Up to the top bunk he scrambled. He read Have Space Suit—Will Travel for a little while himself. It was the only hardback he’d brought. He knew it almost by heart—it was a birthday present to himself when he turned twelve. His dad had taken him up to Pickwick’s on Hollywood Boulevard, back in the days when it wasn’t the main Pickwick’s but the only one. He’d taken care of it, too. Even the cover was still in pretty good shape.

When the bad guys caught Kip and Peewee before they could make it to Tombaugh Station, he turned off the light and curled up on his side. He fell asleep easily most of the time, but not tonight, despite the book that was an old friend. Yeah, Deep Throat was stupid and gross and badly acted, but it still reminded him how much he missed Anna, and one of the reasons why.

He hadn’t told Steve he’d seen it before. When it hit with a splash a couple of years earlier, Anna’d bugged him till he took her to it. “I want to see a really dirty movie,” she’d said, over and over, till she wore him down. Truth to tell, he hadn’t needed all that much wearing down.

So they saw it … and she was much more grossed out than turned on. He was not a little grossed out himself, but he did take an interest in the proceedings. And when they messed around at his place afterward, he guessed she hadn’t been altogether disgusted.

He had the sense not to tell her so. And she never asked him to take her to another porno flick.

Eventually, he did sack out. His dreams were … interesting. He woke up just when things were getting close to the moment of truth, the way he usually did when he had dreams like that. It left him more frustrated than ever.

He was grumpy when he got up, but he was often grumpy before he had his coffee. Two big mugs, plus eggs over medium, sizzling sausages, and hash browns improved his outlook on life, or at least gave him things besides that to think about.

After breakfast, he went to the Special Measurements container and punched in the key code that opened the door. Once inside, he made sure the door not only closed behind him but locked. He’d thought that kind of fussing over security was paranoia personified … until Steve showed him the photos in the safe. Now, like Paul on the road to Damascus, he believed.