April by Mackey Chandler Page A

smog and pollution. Never had to breathe fumes from a ground car, or paint, or tobacco," she explained.
    "When I visited my grandparents last year in Australia, I couldn't believe the stinks they put up with when we went into town. It gave me a sick headache. I watched a TV show about Earth kids my age and in this one scene, a girl came up and put her hands over her friend's eyes from behind. The idea was he had to guess who was there. That would just never work with us. We would all know who it was, from the odor of their hands right away. Besides, we are not talking about something subtle here. Hoppe's #9 is such a stinker, I was pretty sure what it was."
    "Hoppe's #9? I was not aware you would have opportunity to catalog the odor of powder solvent. Is that scent popular with the young girls right now?"
    April could feel her face flush. This was twice now Jon had toyed with her and it was getting irritating.
    "Mr. Davis, I told you the truth and we had just agreed to be on the same side. My dad left it up to me how much to volunteer and I've told you more than I needed to protect anyone. Now I feel you're starting to make fun of me. Is there anything else you need to know, which won't involve some jest at my expense?"
    "No," he thought a moment, averting his eyes and reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, squinting, "It was not a good time for humor. I'm sorry. Are we still on the same side?"
    "I'd like to be," she said, softening.
    "Do I need to know who has the stinkum gun powder solvent on our station? And will you be upset again with me if I try to find out?"
    April's first thought was surprise he'd care if it upset her. Picking her words carefully, April answered. "In my opinion, it is not a security problem. It might waste a hidden asset, you would leave more secure by not knowing. I will understand you feel it is your job, if you have to search, but I'd appreciate your trust if you don't."  In a sudden insight about herself she added, "I don't share that kind of trust with many people, but if you can find it in yourself to think that way about a thirteen-year-old girl, I can think that way about you."
    "Dear God," he said, rubbing his face with both hands all weary and looked back up at her. "We've got guns floating around, who knows where on station," he said, waving a hand around in an uncertain circle, "spies jumping out of the airlocks and my boss's sweet little girl wants to be allies." He pulled his hand back down. "Why not?" he seemed to be asking himself. "You're about the only one in the last twelve hours, who hasn't told me what 'a nice young man' that creep was and I owe you. OK, April, I agree, we'll watch out for each other." He reached down and wrote something on a pad and held it up to the screen. It said 898989. "Punch this in any com and you get me direct. Radio, text, phone, it doesn't matter. All our systems route the call right to me, whether it is the middle of my night or anything. You're one of five people outside my department who have it. OK?"
    "Thanks Jon," she didn't think it was a good time to say a lot more.
    "Goodnight April," he said and the screen went back to its menu mode. Her dad was looking at her with visible satisfaction.
     "You know, how a station like this one works, is not all titles and job descriptions. That private number was your first ticket, into what has been derisively described to me as "The Good Old Boy Network." But in fact, it's what keeps the whole mess functioning. You notice Jon didn't switch back to say goodnight to me? From him, that was an acknowledgment he was done talking to a player, not an underling," he said, explaining how the social code worked to her. He was very good at consciously analyzing and explaining such things.
    "Well, I am the Director's daughter," April pointed out, a little embarrassed.
     "All that bought you today was a few hours sleep. The rest you earned."
    "There is still something bothering me," she worried, avoiding more