"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

Chapter 20 - "Misplayed"

     Marilyn pulled her teammate close as they drifted down the passage 
toward Seward's control room.  "Are you going to be able to do this?" she
whispered.

     "I think so," Vanna whispered back.  

     "We need to keep his interest away from his controls and whatever 
monitors he has," Marilyn said, "either by leading him away from the 
controls or by putting on enough of a show he doesn't pay attention to 
them."

     "Oh, I expect we can find a way to . . . distract him," Vanna giggled.
Then she shook her head and said, "These drugs are having more of an 
effect on me than I thought."

     "Me, too," Marilyn said, sighing.  "But we'll have to try and keep 
our heads clear."

     "Yes, ma'am," Vanna said brightly, saluting.  Then she frowned and 
shook her head again.  "I think it's getting worse."

     "You might be right," Marilyn agreed.  "Seward may be stepping up 
the potency of his pheromones.  That could be a problem.  Simple teasing 
may not be enough if he expects us to be more strongly aroused than we
were on the shuttle."  The pretty team commander looked at her companion 
and asked, "Are you really prepared to do . . . whatever it takes to 
distract him?"  

     Vanna gulped a bit, but nodded.  

     "We'll have to see how it goes, but obviously we can't really strip 
for him, like he had Jacqui do.  I think the zippers to both our suits 
just got jammed," mused Marilyn as she twisted the one at her own collar.  

     "Won't that make him angry?"

     "Maybe," Marilyn said.  "But that's where the distraction comes in.  
We need to be prepared to . . . help each other."  

     Vanna's eyes showed a question, but before it made it to her full 
lips, her eyes widened as she answered her own unspoken question.  

     "Come in, come in, ladies," Seward said expansively as Marilyn and 
Vanna finally reached his control room.  "Welcome to my home."

     They hesitated at the entryway.  Their reason for pausing was not 
immediately clear, not because there were no reasons but because there 
were so many it would be hard to pick which one stopped them.  

     The compartment itself was reason enough.  With one notable 
exception, it was cluttered in a way that seemed disturbingly dangerous 
for a space installation where things wouldn't just sit where they might 
have been laid.  A moment of review and they realized that this was 
both more and less of a problem than they might have thought.  The 
modification to that perception was based on the recognition that the 
clutter clustered around the air vents, drawn to them by the continuing 
motion of air even as they blocked the vents themselves.  

     "Don't mind the clutter," Seward said, virtually reading their minds.  
"Just think of it as your typical bachelor pad."  

     He delivered this excuse from the one location in the compartment 
that was *not* cluttered - the notable exception to the rule.  That 
location was the control panel itself, spotless and gleaming in a bright 
combination of indicator lights and shiny reflections.  His words drew 
their attention back to him.  Their reaction was not pleasing.  

     "Perhaps it's not the room that bothers you," he snarled, his tone 
turning ugly.  "Perhaps you don't find me personally appealing."  

     That supposition was probably a good one.  The best information that 
the team had been able to find out about Seward was that he had moved into 
the station just over two years before.  It was possible that he had last 
bathed on the ground.  And brushed his teeth. 

     And exercised.  The arms and legs revealed by a truncated coverall - 
the kind called a 'romper' when worn by a child - were emaciated to the 
point that one would suspect malnutrition.  Yet the pudgy cheeks and 
greasy sheen to his forehead, plus the hint of a well-inflated spare tire 
within the loose confines of his stained coverall showed Seward was 
getting plenty to eat.  It was loss of muscle that had attenuated his 
limbs.

     One part of his appearance did not track with his obvious lack of 
cleanliness.  His eyes were sharp, clear, and a complex gray that seemed 
to shift in color as his glance flickered between his 'guests' and his 
monitors.  

     All this observation took only heartbeats, just long enough for 
Seward to become irritated despite the fact their reaction might have been 
more justified.  After only that short pause though, Marilyn recovered 
enough to put an empty smile on her face.  

     "Gee, Mr. Seward, I don't know why you'd say that?" she simpered.  
"Is it true that you have billions and billions of dollars?"  

     Despite his slovenly personal habits, Seward was not stupid.  He knew 
that pretty women would not be attracted to his current state - at least 
not because of physical attractiveness.  But he also knew he had 'special' 
advantages.  Money was one of them.  

     "Last time I checked," he said, showing yellowed teeth in a satisfied 
grin.  "And you wouldn't believe how much richer I'm going to be."

     "Oooh, tell me more," Marilyn cooed, drifting closer.  Her path was 
not very efficient, though.  She was going to miss his location at the 
control panel by several feet.      

     "Oops," she giggled, flailing a little.  

     "Here, I'll help," Vanna offered, setting her spiked heels in floor 
clamps and pushing at her blue-clad teammate.  But her shove moved Marilyn 
even further off course.  Her ineffectual intervention attracted Seward's 
attention to her, and the disdain she hadn't adequately suppressed in her 
voice was reflected in a visible twist to Seward's mouth.  

     "So, you at least are honest enough to show your true feelings," he 
growled.  "Too bad for you that I'm perfectly happy with a compliant lie."  

     He pulled a spray bottle from his belt and pointed it at the 
disdainful blonde.  

     "No!" Marilyn called, breaking character.

     "Don't worry," Seward sneered.  "You're next."  

     He pulled a trigger on the device and was rewarded by a sharp spritz 
as a narrow stream of liquid shot toward the blonde in black.  It splashed 
from her suit with no apparent effect.  At least, none until enough time 
had passed for a similar stream to be splashed on Marilyn's blue suit.  In 
a moment, both girls were demonstrating that the stream was not innocent, 
however.    

     "Ohhhh, mmmmyyyyy," Marilyn crooned, still drifting, but interrupting 
the struggling motion of her limbs in a compulsive caress of her suddenly 
rock-hard nipples.  

     "Ahhhh," Vanna echoed her, in tone if not in exact words.  She swayed 
above her anchored heels like seaweed in a gentle current, her own hands 
slowly sliding along the contours displayed so provocatively by her 
skinsuit.  

     Seward released a lap belt that was holding him to his console and 
started moving toward them.

***************

     "I think we better cut the shuttle air off from the station," Jacqui 
panted, fingers drifting without conscious direction to slide languorously 
along her smooth flank, then linger over an itch she had wanted so very 
badly to scratch.  "I can hardly think straight."  

     "Tell me about it," Carol said over her microphone.  "Once I started 
breathing pure oxygen, though, I got over it pretty quickly."  

     "I wonder how it is for the girls in the station?" the brunette 
mused. 

****************

     "Sandy, I think you better stay with me, now," Jaymi said.  "I'm 
still so damn hot from those pheromones that I'm afraid I'll make a silly 
mistake."

     "What makes you think that I'm any better?" Sandy whispered, 
blushing.

     "You're probably not," Jaymi giggled, "but between the two of us we 
might manage one clear thought, now and then." 

     "Maybe," Sandy said, but she set her own heels in an appropriate set 
of deck clamps and started absorbing what Jaymi was working on.  Or trying 
to, though Jaymi's full red lips seemed MUCH more interesting than a bunch
of twisted wires.  

     Jaymi shook her head to recover from a plunge into the depths of 
Sandy's green eyes and managed to report her findings.  "This seems to be 
the main power feed, but from the waveform there has to be a transformer 
down the line somewhere, which probably means batteries out on the arm of 
the station."

     "So, cutting it wouldn't necessarily disarm the Pebbles?"

     The red-clad brunette shook her head again, this time actually 
related to the problem at hand.  "I don't think so.  This station has a 
pretty distributed system design.  What I'm reading on the rest of the 
bundle is mostly digital traffic, so there's probably a processor out 
there somewhere to translate commands into actions.  I don't know what it 
would do if the signal traffic is cut off."  

     "Then I guess we better not cut it," Sandy said.

     "Not until I get it figured out," Jaymi concurred.  Then her voice 
took on a warning tone as she said, "Or unless something changes."    

***************

     "Damn," Seward muttered his own curse as he reached the languid 
blondes.  "My stuff must be losing potency.  With that charge, these women 
should have been completely over the top by now, locked in continuous 
orgasms." 

     Surprisingly, the next thing he did was take another, smaller spray 
bottle from his belt and squirt something in to the air around them.  
Inhaling deeply, his eyes seemed to swell with new energy, and he began
to paw roughly at Marilyn's skinsuit.  His grimy fingers started pinching 
lasciviously at Marilyn's shapely form, the touches far too crude to be 
considered caresses.  After tugging at her distended buds, his hands moved
to her high collar. 

     "Damn it, who the hell changed the design on this zipper?  Sonuvabitch 
is stuck!"

     It is a truism of combat that no battle plan ever survives contact
with the enemy.  In this case, the only element of Marilyn's battle plan 
that *did* work right was the jamming of her zipper.  From there, things
got worse in a hurry.  

     "Wha?  Wha . . say?" Marilyn murmured.  Her long eyelashes fluttered 
as she tried to overcome the effects of Seward's diabolical potions, 
diluted though they were by her team's only partial transformation into 
women.  If anything, Seward's most recent addition to the local air supply 
had tended to clear her mind, though it had created a problem of its own.   
One that Seward could NOT find out about.  

     Vanna roused as well, not so much dispelling the effect as overcoming 
it by force of will, buttressed by a building familiarity with the 
sensations singing through her body - including sensations that had once 
been much more familiar.  She could compensate, at least partially, for 
the effects of Seward's drugs.  The two sprays, one directed at the women 
and one intended for Seward's own gratification, seemed to be canceling 
each other out to some degree.  It came to her that Seward was away from 
his controls, that now was the time - if ever there would be one - to 
capture him.  

     "Marilyn," she gasped.  "Get him!"  

     "Hmm?" her commander asked, then the opportunity became apparent to 
her, too.  

     Unfortunately, Marilyn was drifting in the middle of the compartment 
and couldn't move without an anchor to push against.  Even more 
unfortunately, in her semi-cognitive state, Vanna had spoken out loud.

     "What did you say?" Seward demanded, fending off Marilyn's grasping 
hands.  

     "I want you," Marilyn whispered, trying to put an invitation into her 
throaty voice.

     "Yes," he said suspiciously, "but for what?"

     He reached for the spray at his belt again, but a frown showed on 
his face, coupled with a clear suspicion that it might not be effective.

     "All of you, off my station now," he ordered, backing away.  He moved 
toward a prominent red switch on the control console.

     "Vanna," Marilyn said, a warning and an order in one.

     Vanna produced a throwing knife from the back of her collar and 
called out to Seward.  "Freeze!"  

     Instead of stopping, Seward slammed his hand on the red switch.  Then 
he reached for a gun also hanging from his belt - an unusual weapon that 
they recognized as a multi-chamber tranquilizer gun even as he drew it.  
There was no way to tell what he had loaded the darts with - lethal 
potions were far and away the most likely - so Vanna sent her knife 
streaking at his shoulder to stop his motion.  

     She had practiced in the weightlessness of the Vomit Comet, but that
simulation was not quite accurate.  Her knife flew with a lightning-quick 
flicker, but instead of burying itself in the sinews of his shoulder, it 
found a home in Seward's throat.  

************

     "Uh, oh," Jaymi said.

     "I don't like the sound of that," Sandy replied.  

     "We need to cut this line, quick!" said Jaymi,

     "Got it," Sandy replied, pulling a tool from the kit she had been 
holding.  It didn't take long, but the expression on Jaymi's face said it 
had been long enough.

     Or had it?  Nothing happened for a long moment.  

     "Sandy, what's going on?" Marilyn's voice sounded over their 
headsets.

     "We were about to ask you the same thing?" Sandy replied.  "We just 
cut some sort of wire harness, but I don't know why."

    Jaymi said, "It's the control harness for the Brilliant Pebbles.  I 
had just traced it to the junction box that heads out that arm of the 
station when I started picking up a lot of signal traffic.  I figured we'd 
better cut it."

     "Good idea," Marilyn said.  "We've got a problem here, though.  
Seward's dead."

     Any further explanation was interrupted by the shudder of a distant 
explosion.

*************

     "Shuttle to Marilyn.  Shuttle to anyone, can you hear me?"  

     "I hear you, Jacqui, what happened?"  Marilyn's voice replied.

     "I don't know what caused it, but there was just an explosion in the 
station airlock.  We're okay, but don't try and enter it from that side 
without a helmet."

     "Okay," Marilyn said.  "Seward tripped some sort of switch before he 
died. I don't know if we managed to stop whatever he had in mind or not.  
Apparently not all of it, in any event.  All team members, head back to 
the ship."

     "Ah, Marilyn, it's not entirely okay," Sandy reported over the team 
net.  "Our helmets are in that airlock." 

     "There's more than that," Jaymi reported.  "I captured some of the 
data stream we interrupted.  It was targeting and launch commands.  Some 
of those Brilliant Pebbles were told to attack!  I don't know why they 
haven't gone off."

     "Orbital mechanics," explained Jacqui, breaking in.  "They have to 
have some sort of de-orbiting retro charge, but it has to go off at the 
right time or they won't come down close enough to their target for 
terminal guidance to work.  They're waiting for that right moment."  

     "How long will that take?" asked Marilyn.

     "I don't know," Jacqui replied.  "It might be any second, or it might
take more than a full orbit to get into position.  I can get a rough 
estimate for different target sites, but it will be a guess."

     Jaymi's voice sounded over the comm system, "If we can get back on 
the shuttle, I may be able to decipher these launch codes.  There's 
probably a time stamp in them."  

     Marilyn said, "That will take a while.  We have to work out some sort 
of interim airlock in order to get you your helmets."

     Carol's voice broke in, carrying a slight echo from the inside of her 
bulbous helmet.  "Well, I guess it's a good thing I'm ready to go EVA." 

     "What are you suggesting?" asked Marilyn.

     Carol paused for a moment, thinking through the steps she would have 
to take.  "Okay, it's like this.  Even if you get your helmets, you don't 
really have air packs.  You'll have a couple of minutes of air - not much 
longer than just holding your breath - inside your suits.  But that's 
enough to get you past the blown-out airlock.  So, here's the plan.  I'll 
go out and gather up the helmets and put them in the next compartment, 
closing it off behind me.  Then you can get into that compartment from the 
other side, put on your helmets, then scoot past the open space into the 
shuttle airlock.  It's still working okay."  

     Jacqui joined in, "Yes!  That will work.  Only . . "

     Sandy's voice completed the thought.  "Only the shuttle airlock is 
limited to two people at a time, and the cycle takes too long for the 
other two to wait outside with only the air in their helmets."

     Carol said, "Okay, then I'll bring some air packs, and . . . "

     Sandy interrupted again.  "And how long will it be before those bombs 
start dropping?  We're not working the right problem here."  

     "It's a start," Marilyn said, her command voice announcing a 
decision.  "But we'll cut to the chase a little.  Here's what we'll do . . 
. "

********************

     The stark white of the open bay seemed pristine and untouched by 
whatever had caused the angry gash in the module bridging from the shuttle 
to the rest of the station.  Carol's dark green skinsuit was a surprise as 
jarring as the damage itself when she suddenly appeared through the 
shuttle main airlock exit.  Working her way carefully up the side of the 
ruptured station airlock, she eeled her way inside through the gaping hole.

     "Just as we thought," she reported after she disappeared inside.  
"There's some debris blocking the lower door.  Everyone will have to go 
outside.  But the helmets are all okay."

     Within the station, Marilyn sighed and turned to the other three who 
were still trapped on the wrong side of a lot of nothing.  "It looks like 
Seward's plan was a little more thorough than we gave him credit for.  If 
Carol weren't available on the shuttle, we'd be trapped for real."

    Sandy shook her head in disagreement.  "But she *is* over there, and 
so is Jacqui.  He must have known we'd be able to work our way past this."

    "Eventually," Marilyn said, nodding.  "But it all takes time.  Time we 
don't have."

    She continued.  "Seward didn't really want to kill anyone . . ." 

    "He didn't?" Vanna interrupted.  "You coulda fooled me!"

    Marilyn shook her head and continued, "No, if he wanted to kill us, he 
could have blown out a lot more than an airlock.  Look, his whole strategy 
was based on his pheromone defense, effective against all-female crews.  
Like a lot of arrogant SOB's, he figured women could never be a real 
threat."

    "So, why blow the airlock, then?  And have us move our helmets before 
that?" asked Vanna.

    Thoughtfully, Sandy said, "Well, it means he knows where they are, for 
sure, and if the helmets are in a compartment open to space then we can't 
get to them without help.  It's a delaying action, one that lets him 
regain control of a situation without mass murder."

     "Yeah, right," Jaymi joined the conversation.  "This is the guy who's 
going to rain death on half the world, and he didn't want to hurt anyone."

     Marilyn contradicted her, "Actually, he didn't.  Either part.  He 
didn't want to hurt anyone, because if he ever really did commit murder 
then someone would *have* to take action.  It was the *threat* that 
mattered.  Once he had to use it, he'd already lost.  And he hasn't 
actually 'rained death' on anyone yet, either."

     "Oh!" Jaymi said, a light dawning in her eyes.  "That's right!  I'll 
bet that's why none of the Brilliant Pebbles have launched yet.  He was, I 
mean, was his plan that he could use that as a sort of 'ticking clock' to 
regain control if his station were invaded?  'Surrender and I'll stop the 
launch.'  That sort of thing?"

     "Right," Marilyn said.  "And without our helmets, we couldn't be part 
of any effective assault force - especially since we'd be, ahem, under the 
influence of his drugs." 

     "But now he's dead, and we're still stuck," Vanna sighed.

     "Not for long," Carol's voice broke in on the tactical net they were 
using.  "I've put the helmets in the connecting node.  First two, get 
ready."  

     "Jaymi, that's you and Vanna," Marilyn ordered.  

     "I should go," Sandy said.  "Jaymi needs to work on the data, of 
course, but I need to start pre-breathing."

     "No," Marilyn said.  "One EVA is enough for you, dear.  You and your 
. . . war wounds."  

     "But . . " Sandy began, then stopped at the look in Marilyn's eyes.

     Vanna and Jaymi had the wisdom to be quiet, though in part it was 
forced as they breathed deeply to get in as much oxygen as possible before 
they went into space without an air supply.  

     "Besides," Marilyn said gently.  "Vanna is our best in zero-g.  We 
need to get her out there helping Carol as soon as possible."  
    
     Sandy nodded, recognizing the wisdom in Marilyn's order even as she 
worried about her teammate.  Two of them, actually, since Carol and Vanna 
would be facing similar risks.  As second in command, it was Sandy's 
responsibility to watch out for her teammates, to protect them with her 
own life if necessary, but it was her *duty* to obey orders.  And in the 
brutal logic of command, Marilyn was right.  Vanna was better qualified. 

     Carol's forest green led the black and dark red suits of her sisters 
through and around the damaged areas on their way to the shuttle airlock.  
As soon as they were safely inside, she turned back to her remaining 
teammates.

     "How did it go?" Marilyn asked anxiously, peering through a small 
viewport from the connection node where they had already obtained their 
own helmets.  

     "Fine," Carol reported.  "Forty five seconds until air was filling 
the shuttle lock."  

     "Good," Marilyn nodded, but there was a pensive note in her voice.  

     "What's wrong?" asked Sandy.  

     "Do you think you can make it without Carol's help?" Marilyn asked.

     "Um, sure," Sandy said, though there was little certainty in her 
tone.  

     Marilyn nodded, recognizing what Sandy was really saying.  If Marilyn 
felt the risk was worthwhile, then Sandy would take it.  The curvy blonde 
reached out to her friend and colleague and gave her a quick hug.

     "Carol," Marilyn transmitted, "and all of the rest of you, too.   
Listen up.  Sandy and I will make our own way back to the shuttle.  Carol, 
I want you to work your way over to the Brilliant Pebbles and do a careful 
reconnaissance.  I do NOT want you approaching them closely, but we have 
to start figuring out a way to disable them, and I guess you're elected."

     "I need to help you back to the shuttle," Carol said.

     "We can make it," Sandy said, backing up Marilyn - though they all 
knew she was speaking more from willingness than justified confidence.  If 
they got lost, if they got delayed in any way, there wouldn't be anyone to 
drag them to safety. 

     Jacqui offered another objection.  "No one is supposed to leave the 
shuttle bay without a backup astronaut ready for EVA."  

     "I'll put on an airpack," Jaymi said from the shuttle, beating 
Vanna's offer by a margin so small it sounded like an echo.

     "Don't be silly," Marilyn countered.  "Holding our breath is easy.  
But if you tried breathing at airpack pressures without purging the 
nitrogen from your system, you'd get the bends and wouldn't help any of 
us.  Jacqui, I recognize your objection, and normally I'd abide by it, but 
this is not optional.  You have your orders.  Carol, get on your way.  
Vanna, are you and Jaymi out of the lock?"

     "Yes, Marilyn," Vanna reported.  "It's ready for you, but . . ."  

     "But what?" demanded Marilyn

     Vanna's voice carried a note of surprising embarrassment.  "Um, we, 
that is . . "

     "Damnit, Vanna, spit it out," Marilyn ordered.

     "It's our nipples," Jaymi explained.  "Without the pasties covering 
the thin spots, it's pretty uncomfortable.  And you and Sandy are . . "

     ". . . are more, ah, at risk.  Is that what you mean?" asked Marilyn.

     Jaymi's assent was more sigh than words, but it was nonetheless 
clear.

     "Very well," Marilyn said, "it can't be helped."  She looked a 
question at Sandy, who nodded, gulping air as they prepared for their 
own challenging extra-vehicular excursion.  

     The hissing of air seemed terribly loud in the small compartment - 
when it started.  All too soon it faded away as the air required to 
transmit the sound disappeared into the void.  Then, it didn't seem like 
it was happening quickly at all as they held their breath, waiting for the 
pressure to drop far enough they could open the hatch.  They could hold 
their breath for long enough.  They both knew they could.  Yet, when they 
also knew they didn't have any option, it seemed critical to breathe 
immediately, as though they were already suffocating after only seconds.  

     It didn't help that it was hard work to move toward the shuttle.  
That seemed counter-intuitive, since they were weightless and virtually 
frictionless in the airless vacuum.  But the effort required to work in 
weightlessness had been proven over and over.  Without the stability of 
gravity to provide a base to push from, much of their effort actually 
worked against themselves, rotating their body instead of moving it in the 
direction they wanted.  

     And all the time, the pressure in their lungs, the feeling that they 
were running out of air, the need to *breathe* was a demand that became so 
compelling it seemed like the movement through the void was the secondary 
effort, the throbbing in their distended nips only a minor irritation.  

     And then it was over.  They were in the lock and the sound of hissing 
air was back, this time sweetly beautiful and the grandest music they had 
ever heard.  Gasping, they would have fallen into the main shuttle 
compartment, except in the absence of gravity all they did was drift into 
the arms of their waiting team-mates.  

     All but one.  Carol was making her way through the open lattice of 
girders toward the waiting bombs, most of the standard safety rules thrown 
out by the grinding need to hurry, a need as great as that felt by her 
air-deprived sisters but with even less hope that it would be quickly met.  

     "Okay, I'm at the bombs," Carol said, panting into her open mike.  

     "What do you see?" Vanna asked, then kicked herself mentally when she 
realized that Carol would report as soon as she could.

     "There's a, um, rack, I guess," the distant redhead said.  "And about, 
let's see, two, four, six, eight, by two, four, six . . . what's that?  
Forty-eight?  Right?"

     "Right," Sandy confirmed, not that her comment was necessary either.  

     "Each one is a four-foot-long rod, with some fins near one end and a, 
well, a curvy cone or, um, bell at the other.  I don't even know which end 
is the front."

     Sandy was sketching as Carol talked, then she pondered her sketch.  
"Is there anything in the cone?"

     "Don't get too close," Marilyn cautioned, trying to get a look at 
Carol through the camera on the shuttle's remote arm.

     Carol didn't reply, except by moving closer to the array despite 
the warning.  "Yes," she reported.  "There's some sort of ball in each one.  
I can't tell what it is, but it's not, um, well, it doesn't look like 
metal."  

     "Right," Sandy said, thinking out loud.  "I think the end with the 
bell is the front end.  The ball is probably some sort of explosive that 
is used to de-orbit the rod.  The cone itself would burn off during re-
entry.  Then the rod is guided by steering the back end."  

     "Makes sense to me," Jaymi confirmed, looking up from her computer 
console.  "That's the good news.  The bad news is that I think the first 
one will start launching in about 5 minutes."  

     "Where?" asked Marilyn.

     "I'm not sure," Jaymi said.  "All I've got is a time hack."

     Jacqui said, "I may be able to help with that.  Let's see . . . "

     Then she frowned and said, "Uh, oh, I need to have some sort of 
estimate of how much the charge will slow the rod down.  It can be a very 
gradual de-orbit, or a fairly quick drop."  

     "The impact from the test impact was about 3000 miles downrange from 
the de-orbit blast," Marilyn reported.

     "Test impact?" Jacqui repeated.  "You didn't tell us about that."

     "Just figure the orbit," Marilyn said unrepentantly.  

     Jacqui nodded, then worked for a moment at her console, muttering out 
loud.  "Okay, if we figure forward 3000 miles from where we'll be five 
minutes from now . . . . shit!"

     "That didn't sound good," Vanna observed.  

     "Eastern seaboard, US," Jacqui said flatly.  "Too much potential 
variation in the de-orbit impulse to tell exactly, but figuring where our 
own landing footprint would be, with a burn five minutes from now we could 
come down right on Washington DC if we wanted to."