Orphan's Triumph

THIRTY-ONE

THREE WEEKS LATER, I sat in my office at sunrise, in the chair I had occupied the previous night and most of the other nights since I had set my army on this course. Action items choked my calendar flatscreen’s inbox, and paper reports related to the onworld aspects of the operation overflowed a wire basket on my desk corner, like a last-century cartoon.

Jude rapped on my open office door’s jamb, then stepped in without waiting for me to ask him. “You look like crap.” He dropped into a chair across from me, then propped his crossed ankles on the far edge of my desk.

I rubbed my chin. “I’m gonna shave in a minute.”

He eyed the tight-blanketed cot I had staff set up in my office’s corner. “How long since you slept?”

“I take catnaps. Edison took catnaps.”

“ Edison was deaf, too. It didn’t make him better at his job. Ord’s not babysitting you like he should.”

“I’m too old for a babysitter. And Ord’s too old to babysit.”

Jude jerked his thumb at my outer office. “Tell me about it. When I saw him yesterday, he looked like he’d aged ten years in three weeks. You don’t look much better.”

“So make me better. Tell me you’ve got the first modified Scorpion into flyable condition.”

He grinned. “Why do you think I came by?”

I stood, arched my back as I rubbed it with my palms, and groaned.

He grinned again.

I said, “The replacement parts work fine. It’s the original equipment that wakes up slow.”

His grin disappeared, and he stood. “I’ll give you a hand.”

I pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He said, “Come on over to the hangar with me. You need a break. I’ll make it worth your while.”