Murder in Orbit

by Bruce Coville

  Helen nodded.

  Dr. Puckett then proceeded to astound us all with his next announcement: “As for myself, it’s likely I will run into Rusty and Cassie, since I, too, am going to visit the BS Factory today.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Helen. It was clear from the tone of her voice that she didn’t like this idea at all.

  “I’ve been feeling a little peaked lately,” said Dr. Puckett piously. “I just decided that I need a complete checkup—”

  “—from your personal physician, Antoine Twining,” said Helen, finishing his sentence for him. She sighed. “I should have seen this one coming.”

  “Of course you should have,” said Dr. Puckett smugly. “It makes perfect sense, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect,” said Helen sardonically. “After all, your concern for your health is legendary. Why, I remember the last time you granted an interview. The lead sentence in the story was your now famous proclamation that you are, and I quote, ‘the most gleefully unfit person in the entire solar system.’”

  “I’ve always liked that comment,” said Dr. Puckett serenely. “It seemed to encapsulate my personality rather nicely.”

  “It certainly provides a sense of your ego,” snapped Helen. “But given that, who do you think is going to believe you when you say you want a physical—much less one that you have to leave your office to get?”

  “Why, no one. That’s the wonderful thing about this. It makes a perfect excuse for me to go over there. But at the same time there won’t be a shred of doubt in anyone’s mind that I’m really there for some other reason. It should strike a little fear into our enemy’s heart—usually a worthwhile thing to do. Besides, while I’m there I’ll have a chance to do some looking around on my own. No offense to Rusty and Cassie, but there’s nothing like seeing things with your own eyes.”

  “And will you really get a physical?” asked Helen warily.

  “I had a physical just six months ago,” replied Dr. Puckett.

  Helen snorted. “Twining stopped by, drew a blood sample, and gave you a lecture on your eating habits. That does not constitute a physical in anyone’s mind but yours, Elmo. I repeat my question: Are you really going to get a physical?”

  Dr. Puckett made an expression of distaste. “I suppose I’ll have to,” he said. “Just to keep up appearances.”

  I could sense Helen’s disapproval fading. I had come to realize that taking care of Dr. Puckett was one of her main jobs. She might never have a chance like this again, and she knew it.

  “Now get moving,” said Dr. Puckett brusquely. “I’ll meet you over there.”

  Millicent Carter looked surprised to see me. “Rusty! The way the guys from Traffic Control talked, I didn’t expect to see you around until sometime next week.” She tilted her head sideways, examined me for a moment, then said, “I think you’re smart to be out flying right away. Wait too long after an experience like that and you may never get started again.”

  That’s probably true. I had had trouble getting started even that morning. In fact, if Cassie hadn’t been with me, I might have convinced myself to put the whole thing off till another day. But I wasn’t about to admit I was afraid to fly again in front of Cassie. Besides, just having someone with me made it easier. One of the worst things about what had happened the day before had been the aloneness of it all.

  I started to say something, but Millie cut me off. “Listen, kid,” she said, taking me by the arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, Millie—it wasn’t your fault. Something went wrong with the scooter. Keeping those things in running order isn’t your job.”

  “Yeah, I know. But somehow I feel responsible anyway. I suppose it’s the mother in me. Now—are you gonna introduce me to your lady friend? Or do I have to do it myself?”

  After I performed the introductions, Cassie and I headed into the BS Factory proper. Before we had gone twenty feet, I heard someone call my name from behind. I turned and saw Dr. Charles Hulan, the oldest and probably the testiest member of the Mad Scientists’ Club, drifting down the corridor in our direction. He was clutching a stack of papers that went from his navel to his chin. Once he had our attention, he suggested that we help him.

  Actually, “suggest” is probably too polite a description. Dr. Hulan’s exact words were: “Rusty, stop flapping your gums and make yourself useful!”

  I relieved him of part of the load. Cassie lifted another eight or nine inches of paper from the stack.

  Dr. Hulan looked considerably happier.

  After we had deposited the papers in his office, I introduced Cassie and asked Dr. Hulan to explain his work to her.

  Have I told you Rusty McPhee’s First Law of Scientific Discourse? It goes like this: No matter how cranky or withdrawn they may seem, asking scientists to explain their work is like firing the starting gun for a race; the words are barely out of your mouth before they’re off and running. This can cause a real problem if their work is classified, in which case the poor scientist is torn between two powerful but conflicting urges: the need to babble about what he’s doing, and the need to avoid having some government agency bust her chops. In those circumstances, the poor creatures usually start several sentences they can’t finish, move on to unconnected words, blush, begin to sweat, and finally suffer a functional breakdown.

  I’m certain there are exceptions to this rule. Dr. Hulan was not one of them.

  We got the complete tour, or nearly so.

  It was mind-boggling. I barely knew Dr. Hulan, and that was only because he occasionally came into our lab to argue with Dr. Twining. I had been totally unaware of what he was working on.

  Nanotechnology is the name for it, and it’s one of those things where if he ever gets it right, it’s going to change the world. He says there are a lot of scientists working on it. I think that’s a little scary.

  Basically, he’s designing ways to manufacture things at the molecular level. For example, he showed us a situation where he was growing copper wire. He said by fiddling with the receptor molecules, he could adjust the thickness and the density of the wire. He claimed if they ever got the technology perfected, they would be able to grow anything.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Anything,” he repeated, with a shrug. “Rockets, computers, clothes. It will change the world in ways we can’t imagine.”

  “This guy scares me,” whispered Cassie once, when Dr. Hulan was a few steps ahead of us.

  “He’s no gruffer than Dr. Puckett,” I replied.

  “No, I mean what he’s doing scares me. It’s too weird for words.”

  I didn’t reply—partly because I agreed with her, partly because before I could think of anything to say we were interrupted by Dr. Durkin’s voice, which came into the room via the intercom.

  “Charles! Come quickly! I need you!”

  He sounded desperate. We heard a crashing sound. Then the intercom cut off.

  Ignoring us, Dr. Hulan hurried out of the room.

  We were close at his heels.

  Chapter 17

  The Sex Queen of Outer Space

  Dr. Durkin’s lab was a shambles. Tables were overturned. Equipment was scattered across the floor. Puddles of different-colored fluids spread onto piles of important-looking papers.

  Dr. Durkin didn’t look much better than his lab. His white coat hung in tatters about his shoulders, and he was covered with blood from several deep cuts.

  He was standing in the far corner of the lab. Facing him, crouched on a table and making angry noises, was Ron—the chimp that had been so sick the day before.

  “Thank God you’re here,” said Dr. Durkin as Dr. Hulan came through the door. “You’ve got to help me subdue him!”

  Then he spotted Cassie and me. “Rusty! Get out of here! And take that girl with you. Now!”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when Ron jumped.

  It was horrible. The chimp I had been going to cuddle less than twenty-four hours e
arlier attacked Dr. Durkin like a whirlwind made of teeth and claws.

  “Charles!” cried Dr. Durkin. “Help me!”

  Dr. Hulan rushed forward. I was right beside him.

  Durkin and the chimp were on the floor now. Durkin managed to get one foot against Ron’s chest. He thrust out with his leg and sent the chimp flying against the wall. The animal slumped to the floor, momentarily stunned.

  “Don’t touch him!” commanded Dr. Durkin, struggling to get back onto his feet. “Get the gun. It’s in my desk.”

  Suddenly Ron was back on him, snapping and clawing again.

  “Rusty,” snarled Dr. Hulan as he headed back toward Durkin’s desk. “Get that girl out of here now!”

  “Cassie,” I said. “Get out of here.”

  “Not unless you come, too.”

  “Don’t be stupid!”

  “Don’t you be stupid, Rusty. Come on!”

  Muttering angrily, I grabbed her arm and hustled her out of the room. Behind us I could hear shouting and the sound of more equipment hitting the floor.

  Suddenly everything went quiet.

  I waited a second, then pushed the intercom button next to the door.

  “Dr. Durkin?”

  It was Dr. Hulan who answered. “Everything is under control, Rusty. I’ve anesthetized the chimp. Dr. Durkin is all right. I will handle things here. Please take the young lady elsewhere.”

  “But—”

  “Do as I say!” snapped Dr. Hulan. “I don’t have time to argue.”

  I stared at the floor for a minute, then turned to Cassie. “Come on,” I said. “I guess we’d better go.”

  “Are things always this exciting around here?” she asked as we made our way down the hallway.

  “Not until this week,” I said. Then I turned on her. “Why wouldn’t you get out of there when I told you to?” I asked angrily.

  “Dr. Durkin told us both to go,” she snapped back.

  “But they might have needed my help.”

  “Oh, really? And what was wrong with that chimp?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s sick.”

  “Right. Which I assume is why Dr. Durkin told Dr. Hulan to use the gun. You don’t tackle an animal like that with your bare hands unless you want to get sick, too. You might have been able to come up with something dumber than just wading into that fight, but offhand, I can’t think of what it would have been.”

  I hate it when you’re having an argument and the other person hits you with a piece of irrefutable logic like that. Spurred on by my adrenaline, I had been on the verge of making the same stupid mistake I had almost made yesterday.

  “Let’s go see Dr. Collins,” I said, by way of changing the subject.

  “Fine,” said Cassie.

  We walked on a little way. “What does this one do for a living?” Cassie asked after a moment. “Grow spare parts for body transplants?”

  “That’s Dr. Twining’s area,” I replied, ignoring her sarcasm. “Dr. Collins is studying the effects of weightlessness on the reproductive system. She’s one of the world’s foremost experts on the subject.”

  “I bet there aren’t a whole lot of them to begin with,” said Cassie. “Space sex isn’t a big topic in most science courses.”

  I might have sparred with her a bit on the topic, but my mind was still occupied by the terrible thing that had happened in Dr. Durkin’s lab. We moved on in silence.

  Martha Collins was a short, good-natured woman with twinkling eyes and a thick head of curly brown hair. She greeted us with enthusiasm, which seemed to make Cassie kind of nervous. (“I thought maybe she wanted to use us for some kind of experiment,” she told me later.)

  After I introduced Cassie and explained that I was showing her around the BS Factory, Dr. Collins offered to give us a tour of her lab. That wasn’t as exciting as it might sound; her experiments were pretty much confined to fruit flies and white mice. I suppose her work is important. But it is not, believe me, anything that is going to change your day-to-day life.

  Toward the end of the tour we were playing with some baby mice while Dr. Collins explained the effects that weightlessness had had on the mother during her pregnancy. We had just put the babies back into their cage and started toward the next area Dr. Collins wanted to show us when a door slid open in the right-hand wall just ahead of us. One of Dr. Collins’s research assistants stepped through. I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be several cages as the door slid shut behind him.

  The researcher seemed startled to see us. He shot a questioning glance at Dr. Collins.

  “It’s okay, Max,” she said. “I’m just giving them a tour of the operation.”

  Max nodded and continued on his way.

  “What’s that room for?” asked Cassie, indicating the door Max had just come through.

  Dr. Collins shrugged. “Nothing much. It’s primarily a rest area. Come on, there’s something I want to show you over here. Then I really have to return to my own work. But I do hope you’ll bring Cassie back sometime, Rusty. It’s always nice to have a chance to show off one’s passions.”

  “What do you think?” asked Cassie.

  “About what?”

  “About Dr. Collins, Einstein! What did you think I wanted your opinion on? Navel lint?”

  “Actually, that can be a rather deep subject. I have some rather profound thoughts on the topic.”

  She snorted. “Probably just more of your fuzzy thinking. Save it for later, and tell me what you think of the Sex Queen of Outer Space.”

  “Well, I think she did a good job of making sure we only saw what she wanted us to.”

  “You got that impression, too, huh?”

  I nodded. “Sure did. And did you notice how nervous Max looked when he stepped out in front of us? I don’t know what they’ve got in that back room, but I’ll bet you a bowl of rabbit stew it’s more than a couple of easy chairs and a coffeepot. In fact, I thought I saw some cages back there. But I couldn’t be sure. Did you get a look through the door at all?”

  Cassie shook her head, which caused her honey-colored hair to whisk over her shoulders in a very distracting way. “Couldn’t see a thing. Max was in the way.”

  “We’ll put that on our list of things to check out if we decide to get really snoopy,” I said. “In the meantime, I have to get myself over to Dr. Twining’s lab. It’s time for my shift to start.”

  “Shall I come along, or do you think I ought to go poking around on my own?”

  “Come on along. I’d at least like you to meet the guy. But once I start working, you might as well head out and do a little more investigating. It’ll be pretty boring for you to just sit there and watch.”

  “Were you serious when you were talking about Dr. Twining’s work earlier?” she asked as we made our way down the corridor.

  “What did I say?”

  She gave a little shudder. “You know—about him growing spare body parts.”

  I laughed. “Serious, but seriously exaggerating. Dr. Twining’s real project is limb and organ regeneration in mammals. I suppose if he ever really beats it, then he could use the same tactics for growing spare parts. But the real goal is to figure out how people can regrow their own parts when something happens to them.”

  When we reached the lab, we found Dr. Puckett already there, cheerfully insulting Dr. Twining. Dr. Puckett ignored us, and I got the impression he didn’t want Dr. Twining to know we were working together.

  Dr. Twining glanced at his watch. “I am stunned into near silence, Rusty. It’s only ten minutes past the time you’re supposed to be here; I didn’t expect to see you for at least another twenty. If I can attribute this new punctuality to the charming young lady standing beside you, then perhaps you’d better introduce us.”

  I did, and then let Dr. Twining introduce Dr. Puckett as if we had never met him before. I could tell from the look on the old scoundrel’s face that he was enjoying the charade.

  “Dr. Puckett is a patient of min
e,” said Dr. Twining. “Though why I continue to treat him I can’t say, since he is without a doubt the most exasperating one I have ever had to deal with.”

  Dr. Puckett beamed.

  “Stop smiling,” said Dr. Twining severely. “Despite your aggravating ways I’d like to keep you alive for a while longer—not an easy task, considering the way you treat yourself. That blood-pressure situation is like a time bomb waiting to go off.”

  Dr. Twining turned to me. “You might as well start your work, Rusty. I have a few more things to discuss with Dr. Puckett. Then I’ll see if I can help you with that problem you were having yesterday.” He turned back to Dr. Puckett. “If you’ll just wait a moment, Elmo, I’ll get you something for that blood pressure.”

  Dr. Twining turned to the cabinet behind his desk; Dr. Puckett took advantage of the moment to pass me a note. I went to my work station and unfolded it.

  Cassie peered over my shoulder as I read it.

  Rusty—

  I’ve got the whole thing figured out. If you’re still in the dark by the time you’re done here today, come and see me. I will be glad to dispense enlightenment—though I may require several hours of lab duty as penance for your obtuseness.

  —E.P.

  “You know,” whispered Cassie, “I honestly believe Elmo may be the most annoying man in the world.”

  “The universe,” I replied. “He’d be offended by the thought of anything less.”

  Chapter 18

  Disaster

  I had been staring at the same slice of frog brain for several minutes without really seeing it. Finally I decided to adjust my microscope.

  It didn’t do any good. The problem wasn’t in the equipment. It was my brain that was out of focus. I couldn’t think about anything except the mysterious events of the last few days—and the fact that they seemed to be getting more mysterious by the hour.

  I was alone in the lab: Dr. Puckett had returned to the colony; Cassie had wandered off, ostensibly out of boredom, but really to do as much snooping as she could manage while she waited for me; and Dr. Twining, after helping me a bit with what I was studying, had disappeared into his private office.