'My friend Bruce says that Scott didn't come out of his dorm room for two days after Challenger blew up,' said Maggie Brown as they stood in front of the New Delhi air terminal.

'Really?' said Baedecker. 'I didn't think that Scott had any interest in the space program anymore.' He looked up as the rising sun suddenly was obscured by clouds. Color flowed out of the world like water from a sink.

'He said he didn't care,' said Maggie. 'He said that Chernobyl and Challenger were just the first signs of the end of the technological era. A few weeks later, he made arrangements to come to India. Are you hungry, Richard?' It was not yet six-thirty in the morning but the terminal was filling with people. Others still lay sleeping on the cracked and filthy linoleum floors. Baedecker wondered if they were potential passengers or merely people seeking a roof for the night. A baby sat alone on a black vinyl chair and cried lustily. Lizards slid across the walls.

Maggie led him to a small coffee shop on the second floor where sleepy waiters stood with soiled towels over their arms. Maggie warned him not to try the bacon and then ordered an omelette, toast and jelly, and tea. Baedecker considered the idea of breakfast and then rejected it. What he really wanted was a Scotch. He ordered black coffee.

The big room was empty of other customers except for one table filled with a loud crew of Russians from an Aeroflot liner Baedecker could see out the window. They were snapping fingers to call over the tired Indian waiters. Baedecker glanced at the captain and then looked again. The big man looked familiar — although Baedecker told himself that a lot of Soviet pilots have such jowls and formidable eyebrows. Nonetheless, Baedecker wondered if he had met him during the three days he had toured Moscow and Star City with the Apollo-Soyuz Test Project crew. He shrugged. It did not matter.