Upfall

"I wouldn't be so sure about getting permission" Perchensky replied doubtfully. "We haven't seen the fallout from the raid. The government is upbeat now—but wait until the Americans have a go at us. The government won't be so brave."

Feldhandler liked Perchensky's innate pessimism which mirrored his own. "For a young woman, you are a cynic" he smiled.

"I'm a realist. Like you."

"I am to a degree, but I'm a bit of a romantic too."

She looked at him a bit warily. Feldhandler was single but more than ten years her senior. More than that, he'd never been anything but professional with her.

"Not in that way" he said. And then quickly before she could be offended he went on. "I'm talking philosophically. We, I mean mankind, should have done better for ourselves by now."

Perchensky decided to keep quite. She hoped she hadn't blushed. What the hell was he getting at?

"All this" he spread his hands around "the greatest scientific advances in decades, centuries, maybe ever—kept in secret by a small, frightened despised country. Used at enormous expense and to surreptitiously transfer commandos here and there, when a braver nation, a braver government could drop a few bombs for a fraction of the cost and accomplish the same thing."

Perchensky was flattered that Feldhandler chose to offer his ruminations—and surprised that he even had them. She stopped and turned toward him, and gently placed her hand on his chest.

Feldhandler stopped as if he'd run into a wall. They were both dressed now in white lab coats. Her tanned skin, thin fingers and manicured nails with peach colored polish (hadn't he noticed that before) struck him dumb. Her coat fell back onto a thin but well toned arm, sporting a fashionable watch. Perchansky was a technical drone who took pride in her looks. Feldhandler was reminded of his family's old rabbi who extolled the sexual virtues of the female upper extremities. In the orthodox Jewish world, where women kept everything covered but their faces and hands, a naked arm could be a real turn on. He'd dismissed it as so much orthodox dreck but now he reconsidered.

Perchensky understood better than Feldhandler that a couple things were happening at once. She gently removed her hand and kept professional, but looked the older man in the eyes. Feldhandler's insomnia showed on his face. His eyes were red and glassy; he looked a decade older than thirty-nine.

"Why don't we go to the canteen and grab a cup of coffee" she suggested. "I think we can both use one."

Feldhandler nodded, knocked out of his reverie. "Good. I would like to discuss weight restrictions and modifications of the capsule with you."

Perchensky gave him a small smile. "Beseder. " The canteen wasn't much, a few dozen tables and plastic chairs, and the food was typically bad Israeli snack fare, but once there, they both realized that they hadn't eaten in almost as long as they'd been without sleep. They ordered reheated frozen pizzas of surpassingly poor quality but surprisingly good when you're famished. Feldhandler allowed himself a bit of small talk, mostly about schools and the army bureaucracy, before getting back to business.

"When we use the transport again the chemo will want to carry much more equipment and probably more men" Feldhandler said.

Feldhandler's use of the common term for the commandos—boys or fellows—was unusual. Perchansky hoped that this meant he saw himself as a little less isolated. Or maybe he was just trying to impress her as "one of the boys," which he most certainly was not. She'd met the grim colonel, Yatom, and his equally severe deputy Mofaz. The two commandos were so alike, they clearly disliked each other. They were killers, and they treated Feldhandler—maybe the smartest man on earth—like a transportation corps officer; a rear area shit whose job it was to get them to the fight and nothing else. She shook away the thought with a vague toss of her hair.

"The capsule is capable of hauling a lot more freight, as the chevre might say" said Perchensky, tossing the term back at him, "and carrying several more men by my calculation. We were cautious on this mission. But I don't think we should just pile equipment in because they say they want it. They should have a tactical requirement."

"That's for them to decide" Feldhandler said. "Let's be generous anyway. See what you can do to modify the power generation. I'll have Moshe re-rig the capsule, so that they can take most of what they want. Let's keep the cherva happy" with a sardonic grin.

"Is that it?" she asked.

"There is something else I'd like to discuss with you" he said a bit hesitantly "but it can wait. Maybe, we can grab lunch here tomorrow - if we have the time."

"Aren't you going up to Tel Aviv to brief the government?"

"Not if I can help it" Feldhandler concluded, awkwardly pushing away from the table, scraping the cheap plastic chair along the canteen floor.

Chapter 3