Kinsman was pacing down a corridor in the residential section of the base. Most of the people were sleeping, as if this night were the same as any other. He turned at an intersection and started toward Diane's quarters.
"She can't be working all the time," he muttered to himself.
He put all doubts behind him as he hurried down the corridor, passing under the eerie bluish light of one set of fluorescents into the shadows between lamps and then back into the light again. It was warm down at this level, but 411
Kinsman still felt a clammy cold sweat that made his coveralls stick to his chest and arms and back.
He knocked at Diane's door. No answer. He knocked again, louder, then put his ear to the thin plastic of the door. A scuffling sound inside. Muttering. The door opened a crack.
"Oh, hello." Diane's voice was thick, her hair tousled, eyes puffy.
"Can I come in for a minute?"
She opened the door wide enough for Kinsman to step through. Diane was wearing an ankle-length shift. It had been pink once, but had faded considerably. No frills on it. High Chinese collar.
"Is something wrong?" she muttered. "I was relieved of duty in the middle of my shift . . ."
He stood on the grass-covered floor and surveyed the room. The door to the bedroom was closed.
"Something's wrong," he said.
"What?"
"You haven't returned my calls. You've been avoiding me."
"Not now, Chet. I can't . . ."
"Now," he said. "I've got to know why."
She rubbed at her eyes.
"Why?" Kinsman took her by the wrist. "Why have you been avoiding me?"
"Because you scare me," Diane said.
"Scare you?"
Her voice shaky, her eyes avoiding his, she said, "I didn't realize . . . you mean it! You're really going to try it!"
