A Step Beyond (10 page)
He didn’t want to give his men time to worry about Brunnet’s condition. The wound had become infected overnight. Endicott had assured them that this was not unusual for a perforated appendix, and with proper treatment the infection did not pose a danger. He had drained the wound earlier that morning and increased the antibiotics.
Carter was seated next to Nelson in the command module and was watching with intense interest as numbers scrolled up the screen of the main console. He tapped at the keyboard. The numbers switched from yellow to a light shade of red as a new series of calculations appeared. He stared at the screen for several minutes, lost in thought.
“I’m not so sure about this,” he said.
“What is it?” Nelson asked.
“The computer has detected a rise in solar activity.”
Nelson looked over at the computer console and saw that the screen was pink, and without having to see the numbers he knew there was cause for concern. “How bad?”
“The spectrometer readings have been higher than usual. The computer estimates a ten percent increase in solar activity. New polarized regions are beginning to appear on the radio map, and the magnetic field has undergone some mild disturbances. There’s a seventy-three percent chance of a solar flare.” Carter paused for all this to sink in. “It gets worse.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“The sort of preflare activity we’re detecting is typical of the more powerful flares. It may even be a plus three.” A plus-three solar flare could spew forth the equivalent of ten million hydrogen bombs in the first few minutes of its existence, releasing a barrage of radiation that would be fatal outside the ship’s shelter.
“We should move Jean Paul to the shelter as a precaution. I’ll alert Carl.” Nelson recalled that Endicott was exercising and typed the commands to direct the intercom to the habitat module. “Carl, you there?”
There was silence.
“Carl?” he repeated.
Still, silence.
“Where do you suppose he can be?” Nelson asked.
“One moment,” Carter responded. He pulled up the status report for the ship’s life-support system and quickly confirmed what he suspected. The system was supplying water to the habitat module. “He’s probably in the shower.”
“I guess we can give him—” Nelson was interrupted by the loud blare of the ship’s siren. The sound caused both Nelson and Carter to jump. “Turn that damn thing off.”
Carter hastily typed in the instructions to abort the alarm sequence. “We’ve got our plus three. Looks like it erupted only a few minutes after the computer had detected preflare activity.”
“How long till impact?” Nelson asked.
“Sixteen minutes.” Carter shoved a piece of gum into his mouth.
“That doesn’t give us much time.” He switched the intercom back on. “Carl, you there?”
Carter saw that the demand for water from the habitat module had stopped.
“What was that racket all about?” Endicott replied, sounding out of breath.
“A plus-three solar flare just erupted. We’ve got sixteen minutes till impact.”
There was a tense moment of silence as Endicott considered this. “We have to move Jean Paul. But first, I’ll need to close the wound. He’ll never make it through the despin platform in his condition.”
“Can’t you just tape it shut?”
“Too risky. Besides, we wouldn’t save that much time. It’ll take ten minutes to close the wound. I’ll need your help though.”
“Of course. But keep in mind that it’ll take at least five minutes to get him to the shelter. That doesn’t leave us with much time to spare.” Nelson switched the intercom off and turned to Carter. “I want you in the shelter.”
Carter began to protest, but Nelson abruptly interrupted and ordered him to leave. As Carter departed through the portal, Nelson glanced at the monitor, which now prominently displayed the time remaining before impact. Fifteen minutes. A minute had already passed. Without further delay, he made for the habitat module, running as quickly as the tight confines of the ship permitted.
When he arrived, he found Endicott tugging at a pair of surgical gloves. Brunnet was in bed, his eyes struggling to stay open. They closed moments later.
“I gave him enough to keep him out for at least an hour,” Endicott said. “Let’s get him on the table. I’ll take the feet.”
Nelson grabbed Brunnet under the arms, and at the count of three they picked him up. Because of the reduced gravity, the body did not weigh much more than that of a child’s. They placed him carefully on the table and opened his shirt. Endicott shook his head with concern as he removed the dressing.
“I should drain it,” he said.
“How long will that take?”
“Four, five minutes.”
Nelson glanced over at the main monitor in the habitat module. It was flashing eleven minutes. He realized that if they took the time to drain the wound, the flare would reach the ship before they could make it to the shelter. “Are you sure?”
“The radiation shouldn’t reach hazardous levels until approximately twenty minutes after impact,” Endicott said. His voice was strained.
“Perhaps we should check with the computer.”
Endicott turned his back without responding and silently entered the relevant data. Activated by his strokes, a stream of stop-start bits pulsed down the fiber-optic cable to the central processing unit, where they initiated a series of parallel operations. An artificial-intelligence-based algorithm evaluated the various options. The resulting bit streams converged upon the output channel and emerged in yellow upon the screen.
“It concurs,” Endicott said, secretly relieved the decision had been made for him. He opened a drawer that contained his medical instruments and pulled out a closed-suction catheter. “I need to sterilize this.”
Nelson bit his lip as he glanced at the clock. Nine minutes. He placed his hand on Brunnet’s forehead. It felt warm.
“I think he’s got a fever.”
“Low-grade,” Endicott confirmed, without turning around. “Brought about by the infection. Nothing to worry about. It’s a common reaction.”
The remark did little to comfort Nelson.
Endicott returned to the body and inserted the catheter into the wound. A sickly reddish yellow substance crawled up the tube. “There we go,” Endicott said, holding the tube out at eye level so that he could examine the contents. He saw that his hand was shaking and quickly placed it at his side so that Nelson wouldn’t notice.
But Nelson did notice. “You all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Endicott replied. He was angry with himself, and it showed in his voice. Their eyes met in hard silence. Endicott was only able to maintain the contact for a few seconds before he tore his eyes away. He looked back down at the open wound. Nelson was justified in his concern, and they both knew it. He had to concentrate. The next step was to cleanse the wound and treat it with an antiseptic.
Carter’s voice sounded over the intercom. “The shelter is fully deployed. Only seven minutes remaining until impact.”
Nelson looked questioningly at Endicott.
“It’ll take at least ten.” He irrigated the wound with saline solution. He poured a small amount, then removed it, repeating the process until the effluent solution was clear. As he applied the antiseptic, he could feel his heart beating inside his chest. He bit down hard and started to breathe through his nose. When he was satisfied the entire area had been treated, he put aside the antiseptic and prepared the needle. It was shaking in his hand. He was horrified to see that it struck a spot nearly half an inch from the wound. He pulled the needle back out and tried again. This time it pierced the flesh very close to the intended target. “Hold the skin firmly together while I sew. Not too hard. Make certain the edges are not inverted.”
Carter’s voice came booming over the intercom. “The hull sensor detects a ten percent increase in electromagnetic radiation. It’s starting. I’m listening to the particle detector. Sounds like goddamn rifle shots. Estimated ninety rads in the first half hour, three hundred and fifty in the first hour, and nearly one thousand in the second. Jesus, you guys better get moving.”
“Over two hundred can be lethal. Anything under forty is relatively safe. We should be all right if we get out of here in the next few minutes,” Endicott said.
“You’ve got one,” Nelson said.
“I need three.”
“Carter,” Nelson said, speaking into the intercom, “I want you to arrange a space for Jean Paul’s stretcher. His back is to face the sun. We’ll be out of here in three minutes.”
“Roger,” Carter responded.
“We’re almost done.”
Nelson looked back over his shoulder at the console. “Estimated exposure, two-point-seven-six rems,” he said.
Endicott wondered how much radiation Brunnet could bear as he swiftly wove the curved needle in and out of the skin. He used a square knot to tie off the suture.
“Dressing,” he said.
Nelson handed over an iodine-soaked gauze. Endicott placed it over the suture and taped it down. He dabbed alcohol at the outer edges of the dressing to remove the excess iodine.
“I’m done,” he said, backing away from the body.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Nelson said.
“I’ll need a few things for postoperative care.”
“You’ve got exactly ten seconds.”
Endicott could still feel his heart beating against his chest. He threw an assortment of vials and hypodermics onto the stretcher. “Ready.”
“Carter, we’re on our way,” Nelson announced into the intercom.
“I’ll warm the coffee,” the intercom returned with a Southern drawl.
Nelson grabbed the front of the stretcher and Endicott the back. As they plunged through the portal, they both looked up to check the console.
ESTIMATED EXPOSURE: 13 REMS
.
Their jog quickly turned into a walk as they approached the center of the ship and were forced to correct for the shifting gravities of the extension. When they reached the hub, the transition between the rotating and stationary modules proved to be a challenge for the stretcher. Endicott went first. He stepped inside the despin platform, where he allowed the centrifugal force to push him up against the outer wall. He reached back for the stretcher. He could see Nelson hoisting the body over his head. He grabbed the stretcher with one arm and after some difficulty placed it vertically alongside him. Nelson soon followed. Once Endicott was certain they were all safely in place, he punched the switch to stop the rotation of the platform. As it slowed down their bodies became lighter, and they floated into the center of the chamber. They were breathing hard.
Nearly five minutes had passed since they had left the habitat module.
They looked overhead and saw Carter waiting at the portal of the shelter. The console behind his head displayed an estimated exposure of thirty-six rems.
A
t the sun’s surface, twisting ribbons of electrical current and solar gas swirled into an emerging flux of magnetic tension and exploded. Streams of ultrafast electrons streaked outward from the explosion, accelerated by plasma waves cresting at speeds approaching that of light. Those particles that headed back toward the sun collided with the chromosphere and produced an even greater explosion. The resulting mixture of electromagnetic waves and ionized particles burned a deadly path through space.
Both the American and Russian spacecraft were traveling directly through that path. Even in their storm shelters the crew members were not entirely safe. A few radioactive particles still made their way through the protective structure. Of the three thousand rads bombarding the ships in the first two hours, only fifty would make it through the American storm shelter, thirty through the Russians’. The surgical team, who had not been sheltered for the beginning of the flare, would absorb approximately one hundred rems. Although not lethal, one hundred rems was a substantial amount of radiation to absorb in such a short period of time. The astronauts would most likely suffer from radiation sickness.
Major Vladimir Pavlov’s eyes were fixed on the radiation count. The estimated exposure was displayed for each cosmonaut. Every few minutes a counter would increase. His count was twenty-two. Although his wife’s count read the same, they both knew it should have probably been slightly less, since he was holding her in such a way that his body formed a shield against the radiation. She felt warm in his arms. There was nothing for them to do but watch and wait.
“I wonder how Jean Paul is doing,” Tanya said. No one replied. Their thoughts focused hazily upon Brunnet as they watched the rem counter silently increase. They knew that each ionized particle that passed through their bodies left a wake of altered cells.
“I wonder how Jean Paul is doing,” she persisted.
Vladimir squeezed her hand, and she returned the warmth. His suspicions had nearly disappeared under the tender influence of her affection. The danger had brought them together. He did not fully understand why, but then he did not really care. All that mattered was that they were happy again.
“I suppose we could contact them,” he offered.
“No,” said Komarov.
“Why not?”
“It would not be appropriate.”
“Why would it not be appropriate?”
“If they need our assistance, they will contact us.”
Vladimir thought about his commander’s response and decided not to pursue the point further even though he disagreed. Tanya, on the other hand, would not be put off so easily.
“I think we should radio them,” she said.
Dr. Takashi Satomura, who had nearly fallen asleep, perked up at the sound of the challenge. Without opening his eyes, he raised his head so that he might be able to hear better. He was
seated next to Komarov.
“No,” Komarov said in a low, firm voice.
“What harm could it do?” she replied softly.
Komarov looked up at the ceiling. “They will contact us when they are able.” He glanced at her hand clasped within Vladimir’s.
Suddenly Tatiana understood. Dmitri was jealous, and he was trying to anger her. She started to speak, but checked herself. She did not want the others to hear what she had to say. After a moment of indecision, she stood up and walked over to the communications console.