Gravity. Part 28

"Even two would stress the hull," said Todd. "Plus, you'd need a heliox atmosphere. You can't reproduce that on the station. That's why I didn't want to mention it. In your situation, it's useless information. We've already looked into the possibility of flying a hyperbaric chamber up to ISS, but equipment that bulkya"something capable of producing pressures that higha"needs to go into Endeavour's cargo bay. The problem is, she's already out of horizontal processing. It would take a minimum of two weeks to get chamber loaded up and launched. And it means docking the orbiter to ISS. Exposing Endeavour and its crew to your contamination." He paused. "USAMRIID says that's not an option." She was silent, her frustration boiling into rage. Their only hope, a hyperbaric chamber, required their return to earth. That was not an option either.

"There has to be something we can do with this information," she said. "Explain to me. Why would hyperbaric therapy work? Why did USAMRIID even think of testing it?"

"I asked Dr. Roman that same question."

"What did he say?"

"That this was a new and bizarre organism. That it requires us to consider unconventional therapy."

"He didn't answer your question."

"It's all he would tell me."

Ten atmospheres of pressure was near the upper limit of human tolerance. Emma was an avid scuba diver, but she had never dared go deeper than a hundred twenty feet. A depth of three hundred feet was only for the foolhardy. Why had USAMRIID tested such extreme pressures? They must have had a reason, she thought. Something they know about this organism made them think it would work.

Something they're not telling us.

The reason why Gordon Obie was known as the Sphinx had never been more apparent than on their flight to San Diego. They had signed out one of the T-38 jets from Ellington Field, with Obie at the controls and Jack squeezed into the single pa.s.senger seat. They hardly said a word to each other while in the air was not surprising. A T-38 is not conducive to conversation, since pa.s.senger and pilot sit one behind the other like two peas crammed in a pod.

But even during the refueling stop in El Paso, when they had both climbed out to stretch their legs after an hour and a half in quarters, Obie could not be drawn into conversation. Only once, they stood on the edge of the tarmac drinking Dr. Peppers from the hangar vending machine, did he offer a spontaneous comment. He squinted up at the sun, already past its noon height, and said, "If she was my wife, I'd be scared s.h.i.+tless too." Then he tossed his empty soda can into the trash bin and walked back to the jet.

After landing at Lindbergh Field, Jack took the wheel of their rental car, and they headed north on Interstate 5 to La Jolla. said almost nothing, but simply stared out the window. Jack had always thought Gordon was more machine than man, and he imagined that computerlike brain registering the pa.s.sing scenery like of data: HILL, OVERPa.s.s, HOUSING DEVELOPMENT. Though Gordon had once been an astronaut, no one in the corps really knew him. He would dutifully show up at all their social events, but stand off by himself, a quiet and solitary figure sipping nothing stronger than his favorite Dr. Pepper. He seemed perfectly at ease with his own silence, accepted it as part of his personality, he'd accepted his comically protruding ears and his bad haircuts.

If no one really knew Gordon Obie, it was because he saw no reason to reveal himself.

That was why his comment in El Paso had surprised Jack. If she was my wife, I'd be scared s.h.i.+tless too.

Jack could not imagine the Sphinx ever being scared, nor could he imagine him being married. As far as he knew, Gordon had always been a bachelor.

Afternoon fog was already rolling in from the sea by the time they wound their way up the La Jolla coastline. They almost missed the entrance to SeaScience, the turnoff was marked by one small sign, and the road beyond it seemed to lead into a grove of eucalyptus trees. Only when they'd driven a half mile down the road did they spot the building, a surreal, almost fortresslike white concrete structure overlooking the sea.

A woman in a white lab coat met them at the security desk.

"Rebecca Gould," she said, shaking their hands. "I work down the hall from Helen. I spoke to you this morning." With her shorn and stout build, Rebecca might have pa.s.sed for either s.e.x. Even her deep voice was ambiguous.

They took the elevator down to the bas.e.m.e.nt level. "I don't really know why you insisted on coming out here," said Rebecca.

"As I told you on the phone, USAMRIID's already picked Helen's lab clean." She pointed to a doorway. "You can see for yourself what little they left behind." Jack and Gordon stepped into the lab and looked around in dismay.

Empty filing cabinet drawers hung open. Shelves and countertops had been swept clean of all equipment, and not even a test rack was in sight.

Only the wall decorations had been left behind, mostly framed travel posters, seductive photographs of tropical beaches and palm trees and brown women glistening in the sun.

"I was in my lab down the hall the day they showed up. Heard a lot of upset voices and breaking gla.s.s. I looked out my door and saw men carting out files and computers. They took everything. The incubators with her cultures. Racks of seawater samples. Even the frogs she kept in that terrarium over there. My a.s.sistants tried to stop the raid, and they got hauled out for questioning. Naturally, I called upstairs to Dr. Gabriel's office."

"Gabriel?"

"Palmer Gabriel. Our company president. He came down himself, along with a SeaScience attorney. They couldn't stop the raid, either. The Army just came in with their carton boxes and hauled everything away. They even took the employees' lunches!" She opened the refrigerator and pointed to the empty shelves. "I don't know what the h.e.l.l they thought they'd find." She turned to face them. "I don't know why you're here, either."

"I think we're all looking for Helen Koenig."

"I told you. She resigned."

"Do you know why?"

Rebecca shrugged. "That's what USAMRIID kept asking. Whether she was angry at SeaScience. Whether she was mentally unstable. I certainly didn't see that. I think she was just tired. Burned out from working here seven days a week, for G.o.d knows how long."

"And now no one can find her."

Rebecca's chin jutted up in anger. "It's not a crime to leave town. It doesn't mean she's a bioterrorist. But USAMRIID treated this like a crime scene. As if she was growing Ebola virus or something. Helen was studying Archaeons. Harmless sea microbes."

"Are you certain that was the only project going on in this lab?"

"Are you asking whether I kept tabs on Helen? Of course not. I'm too busy doing my own work. But what else would Helen be doing? She's devoted years to Archaeon research. That particular strain she sent up to ISS was her discovery. She considered it her personal triumph."

"Is there a commercial application for Archaeons?" Rebecca hesitated.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Then why study them in s.p.a.ce?"

"Haven't you heard of pure science, Dr. McCallum? Knowledge for its own sake? These are weird, fascinating creatures. Helen found her species in the Galapagos Rift, near a volcanic vent, at depth of nineteen thousand feet. Six hundred atmospheres of pressure, at boiling temperatures, this organism was thriving. It shows us how adaptable life can be. It's only natural to wonder what would happen if you took that life-form out of its extreme conditions and brought it up to a friendlier environment. Without thousands of pounds of pressure crus.h.i.+ng it. Without even gravity distort its growth."

"Excuse me," interrupted Gordon, and they both turned to look at him. He had been wandering around the lab, poking in empty drawers and looking into trash cans. Now he was standing beside one of the travel posters hanging on the wall. He pointed to a snapshot that had been taped to a corner of the picture frame. It a large aircraft parked on a tarmac.

Posed under the wing were the two pilots. "Where did this photo come from?"

Rebecca shrugged. "How would I know? This is Helen's lab."

"It's a KC-135," said Gordon.

Now Jack understood why Gordon had focused on the photo.

The KC-135 was the same aircraft NASA used to introduce astronauts to microgravity. When flown in giant parabolic curves, it was like an airborne roller coaster, producing up to thirty seconds of weightlessness per dive.

"Did Dr. Koenig use a KC-135 in any of her research?" asked Jack.

"I know she spent four weeks out at some airfield in New Mexico. I have no idea what kind of plane they were using."

Jack and Gordon exchanged thoughtful looks. Four weeks of KC-135 research would cost a fortune.

"Who would authorize an expense like that?" asked Jack.

"It would have to be approved by Dr. Gabriel himself."

"Could we speak to him?"

Rebecca shook her head. "You don't just drop in on Palmer Gabriel. Even the scientists who work here hardly ever see him. has research facilities all over the country, so he may not even be in town right now."

"Another question," Gordon interrupted. He had wandered over to the empty terrarium and was peering down at the moss and pebbles lining the bottom. "What's this enclosure for?"

"The frogs. I told you about them, remember? They were Helen's pets. USAMRIID carted them off along with everything else."

Gordon suddenly straightened and looked at her. "What kind of frogs?"

She gave a startled laugh. "Do you NASA guys always ask such weird questions?"

"I'm just curious what variety one would keep as a pet."

"I think they were some sort of leopard frog. Me, I'd recommend a poodle instead. They're a lot less slimy." She glanced at her watch. "So, gentlemen. Any other questions?"

"I think I'm through here, thank you," said Gordon. And without another word he walked out of the lab.

They sat in the rental car, the sea mist now swirling past their windows, moisture filming the gla.s.s. Rana pipiens, thought Jack, northern leopard frog. One of the three species on Chimera's genome.

"This is where it came from," he said. "This lab."

Gordon nodded.

"USAMRIID knew about this place a week ago," said Jack.

"How did they find out? How did they know Chimera came from SeaScience? There has to be some way to force them to share their information with us."

"Not if it's a matter of national security."

"NASA is not the enemy."

"Maybe they think we are. Maybe they believe the threat comes from inside NASA," said Gordon.

Jack looked at him. "One of ours?"

"It's one of two reasons why Defense would keep us out of the loop."

"And the other reason?"

"Because they're a.s.sholes." Jack gave a laugh and slumped back against his seat. Neither one of them spoke for a moment. The day had already wearied them both, and they still had the flight back to Houston.

"I feel like I'm punching at thin air," said Jack, pressing his hand to his eyes. "I don't know who or what I'm fighting. But I can't afford to stop fighting."

"She's not a woman I'd give up on, either," said Gordon.

Neither one of them had said her name, but they both knew they were talking about Emma.

"I remember her first day at Johnson," said Gordon. In the dim light of the misted windows, Gordon's homely face was sketched in shades of gray on gray. He sat very still, his gaze focused ahead, a somber and colorless man. "I addressed her incoming astronaut cla.s.s. I looked around the room at all those new faces. And there she was, front and center. Not afraid to be picked on. Not afraid of humiliation. Not afraid of anything." He paused and gave a small shake of his head. "I didn't like sending her up. Every time she was chosen for a crew a.s.signment, I wanted to scratch her name off the list. Not because she wasn't good. h.e.l.l, no. I didn't like watching her ride off to that launchpad, knowing what I know about everything that can go wrong." He suddenly stopped talking. It was more than Jack had ever heard him say in one stretch, more than Gordon had ever revealed of his feelings. Yet none of what he'd said came as a surprise to Jack. He thought of the countless ways he loved Emma. And what man would not love her? he wondered. Even Gordon Obie is not immune.

He started the car, and the winds.h.i.+eld cleared as the wipers sc.r.a.ped away the veil of mist. It was already five o'clock, they would be flying back to Houston in darkness. He pulled out of the parking s.p.a.ce and drove toward the exit.

Halfway across the lot, Gordon said, "What the h.e.l.l is this?" Jack slammed on the brakes as a black sedan barreled toward them through the mist. Now a second car screeched into the parking lot and skidded to a stop, its front b.u.mper just kissing theirs.

Four men emerged.

Jack froze as his door was yanked open and a voice commanded, "Gentlemen, please step out of the car. Both of you."

"Why?"

"You will step out of the car now."

Gordon said softly, "I get the feeling this is not negotiable." Reluctantly they both climbed out and were swiftly patted down and relieved of their wallets.

"He wants to talk to you two. Get in the backseat." The man pointed to one of the black cars.

Jack glanced around at the four men watching them. Resistance is futile just about summed up their situation. He and Gordon walked to the black car and slid into the rear seat.

There was a man sitting in front. All they saw was the back of his head and shoulders. He had thick silvery hair, swept back, wore a gray suit.

His window whisked down, and the two confiscated wallets were handed to him. He slid the window shut again, a darkly tinted barrier against prying eyes. For a few minutes he studied the contents of the wallets.

Then he turned to face his backseat visitors. He had dark, almost obsidian eyes, and they strangely devoid of reflected images. Two black holes trapping light. He tossed the wallets into Jack's lap.

"You're a long way from Houston, gentlemen."

"Must have been that wrong turn in El Paso," said Jack.

"What does NASA want here?"

"We want to know what was really in that cell culture you sent up."

"USAMRIID's already been here. They swept the place clean. They have everything. Dr. Koenig's research files, her computers. If you have any questions, I suggest you ask them."

"USAMRIID'S not talking to us."

"That's your problem, not mine."

"Helen Koenig was working for you, Dr. Gabriel. Don't you know what goes on in your own labs?" Jack saw, by the man's expression, that he had guessed correctly.

This was the founder of SeaScience. Palmer Gabriel. An angelic last name for a man whose eyes gave off no light.

"I have hundreds of scientists working for me," said Gabriel. "I have facilities in Ma.s.sachusetts and Florida. I can't possibly know everything that goes on in those labs. Nor can I be held for any crimes my employees commit."

"This is not just any crime. This is a bioengineered chimeraa"an organism that's killed an entire shuttle crew. And it came from your lab."

"My researchers direct their own projects. I don't interfere. I'm a scientist myself, Dr. McCallum, and I know that scientists work best when allowed complete independence. The freedom to indulge their curiosity. Whatever Helen did was her business."

"Why study Archaeons? What was she hoping to find?"

He turned to face forward, and they saw only the back of his head, with its silvery sweep of hair. "Knowledge is always useful. At first we may not recognize its value. For instance, what benefit is there to knowing the reproductive habits of the sea slug?

Then we learn about all the valuable hormones we can extract from that lowly sea slug. And suddenly, its reproduction is of utmost importance."