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darkness. A minute later she had her robe wrapped around her and was stumbling out into the corridor and trying to remember if the head was to the left, or the right.
    A muffled cry rang out from her left. Lisha rubbed her eyes and looked that way. “What the hell?” Another, this one quieter and followed by a thump, like someone punching the wall. Was someone having some late sex with a coworker? The married quarters were one deck down, but it wasn’t unheard of for the younger staff to ‘hook up’ as they called it. Such fraternization was against the rules, yet it still happened all the time. She’d remembered the bathroom was the other way.
    Lisha turned towards the bathroom just as a door opened in the direction of the sound. She glanced over her shoulder. The hallway was only dimly lit, the rig on nighttime power saving mode. The figure that stood there was still familiar. She tried to remember his name.
    “Up late?” she asked. He seemed to sway slightly, his eyes glowing slightly in the dimly lit corridor as they locked on her. “You okay, Grant?” She’d finally recalled his name.
    “Gnaaaah,” came the guttural reply. The man took a halting step and Lisha beheld horror. It was Grant Porter all right, only he wasn’t the same man. Bright red blood covered the front of his T-shirt and his teeth were pulled back in a rictus of animalistic rage. And she had no doubt she was the source of that rage.
    “Oh God,” she cried out, and the man began to shamble towards her. Lisha began to run, and instantly tripped over her robe and sprawled painfully to the floor. The door to her right opened and one of the German scientists stepped out.
    “Dr. Breda?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, “are you okay?” Grant Porter launched himself at the man with a primal scream that made Lisha cover her ears and moan.
    “Gott in himmel!” the man screamed as the Grant bore him to the ground with his weight. “Was machst du, ahhrgh!” His complaint was cut off as teeth tore into his throat, fountaining blood in a crimson arc along the walls and almost to the ceiling.
    “Noooo,” Lisha moaned, “this isn’t happening!”
    The Grant stood up unsteadily leaving his victim on the floor. The hapless man lay on his back, hands grasping at his ravaged throat, gurgling as blood spurted between his fingers in ever slower pulses, his thrashing gradually slowing. Lisha crawled backwards on her hands and feet like a crab and began to scream. All along the hall doors opened. The technician chewed a bloody mouthful of flesh and swallowed as he surveyed all the stunned faces, coming slowly to his feet. With a snap of his jaws and a snarl, he attacked.

 
     
    Chapter 5
    Friday, April 13
     
    Jeremiah Osborne read the email one more time then sighed and sat back in his chair. He ran a hand through his fading red hair and sighed again. What could he do? His options had become increasingly limited as months went by without a launch. He looked out the window of his San Diego office and cursed at the sight. The two hundred and twenty foot converted freighter rested there near a small flotilla of other vessels and equipment, a self-contained orbital launch complex only needing to be towed into place and properly anchored before beginning operations. The problem was he couldn’t get a permit.
    For his launch system to work, he had to be within service range of the coast, or about a hundred miles at the most. The American environmentalists, afraid his rockets would kill fish or something, had gotten an injunction against him so he’d moved from the sweet spot of ten miles to fifty, outside of US control. They’d gone to the UN committee in charge of maritime regulation and just succeeded there as well. In short, he was fucked.
    One computer file listed a considerable number of clients, all ready to pay and pay well for launches of their satellites. For twenty years he’d sunk every dollar of his considerable inheritance, all the venture