The money would come. And not the nickels and dimes of the past week. With Gordons on his side he could have every member of Congress quaking in their boots. Hell, with the skills the android possessed, the White House was his for the taking. And not just for so simple a thing as shaking down the President. After all, the real benefits would come to NASA only with a true sympathizer to the cause of space exploration living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
President Zipp Codwin. And the gross national product of an entire nation turned over to the single goal of colonizing and exploring the final frontier.
With starry-eyed images of moon colonies and space stations dancing in his head, Zipp exited the control room.
Pete Graham and a group of space cadets followed him downstairs.
In the empty parking lot next to the command center was a waiting helicopter. While Graham and the rest of the men ducked from the powerful downdraft of the whirling rotor blades, Zipp Codwin kept his head held high. The NASA administrator strode to the front of the waiting craft.
As Zipp climbed in beside the pilot, the rest of the men scurried up into the back. Graham was still scampering aboard as the wheels pulled off the ground.
Nose dipping, the chopper flew across the river to the shuttle launch pads.
By now the remnants of the broken boat were barely visible. Zipp nodded deep approval as the helicopter swept over the tiny chunks of floating debris.
The chopper landed near one of the low concrete shuttle control bunkers. Sand swirled angrily around a wide area as Zipp and his team climbed down to the ground.
From the shadow of the launch tower a figure was scampering toward them.
The thing that had been the Virgil probe looked like the featured performer in some 1950s B movie on the folly of atomic testing. Codwin watched without reaction as the eight-legged creature sped across the asphalt.
Several of the space cadets who were seeing Mr. Gordons for the first time took a frightened step back. In a panic a few started to raise weapons.
"At ease, men," Colonel Codwin barked, nudging down the barrels of two of the nearest guns.
As he spoke, the legs of the approaching creature began to shorten visibly. The spider still came at them, but it slowed its pace. At twenty yards four of its legs had been absorbed into the body. At ten it was rearing upright. By five the remaining spider legs had re-formed into human appendages. By the time it reached Zipp's entourage, the spider had bled completely away, replaced by the familiar human form of Mr. Gordons.
The stiff, emotionless android stopped before Codwin.
Before Gordons had a chance to speak, Zipp grinned widely. "Success, sonny boy," he enthused. Gordons shook his head evenly.
"That statement cannot be made with one hundred percent accuracy," Mr. Gordons disagreed.
"Are you kidding me?" Codwin scoffed. "They're dead, Gordo, old pal. Right now your friends are combing silt from the sea floor alongside Gus Grissom's faulty escape hatch. Now, what say the two of us sit down and have a long father-to-son talk about NASA's future."
But Mr. Gordons didn't seem interested in the space agency or Zipp Codwin. His eyes were scanning the shore.
With mechanical precision Gordons turned his head from west to east, covering the entire visible shoreline. When he came to the road that led over from Complex 39 and the orbiter processing facility, his head locked in place. For the first time the almost smile that was fixed to his lips in perpetuity disappeared.
Mr. Gordons took a step back.
"Negative, negative," Gordons said. "Maximum failure level. Threat to survival imminent." Standing before him, Zipp Codwin frowned. If the NASA administrator didn't know better, he would have sworn there was a hint of true fear on the android's face.
Zipp followed Gordons's line of sight. When his eyes locked on what the android had seen, Colonel Codwin felt his own steel heart quail.
There were two men strolling up the wide road from the main base.
"It can't be," Codwin muttered.
It was the two men Mr. Gordons wanted dead. They were walking along, as free as you please. Completely unharmed.
No, not walking. It only looked as if they were going slowly. In fact, they were running. Fast.
And in that moment Colonel Zipp Codwin understood how two mere mortal groundlubbers could spark fear in the soul of an android.
Zipp didn't know how he managed to find his voice. The words were out almost without his even knowing it was he who had shouted them. They rose high up the towering form of the massive, dormant space shuttle and echoed away across the vast stretch of barren land.
"Execute Plan C!" Codwin screamed.
When the colonel whirled and ran back for the control bunker, the space cadets clamored to take up defensive positions around building and helicopter. Codwin and Graham ducked inside, slamming the steel door behind them.
As the soldiers opened fire on the pair of running men, no one saw Mr. Gordons slip around the side of the bunker, the first hint of his reappearing spider legs springing like questing buds from the sides of his suit jacket.
REMO AND CHIUN HAD glimpsed the cluster of men as soon as they'd climbed up from the shore.
They stood away from the shuttle near a squat building. A helicopter blocked the view of some of the men, but the white boots of the space cadets were still visible. Of those they could see clearly, Remo instantly recognized Zipp Codwin, as well as the young scientist he and Chiun had met while at NASA. Most important of all was the man standing with them.
It was Gordons. The android wore the same face he had made for himself years ago. His flat eyes were scanning the horizon. The instant he spied Remo and Chiun coming toward him, he took a step back.
"Looks like he's pissing 10-40 weight," Remo commented, nodding in satisfaction.
As they ran, each man raised his skin temperature. Their rapidly drying clothes left thin puffs of steam in the air behind them.
"Just remain alert this time," Chiun warned. His pipe-stem legs matched his pupil's sprinting gait. "I am finding it harder and harder to come up with creative ways to explain your failures to stop this machine in the sacred scrolls."
Remo's head whipped around. "You've been blaming me for Gordons always getting away?" he demanded.
The old man's eyes remained fixed on the group of men. "For your sake I have left some ambiguity." He shrugged. "It is either you or some other pale-skinned Apprentice Reigning Master who was trained by the last Master of the pure bloodline. I will allow future generations to decide who exactly this might be."
"Are you gonna tell them that it was me who saved you from that whatever-it-was back there?"
At the moment before the projectile from Codwin's electromagnetic launcher had struck the rear of their boat, Remo's instinct had tripped him into action. A blindingly fast jerk to one side had sent him and the Master of Sinanju into the water. Unfortunately for Clark Beemer, the incredible speed of Remo's maneuver had affected only those whose senses were in tune with the harmonic forces of the universe. Like water kept in an upended bucket by centrifugal force, the NASA public-relations man had remained glued to his seat when the projectile hit.
"To give you credit for your one success, I would have to mention you by name," Chiun replied reasonably. "Were I to do that in this instance, future historians would have no difficulty linking you to your many and varied failures. By omitting your name, I am actually doing you a favor."
Remo turned back ahead. "I can't wait until I get a crack at those scrolls," he muttered.
Far ahead Zipp Codwin had just bellowed something about executing Plan C. After that all hell broke loose.
Gordons, Codwin and Graham ran toward the bunker, disappearing behind the helicopter. At the same moment the half-dozen space cadets opened fire. Bullets whizzed around Remo's and Chiun's heads like angry insects.