by Ben Bova
“I don’t want to leave the station and Stanley’s had some EVA problems lately. That leaves you two.” Dan leveled his steel-eyed gaze at Lance. “There will be no repeat performance, right?”
Lance stared at the floor.
“There will be no repeat performance even if O’Donnell provokes you. Correct, Mr. Muncie?”
“Correct, Commander,” said Lance without raising his eyes.
“Get going,” said Dan.
Freddy dispatched Lance to the wardroom to assemble a four-day supply of food and water. Meanwhile, he toted an EMU into the rumpus room and started to prepare O’Donnell for transfer.
“I gonna release you,” said Freddy as he snipped the duct tape with a pocket scissors. “You fuck aroun’ and what Lance did to you feel like a massage. Right?”
“Sure, Freddy, no fucking around,” said O’Donnell. He watched the suit tumbling slowly in the air behind Freddy, like the victim of an ax murderer: disembodied head, legless torso, disconnected legs. “Where are we going?”
Freddy pulled a pair of eyeglasses from his shirt pocket and handed them to O’Donnell. “To look at the stars.”
They initiated the transfer procedure as the station passed out of the Earth’s shadow, to take full advantage of the light. Freddy was the first to exit the airlock. O’Donnell, with tethers attached to his suit, was second. Freddy gripped the tethers while Lance backed in to one of the six MMUs docked to ports along the outer skin of the tunnel. Then Freddy backed into one of the flying armchairs and felt its latches click into place against his suit. O’Donnell was not to be given his own MMU. Freddy and Lance pulled him along between them.
Jesus Christ don’t let go of me, O’Donnell begged them silently. He gaped at the emptiness that stretched out forever, the gleaming Earth so far below, the black infinity of space swallowing his tiny frail being. His breath caught in his throat. He could hear his pulse thundering in his ears. He saw himself spinning into the dark yawning void endlessly, spiraling out into nothingness, cast away until the end of time. For the first time he could remember since childhood, Hugh O’Donnell found himself praying.
But Freddy and Lance held him firmly for the several minutes it took to cover the two hundred meters between the raft of modules and the observatory. As they slowed to a stop outside the airlock, Freddy radioed Lance to remain in his MMU while he took O’Donnell inside. Lance acknowledged with a thumbs-up.
Freddy and O’Donnell sealed themselves in the airlock, waited for the pressure to equalize, then opened the inner hatch to enter the observatory itself. Freddy was more familiar with space suits than O’Donnell and removed his helmet quickly. O’Donnell tried to detach his own and spun into a tumble. Freddy eventually pried it off, dislodging O’Donnell’s glasses in the process.
“So this is exile,” said O’Donnell, reattaching his glasses and looking around the cramped quarters. He shuddered slightly, remembering his terror outside. “It’s cold in here.”
“I gonna level with you, man,” said Freddy. “I know you didn’ kill Weiss.”
“Thanks for your confidence, Freddy. Why the hell am I here, then?”
“Commander don’ wan’ you hurtin’ anyone.”
“Like Lance? He attacked me, pal. That kid is nuts.”
“Well, he ain’t gonna attack you no more,” said Freddy. “You an’ me got a big problem, man.”
“You’re half right, anyway.”
“I’m all right. I’m with Welch.”
“You’re what!?”
“With Welch, man. I’m supposed to watch you. Make sure you do your work. Make sure no one fuck around with you. And we both fucked up, man. You because you had that shit stuffed down your throat, me because I didn’ stop it.”
“This is a helluva time to tell me!”
“Orders, man,” said Freddy, unhappily. “They don’ want you to know you got a security man with you. They figure you give us both away if you knew.”
“Shit,” O’Donnell muttered.
“In spades.”
“What exactly happened?”
“Don’ know exactly. I found Weiss outside your lab aroun’ 0115 hours. He already dead and somebody, maybe him, tried to get in your lab by removin’ the hinges. I fix the door and hide Weiss in a canister in the logistics module until I figure out what’s goin’ on. Then I look for you. You trashed in your compartment. I din’ know why, so I fix you in your restraint and hope you wake up. Lance found the body and Tighe called everybody into the rumpus room. When you don’ show, we go look. I found you where I left you, but you still trashed.”
“So why does Dan think I killed Weiss?”
“You the best bet, far as he can see. He knows your lab tampered with and found a button ripped off Weiss’s shirt outside it.”
“That won’t hold up as evidence.”
“We ain’t in court, man.”
“So who do you think did it?”
“Don’ know. Same guy gave stuff to Russell Cramer, prob’ly.”
“How did you know that Cramer had drugs in him?”
Freddy tapped his temple with a finger. “I had a talk with Cramer before they sent him down. He wasn’ much help. I think he got it directly from Roberts. But I don’ know where Roberts got it from.”
“Roberts? That twit?” O’Donnell said. Then he took a breath. “I guess there aren’t too many possibilities.”
“There’s enough. We don’ have much time.”
“Say that again. So someone tried to fuck me up because they know what I’m working on.”
“Maybe. Anything possible with these lulus.”
“Weiss?”
“Nah. Too stupid. An’ we ran a check on him. Somebody use him, if you ask me.”
“What about my lab?”
“Sealed it myself. Copied all your computer files, then crashed the system.” Freddy patted his chest to indicate the disk. “Rest of the stuff a problem. Skillen wants the space. Oyamo wants the data. They all think you working on the toxic-waste superbug. But no one doin’ anything till the shuttle get here.”
“Then what?”
“Don’ know. I gotta have a little talk with Bianco, case things get outta hand later. Meanwhile, I gotta report to Welch. Make sure he can get some friendlies on the shuttle.” Freddy thumbed an encryption chip from his flight suit pocket and pressed it into a slot on the comm console. “This’s the only link I left open, besides Tighe’s down in the command module. You wanna talk to Welch?”
“Nah,” said O’Donnell. “I never liked the bastard.”
While Freddy reported the situation to Welch, Lance remained parked outside the airlock. He was suspended between the dazzling beauty of the Earth and the cold, star-specked darkness of the firmament, but he paid little attention to either view. Freddy seemed to be taking an awfully long time in the observatory. Maybe O’Donnell had tried to overpower him and right now they were banging around inside.
Lance felt a tingle as he remembered his own battle with O’Donnell. The sensation was not unlike what he had felt with Carla Sue, before she proved to be a dishonest, lying, cheating slut. He had not merely punched O’Donnell. He had smote him as if his own hand were the hammer of God.
Lance decided to swing around to one of the observatory windows. His right forefinger accidently touched the MMU’s pitch control, and a jet of cold nitrogen gas sent him into a tumble. Blue-white Earth and deep black space flashed past him like a giant stroboscope, bright-dark, bright-dark, until he nudged a series of opposite thrusts to arrest himself.
Wow, he thought, that was fun. He jetted away from the observatory and tried it again. And again. And again.
3 SEPTEMBER 1998
TRIKON STATION
The bar was empty at that time of the morning except for the two men sitting side by side at the far end, away from the windows. They were a strange pair: a short, round, heavyset bald man who exuded nervous energy and a long, lean, lanky, lantern-jawed guy with his elbows on the bar an
d his head drooping between his hands.
“I still can’t believe it,” said Ed Yablon. “I mean, I know it’s true—but in my gut I expect to see him come waltzing through that door and pull up a stool beside us.”
“Yeah,” muttered Zeke Tucker.
Yablon picked up his beer and drained it. Smacking the empty glass on the bar’s gleaming surface, he motioned for the bartender to fill it up again.
“I ought to be glad, in a way,” Yablon said. “The sonofabitch was nothing but trouble.”
“Yeah.”
“The biggest pain in the ass I ever had to work with.”
“Yeah.”
“You remember the time he snuck into the Kennedy compound in Hyannisport and… well, hell, Zeke—you were there with him, weren’t you?”
Tucker did not answer. Yablon saw that the photographer was softly, quietly sobbing as if his own father had just died.
After removing his space suit Freddy went directly to the command module to report on the transfer of O’Donnell to the observatory.
“How would you describe his behavior?” asked Dan.
“Din’ give me no trouble.”
“Lance?”
“Not so good with the flying armchair. I found him spinning aroun’ when I left the observatory.”
“Lance’s EVA skills are the least of our worries,” Dan said. “Better get some rest.”
Freddy shoved off, but not for the relative comfort of his sleep compartment. The commander’s suggestion did not countermand the direct order he had received from Welch. Safeguarding O’Donnell’s work was of paramount importance. O’Donnell himself could be replaced, or even neutralized, if the situation dictated. But if his work fell into the wrong hands, the result could be disastrous. According to Welch, Fabio Bianco had a general awareness of O’Donnell’s purpose on the station. His authority could be useful in preventing the other scientists from scavenging O’Donnell’s lab. Freddy had permission to use all available avenues to ensure Bianco’s cooperation.
Freddy found Bianco in ELM. Bianco floated with his arms folded and his eyes narrowed in concentration while a fellow Italian chattered about data displayed on a computer monitor. Freddy wanted to avoid entering ELM itself. Chakra Ramsanjawi had a history of complaining to Tighe about intruding crewmen, and Freddy could see the Indian lurking in his office at the far end of the module. Fortunately, Bianco’s attention wandered toward the hatch.
At first, Bianco ignored Freddy’s hand signals. When Freddy became more insistent, he broke away from the conversation. Freddy could read the reluctance in the old scientist’s eyes. Nothing a crewman said could possibly be of any interest to Bianco. Freddy decided on a direct approach.
“Mr. Welch says hello,” he whispered when Bianco was within hearing range.
“Who?”
“Mr. Welch. Hugh O’Donnell’s friend. You spoke to him before comin’ up here.” Freddy paused until recognition sharpened Bianco’s features. “We gotta talk.”
“Yes, we must. Excuse me.” Bianco sailed back to the Italian and spoke with emphatic hand gestures that obviously were instructions. Then he joined Bianco in the connecting tunnel. “Where shall we talk?”
“My compartment,” said Freddy.
Freddy’s compartment was completely bare of decoration except for a crucifix that floated at the end of a heavy gold chain clipped to the wall over his sleep restraint. Freddy motioned for Bianco to be silent, then turned up the volume of the stereo. The music had a Latin beat. Bianco winced.
“Mr. Welch very interested in O’Donnell’s lab,” said Freddy. He spoke directly into Bianco’s ear and carefully kept his voice below the music.
“I imagine he would be,” said Bianco.
“I was at your meetin’ this morning. You didn’ sound like you knew what to do with the lab.”
“That is correct. I still do not.”
“Is no one’s business what’s in there.”
“Perhaps not,” Bianco said. “It is difficult to tell without knowing exactly what it is.”
“Can’ say. Is very important. Sensitive,” said Freddy, placing equal stress on each syllable.
“Sensitive enough to commit murder over it?” Bianco’s eyes bored into Freddy.
Surprised at the meaning of the old man’s words, Freddy answered, “Hey, I din’ do it! I wanna find out who did.”
“Yes,” said Bianco. “Of course.”
The man was angry, Freddy saw. As if the murder had taken one of his own family.
Bianco said, “Mr. Welch told me he had a watchdog up here with O’Donnell. Are you the only one?”
Freddy nodded with a slight tilt of his head as if to say, At your service.
Bianco eyed him carefully—the stump, the well-muscled torso, the gold canine embedded in a grin that was tired, almost bored. Freddy certainly was capable of strong-arming him, but he had not made any threatening moves. He was polite, even deferential. It was obvious he sought cooperation rather than confrontation. And why not? With O’Donnell exiled to the station’s astronomical observatory, Freddy was alone in his mission.
“The toxic-waste project that my people are working on is very important,” said Bianco. “It does not qualify as a state secret; in fact, much of the world does not seem to care. In my official capacity, I can prevent the American team, or anyone else, from taking over that lab. But it would be at the expense of my project. I would like to know exactly why I am being so compliant with your Mr. Welch.”
Freddy considered the offer for a long moment.
“Hokay, Senor Bianco,” he finally said. “I tell you. You familiar with the work of a Professor Rothstein on tobacco plants?”
Bianco furrowed his brow as if sifting through his memory.
“About ten years ago,” prodded Freddy.
“Was that the antisense RNA treatment to prevent the production of nicotine in tobacco leaves?”
“You say that good,” said Freddy. “What O’Donnell doing is jus’ like that, only different.”
Kurt Jaeckle remained in his office for a long time after reading Carla Sue’s reply to his apology. He slipped out of the Mars module and peered into the wardroom. Only a few stragglers remained from lunch, but it was still too crowded for his present state of mind. Deciding to kill some time in his compartment, he made his way down the connecting tunnel.
As he passed the logistics module, he heard a hissing sound from within. Thinking it might be a gas leak, Jaeckle decided to investigate. It took a moment of peering down aisles formed by canisters and cylinders to find the source of the noise. It was not a gas leak. Lance Muncie floated in the fetal position, his hands cradling something that resembled a bouquet of yellow paper flowers. All around him, smaller bits of yellow tatters danced in eddies of air.
“She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not.” Lance was whispering harshly, a sibilant, strangling murmur hissing from between his teeth.
Jaeckle edged backwards. The sight of Muncie was terrifying. The man was totally insane. He wanted to get away as quickly and as quietly as possible.
Lance suddenly paused in his counting.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” he whispered to himself. Then he attacked another paper flower. “He lives, he dies. He lives, he dies. He lives, he dies.”
Jaeckle’s knee banged against an empty cylinder; the clang echoed like a church bell. Muncie jerked upright. His eyes lit on Jaeckle and his face broke out in a maniacal grin.
“Speak of the devil,” he said.
The words turned Jaeckle’s bones to ice. His heart froze in his chest. Jaeckle spun and dove into the tunnel. He reached his compartment before he realized that his heart was thumping so hard he feared it would burst his rib cage.
Even with things falling apart around him, Dan Tighe stubbornly refused to abandon established station procedure. After learning from Freddy that O’Donnell had been installed in the observatory, he ensconced himself in the command and
control center and in his patient, painstaking manner, checked and rechecked every system within the station’s operation—life support, station attitude, orbital configuration, fuel supply, and waste management. The atmospheric replenishment system would be low on oxygen in a few hours. Dan left a message for Freddy to replace the expended tank. As he completed his recheck, he sensed a presence. Lorraine Renoir hovered a few feet from him, holding two squeeze bottles of coffee.
He started to reach for one of them. “Thanks, Lorraine.” She pulled back slightly. “I hate to do it, Dan, but I’ve got to get a blood pressure reading on you.”
Tighe felt his shoulders sag. “Now?”
“Sooner or later.”
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”
She still withheld the coffee. “Afterward. Caffeine raises the pressure.”
“What the hell doesn’t?” Dan grumbled. He kicked free of the anchoring loops and followed her the length of the command module to her infirmary.
Lorraine quickly and efficiently wrapped the cuff around his left arm and took a reading. She glanced up into his eyes.
“Let’s try the other arm.”
“That bad, huh?” Somehow Dan didn’t care. Almost. As the doctor inflated the cuff again he told himself, Let them take the station away from me; it’ll be a relief. But he knew he did not truly believe that.
Lorraine smiled at him. “I don’t understand it.”
“What?”
Her smile widened. “Your pressure is down into the normal range.”
“You’re sure?” Dan blurted.
“High normal, but normal.”
“I’ll be damned.” — “Let me try another reading.”
She puffed up the cuff once again and stared at the numbers. “I think you thrive on trouble, Dan.” She seemed delighted. “Or perhaps responsibility.”
“It’s really down?”
“Really.”
He grinned back at her. “Can I have my coffee now?”
They sipped and talked, and even though the conversation eventually turned to O’Donnell, Dan felt a quiet ease settling gently over them. My pressure’s down! He marveled at the news. Lorraine wouldn’t fake the readings, he knew. But she sure seemed happy about it.