the gratingly polite voice and unsnapped herself 
from the couch which had been her home for the previous two days. 
 She tugged her carry-on pack from under the seat and pushed off 
towards the nose of the shuttle. 

As she pulled herself through the open airlock, now occupied by 
the big spaceplane, she clutched a grab bar at the check-in 
station and faced a chirpy young Asian woman with almost no hair. 
 She reminded Lois of Andre's "trained chimpanzee" description of 
the level of barbering up here. 

The girl bounced on her toes and Lois could hear the Velcro that 
held her in place crunching under her shoes.  "Hi!  Welcome to 
Prometheus Station!  Please hold onto this handle, place your 
right thumb on the pad, and wait for the ding." 

Lois watched her name pop up on the screen along with a 
description of her occupation.  "Hey, what's this?  This isn't 
right!" 

The young woman looked at the display on her side of the counter. 
 "What isn't right, ma'am?" 

"This!  My job description says I'm a cargo supervisor.  That's 
not right." 

"Oh.  What should the description be, ma'am?"

"I'm a reporter from the Daily Planet.  I'm here to cover the 
anniversary celebration." 

The young woman smiled even wider.  "Oh!  I know what happened, 
ma'am.  We don't have any permanent news people here, and 
whenever one does fly up we have to list them as `supercargo' 
because that's kind of a catchall term for anything we don't have 
a permanent category for.  We kind of stole the term from the 
Navy.  Someone back at the spaceport must have typed in `cargo, 
super' and now the computer thinks you're a cargo supervisor." 

"Okay, but can you fix it?  I don't really want to spend the next 
two years here." 

"No problem!  I'll submit a correction now and it'll be updated 
in a day or so." 

"A day?  Why so long?"

Her smile turned a little forced.  "You're not leaving tomorrow, 
are you, ma'am?" 

"No, of course not, but - "

She glanced over Lois's shoulder and spoke faster.  "It's a 
low-priority database update, ma'am, and we have to do this every 
time a new shipment of fresh fish comes in." 

Lois lifted her eyebrow and she pulled herself closer to the 
desk.  "Fresh fish?" 

The young woman shook her head and lost her smile altogether.  "I 
apologize.  It's station slang for new arrivals.  But I'll put 
this change in the queue and we'll get it done as soon as we can. 
 Now, if you'll just move along so the people behind you can 
check in?" 

"Oh.  Oh, sure.  Nice talking to you."

"You too, ma'am.  Next, please?"

Lois pulled herself along the ropes towards the next desk, where 
an impossibly serious and impossibly young man floated stiffly 
beside his terminal.  She assumed at first that he was also a new 
arrival who hadn't gotten acclimated yet, but a glance at his 
shoulder revealed that he was a sergeant with the USAF security 
force assigned to the station. 

He nodded shortly to her.  "Ma'am, if you'll place your carry-on 
bag on the red spot, please, and hook your feet under the strap 
on the floor?" 

The request was really a polite order.  Lois complied silently.

"Ma'am, do you have anything in the bag which was not cleared by 
spaceport security?" 

"No, I don't."

"Would you open the bag, please, ma'am, and strap it onto the 
desk with the elastic bands?" 

She complied silently, knowing that his sense of humor had been 
surgically removed as a requirement for his job.  He pawed 
mechanically through her meager belongings for a moment, then 
tapped a key on his console.  "All finished, ma'am.  Thank you 
for your cooperation." 

"Thank you," she replied as she repacked her bag.  She looped it 
around her shoulder and pushed off into the common area and 
almost immediately bumped into the back of someone stuck to the 
"floor" with Velcro oversoles.  She held onto his arm to keep 
from drifting away. 

"I'm sorry, sir," she began, "I guess I'm not used to - zero - "

The man turned and faced her.

Claude Guilliot's face slowly smiled at her.

"Cherie!  How glad I am to see you again!  How have you been for 
so long since we have seen each other?" 

She couldn't speak.  She floated aimlessly in mid-air with her 
mouth half-open.  For a moment she flashed back on the 
inexperienced victim she'd been almost four years before, seduced 
by a lazy braggart who'd stolen her story and trashed her 
reputation.  Once again, Claude held her in his thrall with that 
flashing smile and engaging manner.  Despite the warnings her 
mind was screaming at her, she felt herself sliding backwards in 
time, not to the morning she discovered the depths of his 
betrayal, but to the night they'd spent together.  In her brief 
innocence, she had truly believed he'd loved her for who she was 
and not for what she could do for him. 

He pulled her close to him.  "I know you did not expect to see 
me, mon cherie, nor I you, but it is a good thing for us to meet 
again, yes?" 

She barely registered that he was whispering something to her, 
something urgent, something that didn't dovetail with his 
behavior.  But Lois didn't hear it, didn't understand it, and 
later she could never recall what he'd tried to say to her. 

The shock of his embrace snapped her back to the present and 
reminded her of his callous betrayal of her trust and the pain 
he'd caused her.  The memory of that night's euphoria vanished 
instantly, to be replaced by an anger fueled by a bitterness she 
didn't know she still carried.  She dug the fingers of her left 
hand into his stomach and pressed upwards behind his rib cage. 

He lurched back, writhing in sudden pain.  "Aaahh!  That is 
hurting me!  Cherie, what are you - " 

"You bloodsucking slimeball!  Get away from me or I'll rip out 
your liver!" 

"My dear lovely cherie, what are you meaning?"

She raised her voice, not caring who overheard.  "I mean get away 
from me and stay away from me!  If I'd known you were aboard the 
station I'd still be on Earth!  I wouldn't spit on you if you 
were on fire!  I never want to see you again, you lying lousy 
stinking thieving no-good son-of-a - " 

A harsh female voice cut across hers.  "Is there a problem here, 
ma'am?" 

Lois turned to see a short, beefy blonde woman drifting down to 
Velcro herself to the floor beside Claude.  The woman looked at 
Lois, who was still too furious to speak calmly, then to Claude, 
who was trying to act the part of the innocent victim. 

"Ma'am, I'm Air Force Major Katrina Vukovich, in charge of 
station security.  Is there a problem here?" 

Lois snorted and bounced slightly.  She would have drifted away 
from them had Major Vukovich not grabbed her arm and held her in 
place.  Her grip told Lois that the woman's stockiness was made 
of solid muscle and not fat.  The woman stared at Lois for a long 
moment, and when Lois didn't speak, she said, "Claude, is this 
woman bothering you?" 

He shook his head.  "No, Major, she is not bothering me.  I 
believe I have made the mistake, however.  I will see both of you 
later, perhaps."  He pulled his feet loose from the floor and 
pushed himself away. 

The major's voice was hard.  "Ma'am, could you tell me your name, 
please?" 

"Lois Lane," she grunted.

Vukovich consulted the portable display in her hand.  "I take it 
you've just arrived?" 

"Yes."

"I also take it you already knew our resident Casanova?"

Lois's eyebrows lifted.  "Casanova?  His name is Claude - "

"I know his name.  I also know that he thinks he's Earth's gift 
to all spacewomen." 

Lois crossed her arms and started drifting again.  "He's always 
felt that way and he's not real picky about where they live." 

The major took Lois's elbow and tugged her towards the gallery's 
exit hatch.  "I'll ask him to give you a wide berth if you'll 
promise not to disembowel him the next time you see him." 

She snorted again.  "That would be a messy way to die, with your 
intestines floating around you in zero gravity." 

"It would at that.  If you'll finish getting checked in, I'll 
detail someone to escort you to your quarters." 

"I'm a big girl, Major, and I don't need a babysitter."

The major turned a stone face towards Lois.  "Humor me, won't 
you?  My weekly bonus goes down if anybody gets clobbered while 
I'm on duty." 

Lois frowned.  "I assume that you're never really off-duty?"

"Nope.  One of the real perks of being the one in charge."

Lois nodded.  "Okay, we'll do it your way."

The major's face didn't change one iota.  "Thank you.  Sergeant 
Rodriguez will show you to your quarters." 

--- Sunday, early evening

The young sergeant stopped in front of a numbered door and tapped 
a code into the touch pad beside the doorway.  "Your quarters, 
ma'am." 

The door hissed back inside the wall, giving Lois a brief Star 
Trek moment.  Then she stuck her head inside and glanced around.  
"Nice closet.  Where's the door to the rest of the suite?" 

He didn't smile.  "What you see is what you get, ma'am."  He 
pointed to the right-hand wall.  "The bed slides out if you press 
the blue panel there.  The head of the bed is made up to be 
against the wall, but you can reverse it if you wish. 

"On the opposite wall are your personal refrigerator and freezer 
behind the yellow panel.  Beside that is a cabinet with a set of 
disposable utensils and plates.  Personal items may be stored 
behind the red panel on the far side of the yellow panel.  The 
rest of your baggage is already there.  There is a slide-out desk 
behind the green panel next to the bed.  That's also where you 
can connect your computer to your Prometheus intranet account.  
Be sure to check out the listing of station activities after your 
initial login, and be sure to keep up with your assigned workout 
schedule." 

She frowned at him.  "Workout schedule?  Do I look like I'm 
fat?" 

He sounded like a bored tour guide as he continued.  "No, ma'am.  
I'm sure you'll recall from your new employee orientation that 
people who live and work in low-gravity environments suffer from 
loss of both bone mass and muscle mass.  If you were to return to 
Earth after two years of not exercising, you'd have to spend 
several weeks getting acclimated to normal gravity again, and 
you'd risk injuring yourself during that time." 

She shook her head but didn't respond.  He pointed again.  "Your 
video monitor and display are above the desk.  Simply press the 
white panel to access the control pad.  The black panel against 
the left wall contains sanitary facilities and a sink.  The 
lights respond to the verbal commands on, off, low, reduce, 
increase.  Just precede the command with the word `lights' and 
speak in a loud, clear voice." 

He indicated a keypad on the inside wall.  "You can set your 
personal entry code here.  The instructions are above the pad.  
Please don't give your code to anyone unless you notify station 
security first.  Also included on this panel are your thermostat 
controls." 

Lois stepped in and put her carry-on bag on the floor.  She 
turned around, thinking that she'd surely have to step into the 
hallway to have room to change her mind.  "You mean this little 
crackerbox is it?  You're kidding, right?" 

Not one eyelash on his face moved.  "No, ma'am.  These are the 
requisite quarters for your job classification.  You have two 
hundred ten square feet of living space here, plus twenty-four 
hour access to three cafeterias, the gym, two movie theaters and 
one live musical venue, three common areas, and the medical 
faculties.  Laundry pickup is every three days.  Please use the 
bags in the closet with your room code; otherwise you might not 
see your clothing any time soon.  Communal showers are 
anti-spinward down the hall about sixty meters." 

The thought of showering with other people drove the sergeant's 
comment about her job classification from her mind.  "Communal 
showers?  I hope you don't mean coed communal showers!" 

"No, ma'am.  That's the ladies' shower area.  The men's shower 
area is spinward from here.  You are allowed eight minutes of 
shower time every other day." 

"Eight minutes!  Is there a water shortage or something?"

"No, ma'am.  That's the station norm.  Please remember that 
station regulations require that you wear appropriate clothing 
between your quarters and the shower area." 

"I wasn't planning to walk around naked!"

"No, ma'am, of course not, but if you did, you wouldn't be the 
first." 

"You mean you have streakers in space?"

"Just inside the station, ma'am.  Being naked in total vacuum 
wouldn't be real healthy for you." 

Lois had no response to that one.  The young man waited a moment 
longer, then nodded slightly.  "If there's nothing else, ma'am, I 
have other duties I have to complete before my shift is over." 

"Oh.  Yeah, sure, go ahead.  If there's anything else, I'm sure I 
can figure it out." 

"Yes, ma'am.  Oh, I almost forgot."  He pointed to the wall 
beside the door opposite the security keypad.  "This is the 
station intercom.  The operating instructions include the key to 
the color-coded panels in the room and are printed above and 
below in English, Swahili, French, Japanese - " 

"I got it.  Thanks, kid."

His face tightened slightly.  "Very well, ma'am.  Welcome to 
Prometheus Station." 

He turned and walked away.  Lois studied the door pad for a 
moment, then touched a button.  The door whooshed shut and she 
turned to view her home for the next ten days. 

Communal showers!  Should've listened better to Jimmy's briefing, 
she thought.  Time to take off the pressure suit and see if her 
coveralls had actually arrived intact. 

--- Sunday evening

It took her all of ten minutes to secure her belongings in the 
tiny closet and exchange the pressure suit for the marginally 
more comfortable coveralls.  The one chair in the room fit snugly 
under the desk after she'd opened it, and there was even a 
docking station for her laptop.  She maneuvered through the 
initial logon procedure, selected her password, and checked her 
e-mail. 

Sure enough, there were four from Clark and two from Perry, along 
with the obligatory "welcome and behave yourself on the system" 
automated message from the e-mail administrator.  She smiled and 
decided that business should go before pleasure and clicked on 
the older of Perry's two messages.  Besides, she'd rather save 
the best for last. 

He'd sent some background info he thought she'd need on several 
of the station officials.  The second message was a request for 
whatever she'd managed to put together so far.  He'd decided to 
put a little bit of info in each day's edition to whet the 
public's appetite for more, so when they published her main story 
they'd sell more papers. 

That's Perry, she grinned to herself.  Always looking out for his 
people.  And the bottom line, of course.  She returned that 
e-mail with the files she'd created on the shuttle trip up to the 
station. 

The first three messages from Clark were also business-related, 
although his easy smile and gentle teasing showed even through 
his business prose.  She smiled to herself and marveled again how 
the Kansas hayseed had proven to have far more depth to him than 
she'd first thought.  And his trust in her to protect his secret 
was unlike anything else in her experience.  Imagine Superman 
trusting her with his real identity.  Amazing. 

She pulled up the final message in the queue and skimmed it, then 
read it again, savoring every word.  Without resorting to cheap 
sentimentalism or tired romantic rhetoric, Clark had managed to 
convey how much he missed her and how much he anticipated her 
safe return in just a few innocent-looking sentences. 

She sighed and opened up a reply window, then sat back to think.  
Just how much did she love Clark, anyway? 

Enough to trust him with her heart.  Enough to never, never, ever 
even hint to anyone about The Secret.  Enough to spend the rest 
of her life with him, letting him cocoon her in his love.  Enough 
to wrap him up in her love and shield him from all the Mayson 
Drakes and Rachel Harrises and Nigerian princesses and European 
supermodels of the world.  Enough to comfort him and cry with him 
when he thought he'd failed or fallen short.  Enough to rejoice 
with him over all that he did accomplish. 

She loved him so much that, if he sincerely wanted her to leave 
the Planet and travel the world with him, she'd leave in a 
heartbeat and never look back once. 

Of course, it wouldn't do to tell him any of that at this stage 
of the game, now would it? 

She sent back an almost innocuous note to Clark, but she couldn't 
resist signing it "Top Banana Lois."  Maybe he'd chew on that one 
for a while and remember just who was the senior member of this 
partnership. 

Without consciously thinking about it, without planning it, she 
avoided any mention of Claude Guilliot in any of her outgoing 
messages. 

---- Sunday, late evening

Lois found the dining hall just before they stopped serving.  She 
carried her tray filled with luscious gray goop to a table with 
two men on one side and a woman on the other.  All three of them 
wore coveralls with the same dark blue as hers.  "Hi.  Care for 
some company?" 

The taller man, slender with light brown hair, said, "Sure, sit 
down.  Becky, you let her alone, okay?" 

The woman pulled out the chair beside her.  "Don't pay them boys 
no mind, honey, and they'll eventually give up and go away." 

The men laughed as she sat.  "Hi, I'm Lois.  Obviously, you're 
Becky."  Lois inclined her head towards the men.  "How do you put 
up with that stuff, anyway?" 

Becky took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose.  Her 
voice took on an artificial Hollywood-style depth and cadence.  
"Of course, one yearns for the glamour of the golden days of 
yore, but one does what one can with what little one has." 

The shorter of the two men, a solid-looking redhead, stuck out 
his hand to Lois.  "Becky's a frustrated actress, Lois, but she 
does good work in our local stage productions.  My name's Pete, 
and this long tall drink of water beside me is Mike." 

"Hi, Pete, Mike."  Lois looked at her tray again.  "Is this the 
usual fare or did the staff whip up something special for my 
arrival?" 

The other three chuckled.  Mike tapped her tray.  "It tastes a 
little better than it looks, believe me.  It's not haute cuisine, 
but it won't kill you, either." 

Becky spooned up the last of her meal.  "It's got concentrated 
vitamins and minerals in it, and it goes through the recycling 
systems more easily." 

Lois stopped her own spoon just before it entered her mouth.  "Re 
- recycling system?  You mean this - this stuff is - " 

The men nodded in unison.  "Yep," answered Pete.  "But don't 
worry, it's guaranteed to be as clean as they can make it." 

Lois considered her spoon for another moment, then made a 
decision.  "You know, I think I need to drop a few pounds.  
Besides, I just got off the shuttle and I ate just before we 
docked and I'm not really hungry so I think I'll just skip this 
meal." 

Mike perked up.  "Hey, if you're not eating it, mind if I take a 
crack at it?" 

She lifted her hands away and said, "Be my guest."

He pulled the tray across the table and began shoveling it in.  
Becky patted Lois on the arm and said, "You've just been 
initiated, Lois.  These guys try to pull that trick at least once 
every time we get a new bunch of people up here." 

Lois narrowed her eyes.  "Are you telling me that he's not eating 
recycled - uh, whatever?" 

Pete chuckled.  "No, he's not.  That stuff is mixed up in the 
cafeterias daily and whatever they don't serve goes into the next 
batch, but it most assuredly doesn't get recycled after it's been 
digested.  At least, it's not recycled as food." 

Lois snatched her water glass back from the pirated tray.  "Gee, 
thanks, guys.  I feel like a real live astronaut now."  She took 
a big slurp, then noticed the men were giggling.  "Okay, now 
what?" 

Mike shook his head.  "The food isn't recycled, but with the lack 
of water storage up here, I have to tell you that - " 

"No."  Lois's face paled.  "You mean I just drank - "

"Recycled water, Lois, that's all it was," Becky assured her.  
"It gets cleaned and treated better than the water you got out of 
your kitchen faucet back down." 

"Huh?  Back down where?"

"It's an expression we use to describe Earth.  We're all from 
`back down' and we'll all be going back down when our contracts 
are up.  Unless we renew them, of course." 

"Oh?  What do you guys do when you're not hazing the new 
arrivals?" 

Pete lifted his brawny arm and showed off his biceps bodybuilder 
style.  "We're cargo workers.  Just got off shift.  We manhandle 
those big crates of supplies and luggage you brought up with you 
on the shuttle." 

"I see.  Tell me, is that an interesting job?  I'd think it would 
get boring after a while." 

Becky slapped the table lightly.  "Boring?  Honey, you would not 
believe the stuff people try to send up here.  There's a 
contraband list a mile long, and we still get things we have to 
throw into a terminal solar orbit.  Just last week, some idiot 
tried to smuggle a forty-four-magnum revolver and fifty rounds of 
ammo on board.  You can kill a grizzly bear with that monster!  
Can you imagine the amount of damage a gun that big would do to 
the structural integrity of this station if somebody put a bullet 
through both the inner and outer hulls?" 

Lois glanced from face to face.  "A lot?"

They laughed.  Mike said, "Yeah, you could put it that way.  
That's why guns and crossbows and archery sets and anything that 
launches a projectile of any kind are prohibited.  You punch a 
hole in the inner hull and we might lose a little internal 
pressure, but if you could shoot through both hulls, there's a 
possibility of the escaping air peeling open a big hole.  It 
might look like those Hollywood films where somebody shoots out a 
window in an airliner and everybody gets blown out of the 
opening."  He shook his head.  "We're the first line of defense 
for everybody aboard Prometheus." 

Pete gave him a good-natured shove.  "Hey, leave the drama to 
Becky, okay?  Honest, Lois, the job is not nearly as dangerous or 
nerve-wracking as he's making out to be." 

"But you do find stuff that's not supposed to be here, don't 
you?" 

Becky nodded.  "Sure.  You read the prohibited list, didn't you?" 
 Lois nodded.  "It's scary how dumb some people can be.  `Oh, Mr. 
Security Officer, I won't misuse this contraband item, honest!'"  
Becky shook her head.  "And some of these people are the same 
ones who make sure we breathe air instead of vacuum." 

Lois forgot her hunger and leaned forward, ready to dine on their 
stories.  "Really?  Tell me more." 

Pete jumped in.  "Every once in a while we find contraband that 
people brought up before they put in all those rules and regs 
about incoming cargo.  A couple of months ago we found a whole 
carton of empty hair spray cans sitting outside the medical bay." 
 He shook his head.  "I have no idea how they got away with using 
hair spray up here." 

Becky leaned closer.  "Do you know what we use more than anything 
else up here for quick repairs and securing goods?  Go on, guess! 
 I bet you don't know." 

Lois shrugged.  "I don't know.  Scotch tape?"

Mike grinned and said, "Close.  We use a whole lot of fishing 
line and duct tape.  Works great in low gravity.  You wouldn't 
believe what we've tied up or taped up with just that.  Why, Pete 
here once fixed a thumb-sized hole in the cargo hold's inner hull 
with just a wad of duct tape." 

Lois lifted her eyebrows skeptically.  "Uh-huh.  You recycled it 
through the food processors, didn't you?" 

Mike's smile faded while Pete and Becky howled.  Pete recovered 
first.  "No!  Ha-ha-ha!  Really!  We - whew - we use miles of 
duct tape and fishing line, especially in the zero-gee receiving 
and storage areas.  The line's cheap and easy to store and 
doesn't weigh much, so it's easy to get.  The tape is heavier, of 
course, so it's more expensive, but it works great for quick 
fixes and for marking something that needs more professional 
attention." 

"So you're not trying to initiate me with this one?  You really 
use duct tape and fishing line?" 

Becky squeezed her shoulder.  "Tons of it.  I'll show you where 
we store it when you start your first shift." 

Lois frowned.  "My first shift?"

"Sure!"  Becky flipped the sleeve of Lois's coverall.  "You're 
wearing cargo covers.  You're one of us, honey!  You work in 
cargo, you handle crates, so you're a crater, just like us!" 

Lois's expression at being called a `crater' set off yet another 
round of hilarity among all three of her new friends.  She shook 
her head ruefully and once again profoundly thanked the anonymous 
data entry clerk who'd listed her as `cargo, super' on the 
passenger manifest. 

--- Monday, very early morning

It was well into Gamma shift when Lois finished typing up her 
notes from her conversation with Mike, Becky, and Pete.  She 
saved the file and attached it to a new message to Perry and sent 
it wending its way across the inky void, then she added 
`interview Amy Platt' to her to-do list.  The girl deserved some 
positive publicity, especially since she'd regained some use of 
her legs.  That was a feel-good story anyone would love to read. 

She also added an item for a sidebar on how friendly the people 
on station were. It seemed that the local culture encouraged 
including new people as quickly as possible.  And it made sense.  
If a new person learned quickly how badly things could go from 
one small mistake, that new person would be less likely to make 
that one mistake.  And a happy new person would be more likely to 
ask an innocuous question which might prevent something bad from 
happening. 

Lois wondered again if she should have proclaimed her innocence 
at being a `crater,' but she had decided to keep mum.  Maybe 
folks would talk more openly with her if they thought she was 
assigned to the station for the long-term.  As long as she didn't 
actually lie to anyone, she didn't think it would be a problem. 

She glanced at the room clock.  Local time was one-twenty-eight 
in the morning, and the cafeteria would open for breakfast in six 
hours, so she needed to sleep while she could.  Besides, she was 
surprisingly tired despite feeling only three-fourths her Earth 
weight.  She could get to like it here, she mused, if only they 
could provide real food. 

Oh, well, knowing that what they did serve wasn't reprocessed 
human waste would probably allow her to eat it.  And tomorrow 
afternoon she'd schedule the interviews with the station command 
crew, set up a transmission schedule with Perry and Clark, and 
try out the ladies' shower.  Much as she valued her privacy, ten 
days was too long to go without bathing, and the shuttle had not 
had any facilities beyond the hygienic minimums, so it was past 
time for her to be fully clean. 

She pressed the panel for the bed and stepped back as it slid 
into the room.  One pillow, one top sheet attached to the bottom 
sheet, one thin comforter, and one printed notice that the linens 
would be changed between nine and eleven every morning, so please 
return the bed to its stored position after rising so the crew 
could accomplish this bit of maid work.  As if she could move 
around in this utility closet with the bed taking up the middle 
of the room, she thought.  It was hard enough to change into 
sleeping clothes without tripping on the stupid thing, and she 
resolved to don her nighttime garments before opening the bed 
from now on. 

She slid between the sheets and called out, "Lights off."  Except 
for a thin glowing strip of blue LEDs around the ceiling, the 
room was dark as the far side of the moon.  Despite its tiny 
dimensions, she'd begun thinking of the compartment as hers, 
which it would be for the duration of her stay. 

She put her head on the pillow and fell asleep thinking about 
Clark.  No inkling of Claude's existence intruded on her dreams. 

--- Monday morning

After breakfast, Lois decided to try out the gym, figuring that 
if she were going to write about life on the station, she'd need 
to experience at least some of everything the station had to 
offer. 

The surprisingly muscular, well-endowed woman at the gym's front 
desk greeted her with a smile.  "Hi!  Ready to sweat hard 
today?" 

Despite her aversion to perky morning people, Lois returned the 
greeting.  "Sure!  I just got here yesterday and I need to - " 

The bouncy blonde lifted her hands.  "Say no more!  Come with me 
and I'll get you started.  What's your name?" 

"Lois."

"Hi, Lois!  My name's Lana."

Lois tripped on the flat deck plating.  "What?"

The blonde grinned and grabbed Lois's arm to steady her.  "Easy!  
You don't have your station legs yet." 

"You - your name's Lana?"

She frowned slightly.  "Yes.  Why?"

"Wh - uh - what's your last name?"

"O'Meara.  And again, why?"

"Um - your maiden name's not Lang, is it?"

"Huh?  Maiden name?  I'm not married and O'Meara is the name I 
was born with!"  She put her hands on her hips.  "Why, you got a 
problem with women named Lana?" 

"Just one.  And it's not you, I promise."

Lana frowned.  "You want to explain that to me?"

"Um, I'd rather not."  She felt stupid enough as it was.

The blonde stared hard at her for a long moment, then nodded.  
"Okay.  You are here for a workout, aren't you?" 

"Um, yeah.  Where do we start?"

Lana stepped back and gave Lois the once-over.  "Cardio, I think. 
 You get on the stationary bike and give me twenty-five minutes.  
Use terrain setting four.  I'll have the rest of your routine set 
up by the time you finish." 

--- Monday, late morning

After almost two hours, Lois staggered out of the gym, reminding 
herself to send a basket of fruit to Lana O'Meara, no matter what 
it cost, and hope that she accepted Lois's tacit apology.  The 
woman hadn't smiled at Lois again during the entire workout, and 
Lois had never been pushed so hard physically, not even in her 
martial arts studies.  This Lana was obviously a closet sadist, 
at least towards women named Lois Lane. 

Time for a hot shower, especially after that torture.  Lois 
picked up a towel and a change of clothes from her quarters and 
walked stiffly along the passageway.  She looked above the double 
doors, saw the words "Shower Area," and was about to walk in when 
two men pushed out, talking and laughing about a lacrosse game 
they'd either seen or played in many years before. 

She looked closer at the sign and noticed the word "Men's" above 
the other words, and breathed a sigh of relief.  She'd only 
arrived yesterday, and already she'd had a fight with Claude, a 
stern conversation with the station security chief, a faux pas 
with one of the gym matrons, been initiated out of her dinner by 
the veteran stations hands, and all she needed to cement her 
reputation as a total doofus was to try to take a shower in the 
men's area. 

She reversed her course and trod around the ring.  On the way, 
she made some mental notes about how it felt to walk slightly 
uphill when walking with the station's spin and slightly downhill 
when walking against it.  She was sure she'd never seen anything 
about it in the stories she'd read about life on Prometheus, and 
it would be a good real-life addition to her articles. 

She carefully placed her shampoo and soap for easy access and 
turned on the water.  It never really got hot, but it was better 
than smelling like a locker room after a football game.  Lois 
watched the timer above the nozzle carefully, since wiping off 
wet soap with a damp towel wasn't on today's to-do list. 

She finished with nine seconds to spare.  The air in the corridor 
felt cool against her damp skin, and for the first time she was 
glad her hair was short enough to comb with a towel. 

She glanced at one of the many digital clocks along the hallway.  
It was almost eleven in the morning, local time, which would give 
her a chance to brush over some more notes and e-mail them to the 
Planet.  It was almost seven in the morning in Metropolis, and it 
would take less than a hour to fix her notes, so Perry and Clark 
would have some stuff for both today's afternoon edition and 
tomorrow's morning paper when they came in to the office. 

Then she'd grab some lunch and try to interview someone who 
wasn't wearing a dark blue coverall. 

--- Monday, early afternoon

"So, you're both medical researchers?"

The middle-aged Asian couple nodded politely and smiled 
cautiously.  The woman answered.  "Yes, madam.  We are both from 
the Republic of Korea.  Your people call us South Koreans.  Our 
government kindly asked us to participate in these studies on the 
space station.  We are most honored to be included in this 
project." 

Lois made a note on her pad.  "And your studies involve cellular 
cloning at zero-gee?" 

The man spoke this time.  "Yes.  We are most encouraged by our 
results.  We believe we will be able to clone human organs in a 
few years.  We wish to assist those needing organ transplants, 
especially those with rare blood types or other factors which 
would restrict a needed transplant." 

The woman picked up as the man stopped for breath.  "Our goal is 
to learn to clone organs such as hearts, livers, lungs, and other 
vital organs which might be damaged by disease or injury.  Right 
now, all we are able to do is - " 

"Excuse me, are you Lois Lane?"

All three looked up at the young man wearing the USAF security 
patch on his light blue coverall.  Lois lifted her hand.  "That 
would be me." 

"Would you please come with me, ma'am?"

She frowned.  "Can it wait?  I'm kinda busy here."

Without changing his expression, the young man shifted from 
`polite request' to `urgent command' mode.  "No, ma'am.  Major 
Vukovich needs to see you right away.  Please come with me." 

Lois glanced at the Korean couple.  They had finally begun to 
open up to her, but now their faces might as well have been cast 
in bronze.  This was one fouled-up interview.  They might not 
talk to her at all now. 

She turned back to the security officer and showed him her 
notepad.  "Can I leave this in my quarters on the way?" 

He hardened his voice ever so slightly.  "The Major said `right 
away,' ma'am, and that means no detours."  He tugged on the back 
of her chair.  "If you please, ma'am?" 

Lois smiled apologetically at her new friends and tried to rescue 
any future contact with them.  "I'm really sorry about this.  
I'll try to get back to you later.  Your research is fascinating. 
 I'll look for you here in the cafeteria."  She stood and tucked 
the notepad into one of the many zippered pockets on her 
coverall.  "Let's go." 

He walked behind her and directed her to the nearest spoke, then 
asked her to climb to the level four circulation access corridor. 
 "Four!"  she burst out.  "This is level twenty-six!  Do you know 
how far that is?" 

"Yes, ma'am.  It's twenty-two levels up.  Since you're still 
acclimated to Earth's gravity, it shouldn't be a hardship for 
you.  Besides, the apparent gravity will decrease - " 

" - the closer we get to the hub, yeah, I know."  She grabbed the 
access ladder and started up.  "Might as well get this over with. 
 You wouldn't know why I'm making like a circus performer, would 
you?" 

"I was instructed to find you and bring you to Major Vukovich, 
ma'am.  That's all I know." 

"Or all you're allowed to know."  The sergeant didn't respond.  
Lois shrugged and said, "Great.  Well, here we go." 

The climb was easier than Lois had anticipated, and by the time 
she saw the sign for level six, she was almost leaping from rung 
to rung.  Impatient, she jumped across the nine-foot wide tube to 
the open panel labeled "Level Four Circulation Access" and paused 
in the doorway. 

"Hey, slowpoke, come on!  I want to get this over and done with 
as soon as I can." 

"Yes, ma'am."  The young man stopped across from the hatchway and 
worked his way around the outside of the access tube via the hand 
and foot rails.  "Ma'am, I strongly advise you not to jump across 
open spaces in the Jeffries tubes.  It's not at all safe.  The 
last guy who tried that and missed fell from level three to level 
nine before he could grab a railing, and when he did he 
dislocated both shoulders." 

Lois's face fell slightly, and she looked down.  "Yeah.  Sorry 
about that.  Sometimes I jump in without checking the water 
level."  She shuddered slightly at the drop below her.  "Or 
without checking anything else." 

"Yes, ma'am.  The major is down this corridor and left at the 
third junction." 

"Okay.  You coming?"

"Right behind you, ma'am."

The passageway was high enough for her to walk through without 
bending her back, only her neck.  The tall young man behind her 
was bent at the waist almost forty-five degrees as he followed.  
She found the junction and saw Major Vukovich kneeling, facing 
the side wall, beside another vertical junction that traveled 
downwards. 

This passage was much smaller, so Lois got on her hands and knees 
to crawl to the major.  She was glad the gravity was so low until 
she tried to stop and had to press her hands against both side 
walls to slow down.  Low weight equals low traction, she reminded 
herself. 

Major Vukovich intently watched Lois's face the whole way, but 
made no move to help her stop.  Lois frowned at her.  "Okay, 
Major, I'm here.  What am I supposed to do now?" 

Vukovich leaned back, and for the first time Lois saw a braided 
fishing line behind her which was tied to an overhead pipe and 
trailed down into the vertical junction.  Lois frowned slightly.  
"Is this it?  Somebody's hidden something here?"  She moved 
cautiously to a seated position with her legs crossed in front of 
her.  "Is that why you've hauled me up here?" 

Vukovich nodded.  "Yes.  Do you know what's on the other end of 
this line?" 

Lois exhaled loudly.  "Elvis and his latest gold record."  She 
lifted her hands abruptly and bounced slightly, then righted 
herself.  "How should I know what's down there?  I literally just 
got here!" 

Vukovich moved fluidly across the open junction.  "Take a look."

Lois slowly leaned over and gazed down.  "Okay, but for an Elvis 
sighting I think Perry would be a better - " 

She froze in place.  She couldn't speak.  She couldn't make her 
body respond to her thoughts.  Her eyes were fixed upon the sight 
below her. 

At the end of the braided fishing line, about five feet below 
Lois's knees, hung the naked body of Claude Guilliot slowly 
twisting in the breeze. 

Chapter Three

--- Monday, mid-day

Lois was shocked beyond description.  Of all the things she might 
have imagined seeing on the space station, Claude's dead body 
wasn't one of them. 

The reporter part of her mind cataloged the details of the scene. 
 There wasn't really a breeze, of course, but Claude's body was 
turning slowly as air flowed past him.  This was an air 
circulation passage, after all.  The pipes above, where the line 
was tied at the top, were probably water pipes, since there were 
occasional drops of condensation gathering on them.  As she 
watched, one of those droplets found the braided line and flowed 
down it to the knot in the noose around Claude's neck. 

There was duct tape around his ankles, binding them tightly 
together.  More tape secured his wrists behind him, and yet 
another piece of tape covered his mouth but not his nose. 

His expression was frozen into one of sheer panic.  His eyes were 
open and looked bloodshot, possibly from blood vessels inside his 
eyes which had broken while he struggled. 

And he had struggled, at least after he'd been hung there.  The 
line around his neck had been tied in a loop and the knot had 
been placed just behind his right ear.  The noose had cut into 
the left side of his neck and torn the skin.  Several small 
trails of dried blood leaked down onto his left shoulder and 
chest, but not enough to kill him.  He hadn't bled to death. 

He turned slowly as if to let Lois see his hands.  His 
fingernails were undamaged, although the tape around his wrists 
was twisted by his attempts to free himself and his wrists were 
badly bruised. 

Down his legs and splattered against the sides of the access tube 
was evidence that Claude had evacuated his bowels before he'd 
died.  The reporter part of her mind remembered that this often 
happened to a person who was hung.  The terror of impending death 
did nasty things to both the human mind and the human body. 

She couldn't see any other visible signs of trauma, like bruising 
or abrasions or cuts anywhere else.  And there wasn't much of 
Claude that she couldn't see. 

Vukovich grabbed her shoulder and Lois jumped.  She also gasped 
deeply and coughed twice, then grabbed her stomach and tried to 
retch. 

"NO!"  the major shouted.  "Don't you dare throw up on this man!  
This is a crime scene and we can't have it contaminated!" 

Lois swallowed and turned to the side, breathing deeply.  After 
several deep breaths and a number of gulps, she nodded without 
opening her eyes.  "Okay.  I'm okay now." 

"You sure?"

Lois opened her eyes and stared into the unblinking face of 
authority.  "Yes.  I'm under control now." 

"Good.  When's the last time you spoke to or saw the victim?"

Lois took a fluttering breath.  "Yesterday in the lobby when I 
checked in." 

"You haven't seen him or spoken to him since?"

"No."

"You're certain?"

Irritation began building in Lois.  "Why, am I a suspect or 
something?" 

Vukovich sat back.  "Right now, I can't rule out anyone but 
myself."  She looked down at the body, slowly swaying in the flow 
of air through the passageway.  "Except I'm pretty sure he didn't 
commit suicide." 

Lois risked another look.  Sure enough, the emotional impact of 
the scene was blunted the second time, and Claude was almost just 
another murder victim. 

Almost.

Lois forced herself to be clinical.  "I don't think it's 
physically possible to kill yourself and end up looking like 
that.  How would he wrap the tape around his arms?  And it looks 
like it took him quite a while to die.  He can't weigh very much 
this close to the hub." 

Vukovich looked up at her with a flat expression.  "About 
twenty-six pounds.  We're at point one-six gee or a bit more 
here, and that's about what his weight would be on the moon, give 
or take a couple of pounds.  I'd guess you weigh just a shade 
over sixteen pounds right now." 

"Just enough to hang me, right?"

"I don't know."  Vukovich shook her head.  "Just enough to hang 
him, that's for sure, although we'll have to let the doctor tell 
us if he died of suffocation or the cutoff of blood flow to the 
brain.  But you're right.  I don't see any way this can be 
anything but deliberate murder."  She sat back and called to the 
man behind Lois.  "Sergeant Walker!  Take Ms. Lane to my office 
and wait there with her.  Start the query I asked you about.  And 
check on Doctor Watson, see if he's coming or if he's sending 
someone." 

"Yes, Major.  Ms. Lane, if you'll come with me, please?"

Lois nodded and followed Walker out of the passageway and down 
the tube again.  This time he preceded her, and he coached her as 
they went lower and grew heavier. 

"Easy does it, ma'am, we're headed for level twenty-two and we 
don't need to hurry.  Don't try to go too fast, and make sure 
your feet are set before you let go with your hands.  You'll feel 
heavier faster than you think you would." 

"I suppose you're concerned about my safety?"

"If you were to fall, ma'am, I'd have to fill out about a 
half-million forms in longhand and I'd probably miss my movie 
tonight." 

Lois grinned slightly.  The dumb joke relaxed her a little, just 
as she suspected it was supposed to.  "Heaven forbid I keep you 
from your entertainment, Sergeant." 

"Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am.  Here we are.  Just watch me on 
the hand rail and follow my lead.  You might want to stand on the 
foot rail, too, just to be on the safe side." 

As they walked to the security office, Lois could feel the 
increase in gravity between this level and the level they'd just 
left.  She concentrated on moving her legs just so to keep from 
either stumbling or hopping. 

It also kept her from thinking about Claude.

She hoped she wouldn't dream about him, but she knew she would.

--- Monday, mid-afternoon

Vukovich took what Lois considered to be her own sweet time in 
returning to the office, which didn't improve Lois's mood in the 
slightest.  She sat and waited while the sergeant called the 
medical unit and spoke briefly to someone, then sat down at a 
computer and began typing.  He frowned once, then printed several 
sheets of paper.  Lois lost interest in his activities as it 
became clear that conversation with her wasn't on his to-do list. 
 She resolved to give the major a stern talking-to as soon as she 
could. 

When the solidly-built woman finally arrived, however, the look 
on her face forestalled Lois's budding tirade.  Lois followed the 
major into her office and waited against the wall beside the 
door.  Vukovich sat down heavily in her desk chair and put her 
face in her hands.  Walker waited for a long moment, then picked 
up several papers from the printer tray and softly placed them in 
front of her.  Lois moved quietly to a chair in front of the 
desk. 

"Major?" Walker said softly.  "I have those results you asked 
about."  She didn't move for a moment.  "Major?"  He put his hand 
on her shoulder.  "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

She looked up at him and shook her head sadly.  "No.  Thanks, 
Matt, but no.  Let me take a look at what you've got." 

He handed her the papers and stepped back, then assumed a `parade 
rest' stance with his back straight, his feet at shoulder width, 
and his hands clasped behind his back.  The major glanced through 
the papers in her hand and nodded.  "Thank you, Sergeant, that 
will be all." 

"Yes ma'am."  He turned and strode out.

Vukovich fixed Lois with a glare.  "You didn't mention meeting 
Claude in any of your messages." 

Lois's jaw dropped open.  "What?  You mean you read my personal 
e-mail?  That's illegal!  That's a violation of my constitutional 
right to privacy!" 

"Not up here it isn't!  You signed a waiver allowing us to scan 
your outgoing e-mail for key words and phrases before you boarded 
the shuttle.  Besides, you're forgetting something very 
important." 

"What's that?"

"This isn't the United States, it's an international space 
station.  That means your constitutional rights are, shall we 
say, somewhat abridged?" 

Lois felt a chill.  Vukovich wasn't just a law enforcement 
officer, she was an Air Force major.  Was she headed for jail?  
Just how much trouble was she in? 

Before Lois could ask another question, Vukovich spoke again.  
"You sent several e-mails to a guy named Kent.  He your husband, 
boyfriend, chiropractor, what?" 

The major's abrupt manner made Lois uncharacteristically 
cautious.  "We're - dating, I guess." 

"Seriously dating?"

Lois shrugged.  "I think so.  Why?"

"He coming up her to join you?"

"No.  Why do you - "

"You met Claude DuBois as soon as you arrived, a man you 
obviously had some stormy history with, yet you didn't mention 
him to this Kent fellow.  Not once.  Why is that, I wonder?" 

"Clark doesn't have to know everything I - wait, you said 
DuBois?" 

"Of course.  Claude DuBois, computer tech level two, been aboard 
the station almost a year - " 

"But he wasn't a computer tech, at least not when I knew him.  
His name was Claude Guilliot and he was a journalist." 

The major's eyes almost fell out of her head.  "WHAT!!"  she 
shouted.  "He was a what?" 

Lois tried to wiggle backwards in her chair.  "Claude was a 
writer, a reporter for some European newspaper.  I don't know 
what he was doing here posing as a computer tech, but I doubt it 
was honest work." 

Vukovich snarled a curse and leaped to her feet to stride 
aimlessly around the room and wave her arms.  It was the first 
time Lois had seen anyone not named Clark Kent actually jump out 
of a chair as opposed to just standing up abruptly.  The lower 
gravity helped, of course.  "A writer!  A reporter!" 

"Why, what's wrong with - "

"If I'd known that I might've pushed him out an airlock myself!"

"Because he was a reporter?"

"Yes!"  She turned and loomed over Lois.  "The only thing lower 
than a reporter is a lawyer and not by much!" 

"You don't like - "

"I hate them!  They lie, they steal your privacy, they ruin your 
reputation, they destroy relationships!  I detest them!" 

Lois relaxed slightly as the major turned away from her.  "I 
don't think all reporters are like Claude." 

Vukovich spun to face her again.  "Really?  You ever read good 
news in the newspaper or hear it on the radio or TV?" 

"Good news doesn't sell like - "

"Of course not!"  The major resumed her pacing.  "All they want 
to do is tear people down and ruin their lives!" 

The woman was making Lois very nervous.  "Ah, maybe we should 
focus on Claude here." 

"Yeah.  Yeah!  The low-life rat!"  Vukovich stalked to her 
terminal and tapped several keys.   

"What now?"

"I'm pulling up his data file."  As the major read it, her face 
flushed crimson again.  "I don't believe this!  If you're telling 
me the truth, that means he lied on his employment application 
and job history!  That's grounds to terminate his contract and 
cost him his bonus back down!" 

"I'd say losing his bonus was the least of his worries."

"Yeah, you're right.  Wait a minute!"  The major straightened and 
pointed at Lois.  "You." 

Uh-oh, thought Lois, that couldn't have been good.

"Come with me."

Without waiting for Lois to stand, Vukovich pulled her out of her 
chair and dragged her across the room to a locked standing 
cabinet.  The major tapped in a multi-digit code on the keypad, 
then pressed her left thumb against the print reader.  The 
cabinet door drifted open and she pulled out what looked like a 
thick bronze chain. 

"Turn around, Lane."

No, this was not good, not good at all.  Before she could react, 
Lois felt the chain around her neck, cool against her skin.  
There was a soft click behind her, and the major closed the 
cabinet and stepped around to gaze upward into Lois's face. 

Too close, thought Lois.  This was very not good.

Vukovich locked eyes with Lois.  "That chain won't let you off 
the station unless you want to try to breathe vacuum.  It will 
send a signal that will set off an alarm in the outgoing shuttle 
airlock if you try to leave, so I'd suggest you not do so." 

The major was still standing too close, and Lois's natural 
orneriness began to reassert itself.  "Why am I wearing this?  Am 
I a suspect again?" 

"You had a history with the deceased, Lane.  The first time you 
set eyes on him when you got here you almost started a fistfight 
with him.  Yeah, you're a suspect." 

That was enough.  Lois's temper rose also.  "And if I'm the 
killer, why was I so stupid as to voluntarily tell you his real 
name and real occupation?  Why would I kill him my first day 
here, and kill him like that?  I might as well wear a neon sign 
that says `Arrest me, I killed Claude Guilliot.'  How dumb do you 
think I am, Major?" 

Vukovich blinked and took a step back.  "Maybe you have a point 
at that.  Look, I only know this is the first murder we've had on 
this station, ever, and I don't want to screw up and let the 
killer get away.  If my having to solve this my way hurts your 
feelings, too bad.  If you're innocent, you'll get over it, and 
if you're guilty, I'll find out." 

Lois took a breath to pop off again, but something held her back. 
 She let the breath out slowly and silently counted to ten, then 
said, "Okay.  I understand.  Can I go now?" 

"Yes.  Go ahead."

Lois tromped across the office angrily, but slowed as she 
approached the door, thinking.  Then she stopped and turned.  
"You said this was the first murder on the station?" 

The major nodded.  "I've been here for three years, since before 
the first boatload of colonists.  We've had, um, four accidental 
deaths in that time, and maybe a dozen in the whole history of 
the station, but yes, this is the first murder." 

"Are you an experienced investigator?"

The major shook her head and dropped her gaze.  "I'm security and 
law enforcement, not criminal investigations.  There's a big 
difference between the two in the Air Force.  None of us are 
exactly dummies, but I'm not really trained for this kind of 
thing, and neither are any of my people." 

"So, you want some help?"

Vukovich slowly looked up at Lois.  "What kind of help?"

Lois began to smell an opportunity.  "The professional 
crime-solving kind." 

The major turned to face her directly.  "You know someone who 
might fill those shoes?" 

Gotcha, Lois thought.  "Well, they guy I sent those e-mails to, 
Clark Kent, is an investigative reporter for the Daily Planet, 
and we - " 

"The Daily Planet!"  Vukovich burst out.  "You mean you have 
contacts there?" 

"You could say that, yes."

"Background, research, access to the real police?"

"Sure, I - "

"That's great!  Look, I've already suspended off-station e-mails 
except for the command crew and a few department heads, so you 
can - " 

"What?"  Lois wasn't so happy now.  "You mean I can't communicate 
with Clark?" 

Vukovich raised her hand.  "Hold on, Lane!  This is everybody, 
not just you!  I may not be a veteran at this, but I do remember 
some of the procedures!" 

"But - "

"No buts!  I admit I could use the help, but this has to be done 
my way or not at all!  You understand that?" 

Even as whipsawed as she'd been for the last two hours, Lois knew 
when discretion was the better part of valor.  "Yes," she 
admitted grudgingly, "I understand." 

"Good."  Vukovich turned her intensity down a couple of notches.  
"I'll send Kent an e-mail explaining that you've volunteered to 
help me on this case and that he'll have to communicate with you 
through me for the duration." 

Lois nodded.  "I assume you'll call me when you have a 
response?" 

"You could just wait here if you prefer."

Lois looked around.  The office was utilitarian to the extreme.  
It made her tiny cubbyhole on the habitat ring seem warm and 
homey by comparison.  "That's okay.  It's been a rough day 
already and I'm still adjusting to the different time zone.  I 
was up late last night and I'd like to get some sleep." 

"Suit yourself.  If you leave your quarters for any reason, call 
my office and let me know where you're going.  I'll have my guys 
watch out for you." 

Lois snorted.  "I still don't need a babysitter."

"You do now."  Vukovich put her hands on her hips and glared at 
Lois anew.  "I'm almost convinced you didn't kill that man, Lane, 
but just in case I'm wrong, I want to know where you are at all 
times.  And if I'm right and you're innocent, the real killer 
will find out soon enough that you're involved in the 
investigation.  I don't want you to be Space Station Prometheus's 
second murder victim." 

--- Monday, late afternoon

Lois walked through the station's airlock and waved at the young 
girl at the check-in counter, who returned the wave with a huge 
smile as she and her desk drifted by.  Three men wearing dark 
blue clothing were standing in the corner of the room, casting 
fishing lures into a shallow pool with two dead fish floating on 
the top.  Lois turned to watch Major Vukovich bunny-hop past her 
in slow motion, and as she did she bumped into someone. 

She turned back to apologize, and Claude slowly floated around to 
look at her.  He smiled hugely and wrapped his arms around her, 
then leaned back and Lois tried to scream as she looked into his 
gaping mouth at his swollen tongue and the blood dripping down 
from his neck flicked onto her as she struggled to break away and 
his glassy eyes were loose in their sockets and his head flopped 
from one side to the other as she shook him while trying to get 
away from him and his teeth were grinding together and buzzing 
like -  

And she jerked up in her bed, panting.  She heard the buzz again. 
 She looked around frantically and finally saw the blinking comm 
panel light.  She sat up and forced herself to breathe normally, 
trying to convince her body that it wasn't real, it was just a 
really disgusting and scary dream. 

She took another shuddering deep breath, then let it out slowly 
and stood beside the bed.  One long step brought her to the comm 
panel.  "Lights on low," she called out, then slapped the panel. 

"This is Lois Lane."

"Ms. Lane, this is Major Vukovich.  I have a response from Mr. 
Kent.  Please come to my office as quickly as you can." 

I've been promoted, thought Lois.  Now I'm `Ms. Lane' instead of 
just `Lane.'  I'm so thrilled. 

She nodded, then remembered it was a voice-only comm.  "I'll be 
there as soon as I get dressed.  Level twenty-two, section A, 
right?" 

"Right.  I'll see you in ten minutes.  Vukovich out."

The light flipped off, and Lois stumbled to the closet to pull 
out a fresh coverall.  Then she ran her hand over her shoulder 
and arm.  It came away slick with moisture.  She'd sweated while 
she'd dreamed and needed to change everything. 

The clock in the corner of her room told her she'd slept for 
almost two hours.  The tiny mirror next to the closet once again 
showed her how easy short hair was to comb, and she was on her 
way to the security office within three minutes.  Clark and Perry 
were probably sitting on top of their computers, ready for her 
response.   

And she desperately missed Clark.  Not just his manliness, not 
just his presence, but his insight into cases and stories.  The 
more they worked together, the better they seemed to work 
together.  And she could use his mind right about now. 

His comforting super-arms around her wouldn't hurt her feelings, 
either. 

--- Monday, early evening

She stuck her head in the security office.  "Hi, Sergeant.  The 
major here?" 

He rose fluidly, without bouncing, showing that he'd been 
on-station for quite a while.  "Yes, ma'am, in her office waiting 
for you." 

Before Lois could knock on the door, Vukovich opened it.  "Come 
on in, Ms. Lane.  You made good time for a - for a new arrival." 

Lois had the decided impression that Vukovich had very nearly 
called her a `fresh fish.'  "Thanks.  How do we do this?" 

Vukovich pulled out the chair behind her desk.  "You type, I look 
over your shoulder, and when I say it's okay you send the e-mail. 
 Delivery shouldn't take more than ten minutes or so if it's just 
a few lines of text." 

"Okay."  Lois sat and grabbed the mouse.  "Is this the message 
Clark sent?" 

"Yes.  Just click on that icon and - "

"I know how to reply to an e-mail, Major."

Vukovich's voice cooled slightly and she straightened.  "Of 
course you do." 

Lois brought up Clark's message.  It was a response to the 
major's message that Lois would have to talk to Clark using this 
account for the time being.  Clark had written: 

--- As you say, Major Vukovich.  Please have Lois respond as soon 
as possible.  I'll be waiting beside my computer until then. 

Lois nodded to herself and clicked the `reply' button.

--- Clark, this is Lois.  There's been a murder aboard the 
Prometheus, the first one ever, according to Major Vukovich.  The 
victim is Claude Guilliot, and yes, he's THAT Claude.  We're 
almost completely certain it isn't suicide, but we don't have 
much more yet.  Claude was posing as a computer tech, and we need 
you to find out why he was up here in the first place.  There has 
to be money behind it.  We'll send more information as soon as we 
can verify it. 

--- All e-mail access has been shut off except for a few 
accounts, so no one's getting this story out unless it goes 
through the Major and her e-mail ID. 

She paused and looked up at the security chief.  "That okay?"

Vukovich leaned closer to the terminal and squinted.  "Add that 
we'll send full details of the murder when we have them as long 
as they promise not to print everything yet." 

Lois shook her head.  "Clark knows what he can and can't print.  
He's dealt with enough criminal investigations to know where the 
line is." 

Vukovich frowned, then nodded.  "Okay.  Add what I said and send 
it.  I know the Planet's reputation, so I guess I'll have to 
trust him not to be stupid." 

Lois typed and pressed the `send' hot-key, then sat back.  "You 
said ten minutes before they get this?" 

"Depends on the amount of traffic going through the comm 
satellites, but it shouldn't be much more than that.  It's the 
closest thing to real-time communications we've got up here.  The 
price of a two-way radio call would bankrupt the average worker, 
so we have to make do with what we've got." 

"Okay.  You have anything to drink while we're waiting?"

Vukovich shook her head.  "Uh-uh.  We don't allow alcohol on the 
station.  There's too many ways a drunk can kill himself and a 
lot of other people up here." 

Lois frowned.  "I meant something like a root beer or a cream 
soda.  I could use the caffeine." 

"Oh."  The major had the grace to look slightly abashed.  "Sorry. 
 I'll have Sergeant Walker go get something.  Should have thought 
of that myself." 

"Thanks."

Vukovich leaned out the door and asked Walker to run the errand 
for her.  Lois considered that.  The major could surely order her 
subordinate, but she'd asked instead.  And the way they'd treated 
each other after she'd returned from the murder scene spoke 
volumes about the relationship Vukovich had with her staff.  She 
was respected, she was liked, and she was in charge.  It was a 
tricky balance to maintain, but from all appearances so far, the 
major was an excellent acrobat. 

"He'll be back in a flash."

Lois nodded absently.  "You said something earlier about a Doctor 
Watson?" 

"Yes.  Dr. John Quincy Watson, M.D.  Fancies himself to be a bit 
of a writer of detective fiction, too, although I've agreed not 
to hold that against him.  He's English and he's very good at 
treating both minor injuries and major ones.  We had a young boy 
visiting with his family last year who came down with 
appendicitis and Watson fixed him up in nothing flat.  Even gave 
the boy his appendix in a plastic jar to take home with him." 

Lois smiled at that, then grew serious again.  "What did he do 
with Claude's body?" 

Vukovich sat down on the couch across the room.  "He said he'd do 
a full post-mortem exam and send me the results, then he was 
going to encase the body in plastic, suck all the air out, and 
store it in a vacuum chamber."  At Lois's grimace, she added, "We 
don't have a morgue.  There's no room on the station for one, and 
usually not much need.  That's our standard procedure in dealing 
with dead bodies." 

"Sorry.  Just seems a little gruesome to me."

The major sighed.  "This whole freakin' situation is gruesome.  I 
can tell already, I'm going to have nightmares about this when 
it's over."  She leaned back and rubbed her eyes with her hands, 
then leaned forward.  "Look, we're obviously going to be working 
together for a while.  Why don't we use first names?  It'll make 
things a little easier." 

Lois had her doubts about that, but nodded anyway.  "Okay.  I'll 
be Lois if you'll be - Katrina, right?" 

"My friends and people with whom I investigate murders call me 
Karen." 

"Karen."  She nodded.  "Any middle names?"

"Nope.  Just Karen."

"Really?"  Lois squinted at her.  "I would have guessed you'd be 
called Katharine or Kate." 

"Uh-huh.  Katharine makes me think of Catharine the Great of 
Russia, and Kate makes me think of Shakespeare's `The Taming Of 
The Shrew.'  Neither of those women are role models for me.  I'm 
just Karen." 

Lois ventured a small smile.  "Okay, just Karen, when do you 
expect the post-mortem report?" 

As Vukovich opened her mouth to answer, the computer dinged.  
"That's either your guy Kent or the doctor's report." 

Lois moved the mouse to erase the screen saver.  It was a looping 
clip from a Laurel and Hardy comedy short, a revealing insight 
into the major's personality.  She promised herself she'd think 
about it later.  "It's from the doctor.  You want me to open 
it?" 

"Go ahead.  I'll read over your shoulder."

Lois complied and skimmed the document.  She didn't open the 
attached autopsy photos.  Her stomach control only went so far. 

They finished reading the file at almost the same time.  "Pretty 
comprehensive list," muttered Lois.  "Cause of death, slow 
strangulation and loss of blood flow to the brain." 

"I didn't think twenty-six pounds of pressure would crush his 
larynx." 

"Here's something a little less gross.  Says here he had sex not 
long before he died."  Lois chewed a fingernail.  "Wonder who she 
was?" 

Karen caught Lois's eye.  "How do you know it was a she?"

"Claude?  He thought he was God's gift to spacewomen, remember?  
Of all the positive or negative personality quirks he might have 
had, liking men instead of women wasn't one of them."  She tapped 
the screen lightly.  "Besides, the doctor says he found traces of 
vaginal fluid on Claude's genitals.  I'm pretty sure there aren't 
any men on the station with that talent." 

Karen returned her gaze to the screen without answering.  "Hey, 
here's something.  He had trace amounts of alcohol in his blood, 
none in his stomach, and no sign of drugs anywhere else." 

Lois frowned.  "I thought you said alcohol was banned up here."

"It is.  Doesn't mean people don't smuggle it in or make it here. 
 We do have some of the best chemists in the world on the 
station, after all." 

"Right."  They fell silent for a moment, reading.  Something 
caught Lois's attention.  "Look at this.  Watson says the body 
didn't have any serious bruises on it except for around the neck, 
where the noose was, and on the arms and legs where he was taped. 
 They were probably a result of struggling with the tape, but the 
bruising almost surely happened after he was hog-tied.  Or 
hog-taped, if you prefer." 

"True.  So?"

"So how did the killer hold Claude still while he or she 
duct-taped him like that and put a noose around his neck and hung 
him?  He should've fought like a tiger, but there's no evidence 
of it on his body.  I would've expected to find some kind of head 
injury from a blow that knocked him out, but your doctor says 
Claude had no fresh head wounds at all." 

"Hmm."  Karen stood and paced slowly, thinking.  "I don't know.  
It's definitely a clue, but I can't tell you what it means.  At 
least, not yet." 

Lois looked again.  "Also says here that it took him anywhere 
from fifteen minutes to three hours to die.  Watson can't fix the 
time of death much closer than a four-hour span, and that means 
we'll have to account for people's movements within a seven-hour 
window." 

"What?"

"If we have a four-hour time window when Claude actually died, 
plus a maximum of three hours that he hung there before he 
stopped struggling, that's seven hours.  That makes for a lot of 
investigative notes." 

Karen shook her head.  "That's not acceptable.  We need something 
more precise." 

Lois shrugged.  "You'll have to talk to the doctor about that."

Karen nodded.  "Okay, I will."  She strode to the wall and 
punched in a communications code. 

A reedy female voice answered.  "Medical bay, Dr. Fujima 
speaking." 

"Dr. Fujima, this is Major Vukovich.  I need to speak with Dr. 
Watson right now." 

"Hang on a minute, I'll have to find him."

They waited for several moments, then the speaker came to life 
again with a jaunty English accent.  "This is Dr. Watson.  How 
may I assist you, Major?" 

"You can tell me when the murder victim died."

"It's in my report, Major.  That's as precise as I can be with 
the equipment we have and the expertise available to me." 

Karen rolled her eyes but kept her reaction out of her voice.  
"Can you come to my office so we can discuss this face-to-face?" 

"I'm sorry, no.  I have to be in surgery in twenty minutes.  We 
have a patient with an infected spleen and it must be removed 
posthaste." 

"Can't Fujima handle it by herself?"

"Possibly she can, even probably, but I cannot, in good 
conscience, abandon her to such a task so early in her stay 
here." 

"This is important, John!"

"I agree, Major, but I cannot be more precise than I already have 
been." 

"Nuts!  How come the guys on the TV cop shows get better results 
than I do with you?" 

"Because they have more equipment, more external evidence, and 
better-paid writers." 

"Not funny, Doc."

He chuckled.  "Major, the science of dating the time of death is 
as much an art as it is anything else.  Forensic pathologists 
often rely on external clues like the condition of the 
surrounding shrubbery and plants, weathering of the site - " 

"Which we don't have here."

"Precisely.  Our sterile environment has removed many of the 
external indicators of time of death.  Since our victim was known 
to have eaten dinner in the cafeteria last night at around eight 
PM, his stomach contents indicate that he probably didn't die 
before eleven last night, more likely somewhat later, but I 
cannot be absolutely certain.  My estimate was also affected by 
the fact that he was in a duct with cool air blowing over him, 
making his body temperature drop more quickly than if he had died 
peacefully in his bed.  Rigor mortis appears approximately two 
hours after death, and you reported that the body was stiff when 
you first arrived on the scene.  I also judged the hardness and 
odor emanating from the expelled contents of Claude's bowels to 
be more than two hours old, but I cannot be more precise.  All I 
can be certain of is that he died some time between eleven PM 
last night and eight AM this morning, most probably between 
midnight and six AM." 

Karen raised her voice.  "I need better information than that, 
John!  I need a better time of death estimate!" 

"And if I could give you a more accurate estimate, Major, I would 
do so.  I deeply regret that I cannot." 

Karen sighed.  "Okay, Doc.  Thanks anyway.  Hope that spleen 
comes out okay." 

"So does our patient, I'm certain.  I will report to you should I 
discover anything else that might be helpful.  Good-bye." 

Karen shut off the communicator, then sighed and sat down heavily 
on the side of her desk.  Lois sat back and shook her head.  
"That's going to complicate things." 

Karen cocked her head to one side.  "Really?  What was your first 
clue? 

Lois ignored the sarcasm.  "It'll make it that much harder for us 
to find who had the opportunity to kill Claude." 

"Right.  I got it.  We have to find opportunity, means, and 
motive, and then we have the killer." 

"No.  Then we have one or more suspects.  All three of those 
things together are powerful indicators of guilt, but they aren't 
proof." 

Karen frowned in thought.  "You seem to know an awful lot about 
this kind of thing." 

"I ought to.  I've - "

The outer office door swung open and Walker entered, carrying 
three plastic soft drink bottles.  "I hope I have at least one 
that everybody likes."  He hesitated, then offered Lois the first 
choice. 

She grinned.  "Thanks.  I'll take the cream soda, unless one of 
you can't live without it." 

"Go ahead, Lois, I'll take the root beer.  That leaves the almost 
clear light green highly caffeinated and heavily sweetened 
carbonated liquid for you, Matt.  You sure that's not just 
improperly recycled?" 

Lois coughed and almost spit out her first sip.  Karen laughed as 
she whacked her on the back.  "Hey, Lois, you okay?" 

Lois raised her hand to stop the beating.  "I'm fine, I'm fine.  
Sorry.  Some craters in the cafeteria told me where the station's 
water comes from on my first day." 

Walker nodded.  "You do realize that was just yesterday, don't 
you, ma'am?" 

Lois's eyebrows lifted and her eyes opened wider.  "Wow.  I 
hadn't realized it, but yeah, it was.  Seems like I've been here 
a lot longer than that."  She took another sip and savored it.  
"That's good and cold." 

Walker sipped his own beverage.  "I heard you and the Major 
discussing the case when I walked in.  What's the status of the 
deceased's belongings?" 

Lois lifted her eyebr