Gravity. Part 36

"Sir," said the flight controller from s.p.a.ce Command. "I'm seeing a major anomaly here." Profitt's gaze shot back to the console. "What anomaly?"

"The cabin atmospheric pressure. It's down to eight psi. It should be at fourteen point seven. Either the orbiter has a air leak, or they've purposely allowed it to depressurize."

"How long has it been that low?" Quickly the flight controller typed on the keyboard, and a graph appeared, a plot of the cabin pressure over time.

"According to their computers, the cabin was maintained at fourteen point seven for the first twelve hours after launch. Then around thirty-six hours ago, it was depressurized to ten point two, where it held steady until an hour ago." Suddenly his chin jerked up. "Sir, I what they're doing! This appears to be a prebreathe protocol."

"Protocol for what?"

"An EVA. A s.p.a.cewalk." He looked at Profitt. "I think someone's aboard that orbiter." Profitt turned to face Gordon Obie. "Who's aboard? Who did you send up?" Gordon could see there was no longer any point in holding back the truth. He said, in quiet defeat, "It's Jack McCallum. Emma Watson's husband.

"So it's a rescue mission," said Profitt. "How was it supposed to work? He goes EVA, and then what?"

"The SAFER jet pack. The Orlan-M suit he's wearing is equipped with one. He uses it to propel himself from Apogee II to the station. Enters via the ISS airlock."

"And he retrieves his wife and brings her home."

"No. That wasn't the plan. Look, he understandsa"we all understanda"why she can't come home. The reason Jack went up was to deliver the Ranavirus."

"And if the virus doesn't work?"

"That's the gamble."

"He's exposing himself to ISS. We'd never let him come home."

"He wasn't planning to come home! The orbiter was going to return without him." Gordon paused, his gaze fixed on Profitt's.

"It's a one-way trip, and Jack knows it. He accepted the conditions. It's his wife dying up there! He won'ta"he can'ta"let her die alone."

Stunned, Profitt fell silent. He looked at the flight console, monitors streaming with data. As the seconds ticked by, he of his own wife, Amy, dying in Bethesda Hospital. Remembered his frantic sprint through the Denver airport to catch the next flight home to her, and remembered his despair as he'd arrived breathless at the gate to see the plane pulling away. He thought of the desperation that must be driving McCallum, the anguish of being so heartbreakingly close to his goal, only to see it drift out of reach. And he thought, This will bring no harm to anyone here on earth. To anyone but McCallum. He has made his choice, with full knowledge of the consequences. What right do I have to stop him?

He said, to the s.p.a.ce Command flight controller, "Return control of the console to Apogee. Let them resume their mission."

"Sir?"

"I said, let the orbiter continue its approach." There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the Apogee controllers scrambled back into their seats.

"Mr. Obie," said Profitt, turning to look at Gordon. "You do understand that we'll be monitoring every move McCallum makes. I am not your enemy. But I'm charged with protecting the greater good, and I'll do what's necessary. If I see any indication you to bring either of those people home, I will order Apogee II destroyed."

Gordon Obie nodded. "It's what I'd expect you to do."

"Then we both know where we stand." Profitt took a deep breath and turned to face the row of consoles. "Now. Go ahead and get that man to his wife." Jack hung poised at the edge of eternity.

No amount of EVA training in the WET-F pool could have prepared him for this visceral punch of fear, for the paralysis that seized him as he stared into the emptiness of s.p.a.ce. He had swung open the hatch leading into the open payload bay, and his first view, through the bay's gaping clamsh.e.l.l doors, was of the earth, a dizzying drop below. He could not see ISS, she was floating above him, out of view. To reach her, he would have to swim down past those payload doors and circle around to the opposite side of Apogee II. But first, he had to force himself to ignore every instinct that now screaming at him to retreat back into the air lock.

"Emma," he said, and the sound of her name was like a murmured prayer.

He took a breath and prepared to release his grip on the hatchway, to surrender himself to the heavens.

"Apogee II, this is Capcom Houston. Apogeea"Jacka"please respond." The transmission over his comm unit caught Jack by surprise.

He had not expected any contact from the ground. The fact Houston was openly hailing him by name meant all secrecy had been shattered.

"Apogee, we urgently request you respond." He remained silent, uncertain if he should confirm his presence in orbit.

"Jack, we have been advised that the White House will not interfere with your mission. Provided you understand one essential fact, This is a one-way trip." Capcom paused and then said quietly, "If you board ISS, you can't leave it again. You can't come home.

"This is Apogee II," Jack finally answered. "Message received and understood."

"And you still plan to proceed? Think about it."

"What the h.e.l.l do you think I came up here for? The f.u.c.king view?"

"Uh, we roger that. But before you proceed, you should be aware of this. We lost contact with ISS about six hours ago."

"What do you mean, *lost contact'?"

"Emma is no longer responding."

Six hours, he thought. What has happened in the last six hours? The launch had been two days ago. It had taken that long for Apogee II to catch up with ISS and complete the rendezvous maneuvers. In all that time, he'd been cut off from all communication, from any knowledge of what was happening aboard the station.

"You may already be too late. You might want to reconsidera""

"What does biotelemetry show?" he cut in. "What's her rhythm?"

"She's not hooked up. She chose to disconnect her leads."

"Then you don't know. You can't tell me what's going on."

"Just before she went silent, she sent you a final E-mail." Capcom added gently, "Jack, she was saying good-bye." No. At once he released his grip on the hatchway and pushed out of the air lock, diving headfirst into the open payload bay.

No.

He grabbed a handhold and scrambled up over the clamsh.e.l.l door, to the other side of Apogee II. Suddenly the s.p.a.ce station was there, looming above him, so big and sprawling he was momentarily stunned by the wonder of it. Then, in panic, he thought, Where is the air lock? I don't see the air lock! There were so many modules, so many solar arrays, fanned out across an area as large football fields. He could not orient himself. He was lost, overwhelmed by the dizzying spread.

Then he spotted the dark-green Soyuz capsule jutting out. He was underneath the Russian end of the station. Instantly snapped into place.

His gaze shot to the American end, and he identified the U.S. hab. At the upper end of the hab was Node 1, which led to the air lock.

He knew where he was going.

Here came the leap of faith. With only his SAFER jet pack to propel him, he would be crossing empty s.p.a.ce without tethers, without anything to anchor him. He activated the jet pack, pushed off from Apogee, and launched himself toward ISS. It was his first EVA, and he was clumsy and inexperienced, unable to judge how quickly he was closing in on his goal. He slammed into the hab hull with such force he almost caromed off, and barely managed to grab onto a handhold.

Hurry. She is dying.

Sick with dread, he clambered up the length of the hab, his breaths coming hard and fast.

"Houston," he panted. "I need Surgeona"have him standing bya""

"Roger that."

"Almosta"I'm almost to Node Onea""

"Jack, this is Surgeon." It was Todd Cutler's voice, speaking with quiet urgency. "You've been out of the loop for two days. You need to know a few things. Emma's last dose of HCG was fifty-five hours ag,. since then, her labs have deteriorated. Amylase and sky-high. Last transmission, she was complaining of headaches and visual loss. That was six hours ago. We don't know her current condition."

"I'm at the air-lock hatch!"

"Station control software has been switched to EVA mode. You're a go for repress." Jack swung open the hatch and pulled himself into the crew lock. As he twisted around to close the external hatch, he caught glimpse of Apogee II. She was already moving away. His only lifeboat was going home without him. He'd pa.s.sed the point of no return.

He closed and sealed the hatch. "Pressure-equalization valve open," he said. "Beginning repress."

"I'm trying to prepare you for the worst," said Todd. "In case shea""

"Tell me something useful!"

"Okay. Okay, here's the latest from USAMRIID. The Ranavirus does seem to work on their lab animals. But it's only been in early cases. If it's given during the first thirty-six hours infection."

"What if it's given after that?" Cutler didn't respond. His silence confirmed the worst.

The crew lock pressure was up to fourteen psi. Jack opened the middle hatch and dove into the equipment lock. Frantically he detached his gloves, then doffed his Orlan-M suit and wriggled out of the cooling garment. From the Orlan's zippered pockets he pulled out various packets containing emergency medications and prefilled syringes of Ranavirus. By now he was shaking with fear, terrified of what he would find inside the station. He swung open the inner hatch.

And confronted his worst nightmare.

She was floating in the gloom of Node 1, like a swimmer adrift in a dark sea. Only this swimmer was drowning. Her limbs jerked in rhythmic spasms. Convulsions wracked her spine, and her head snapped forward and back, her hair las.h.i.+ng like a whip. Death throes.

No, he thought. I won't let you die. G.o.dd.a.m.nit, Emma, you are not going to leave me.

He grasped her around the waist and began to pull her toward the Russian end of the station. Toward the modules that still had power and light.

Her body twitched like a live wire jolted by electric shocks, thras.h.i.+ng in his arms. She was so small, so fragile, the strength now coursing through her dying body threatened to overpower his grip on her.

Weightlessness was new to him, and he bounced drunkenly off walls and hatchways as he struggled to maneuver them both into the Russian service module.

"Jack, talk to me," said Todd. "What's going on?"

"I've moved her into the RSMa"getting her onto the restraint boarda""

"Have you given the virus?"

"Tying her down first. She's seizinga"" He fastened the Velcro straps over her chest and hips, anchoring her torso to the medical restraint board. Her head slammed backward, her eyes rolling up into the orbits.

The sclerae were a brilliant and horrifying red. Give her the virus. Do it now.

A tourniquet was looped around the restraint-board frame. He whipped it free and tied it around her thras.h.i.+ng arm. It took all strength to forcibly extend her elbow, to expose the antecubital vein. With his teeth he uncapped the syringe of Ranavirus.

Stabbing the needle into her arm, he squeezed the plunger.

"It's in!" he said. "The whole syringe!"

"What's she doing?"

"She's still seizing!"

"There's IV Dilantin in the med kit."

"I see it. I'm starting an IV!" The tourniquet floated by, a startling reminder that in weightlessness, what was not tied down would quickly drift out of reach. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it from midair and reached, once again, for Emma's arm.

A moment later he reported, "Dilantin's going in! IV's running wide open."

"Any change?" Jack stared at his wife, silently demanding, Come on, Emma.

Don't die on me.

Slowly her spine relaxed. Her neck went limp and her head stopped battering the board. Her eyes rolled forward, and he could see her irises now, two dark pools ringed by blood-red sclerae. At his first glimpse of her pupils, a moan rose in his throat.

Her left pupil was fully dilated. Black and lifeless.

He was too late. She was dying.

He cupped her face in his hands, as though by sheer will he could force her to live. But even as he pleaded with her not to him, he knew that she would not be saved by mere touch or prayer.

Death was an organic process. Biochemical functions, the movement of long across cell membranes, slowly ceased. The brain waves flattened.

The rhythmic contractions of myocardial cells faded to quiver. Just wis.h.i.+ng it so would not make her live.

But she was not dead. Not yet.

"Todd," he said.

"I'm here."

"What is the terminal event? What happens to the lab animals?"

"I don't followa""

"You said Ranavirus works, if given early enough in the infection. Which means it must be killing Chimera. So why doesn't it work when given later?"

"Too much tissue damage has occurred. There's internal bleedinga""

"Bleeding where? What do the autopsies show?"

"Seventy-five percent of the time, in dogs, the fatal hemorrhage is intracranial. Chimera's enzymes damage blood vessels on the surface of the cerebral cortex. The vessels rupture, and the bleeding causes a catastrophic rise in intracranial pressure. It's ma.s.sive head injury, Jack. The brain herniates."

"What if you stop the bleeding, stop the brain damage? If you get the victims past the acute stage, they might live long enough Ranavirus to work."

"Possibly." Jack stared down at Emma's dilated left pupil. A terrible memory flashed into his head, Debbie Haning, unconscious on a hospital gurney. He had failed Debbie. He had waited too long to take action, and because of his indecision, he had lost her.

I will not lose you.