Gravity (28 page)

“She’s going downhill!” he said. “Get one of them inside now! Bring in Watson!” There was a second’s hesitation.

Then Flight said, “Do it.” Why isn’t Griggs responding?

Frantically Emma pulled herself from handhold to handhold, moving as fast as she could along the main truss. She felt slow and clumsy in the Orlan-M suit, and her hands ached from the effort of flexing against the resistance of bulky gloves. She was already exhausted from the repair work, and now fresh sweat was soaking into her lining, and her muscles quivered from fatigue.

“Griggs, respond. Goddamnit, respond!” she snapped into her comm link.

ISS remained silent.

“What’s Diana’s status?” she demanded between panted breaths.

Todd’s voice came on. “Still in V tach.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t rush, Watson. Don’t get careless!”

“She’s not going to last. Where the fuck is Griggs?” She was breathing so hard now she could barely keep up the conversation. She forced herself to concentrate on grabbing the hand rung, on keeping her tether untangled. Clambering off the truss, she made a lunge for the ladder, but was suddenly snapped a halt.

Her sleeve had caught on a corner of the work platform.

Slow down. You’re going to get yourself killed.

Gingerly she unsnagged her sleeve and saw there was no puncture.

Heart still hammering, she continued down the ladder and pulled herself into the air lock. Quickly she swung the hatch shut and opened the pressure equalization valve.

“Talk to me, Todd,” she snapped as the air lock began to repressurize.

“What’s the rhythm?”

“She’s now in coarse V fib. We still can’t get Griggs on comm.”

“We’re losing her.”

“I know, I know!”

“Okay, I’m up to five psi—”

“Air-lock integrity check. Don’t skip it.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Watson, no fucking shortcuts.” She paused and took a deep breath. Todd was right. In the hostile environment of space, one must never take shortcuts. She completed the air-lock integrity check, finished repressurization, opened the next hatch, leading into the equipment lock. There she swiftly removed her gloves. The Russian Orlan-M suit was easier to doff than the American EMU, but it still took time to swing open the rear life-support system and wriggle out. I’ll never make it in time, she thought as she furiously kicked her feet free from the lower torso.

“Status, Surgeon!” she barked into her comm assembly.

“She’s now in fine fib.” A terminal rhythm, thought Emma. This was their last chance to save Diana.

Now clad only in her water-cooling garment, she opened the hatch leading into the station. Frantic to reach her patient, she pushed off the wall and dove headfirst through the hatch opening.

Wetness splashed her face, blurring her vision. She missed the handhold and collided with the far wall. For a few seconds she drifted in confusion, blinking away the sting. What did I get in my eyes? she thought.

Not eggs. Please, not eggs … her vision Slowly cleared, but even then, she could not comprehend what she was seeing. Floating all around her in the shadowy node were giant globules.

She felt more wetness brush her hand, and she looked down at the blackish stain soaking into her sleeve, at the dark blooming here and there on her water-cooling garment. She held her sleeve up to one of the node lights.

The stain was blood.

In horror she gazed at the giant globules hanging in the shadows.

So much of it … Quickly she closed the hatch to prevent the contamination from spreading into the air lock. It was too late to protect the rest of the station, the globules had spread everywhere. She dove into the hab, opened the CCPK, and donned protective mask and goggles.

Maybe the blood was not infectious. Maybe she could still protect herself.

“Watson?” said Cutler.

“Blood … there’s blood everywhere!”

“Diana’s rhythm is agonal—there’s not much left to jump-start!”

“I’m on my way!” She pushed out of the node and entered the tunnellike Zarya. The Russian module seemed blindingly bright after the barely lit U.S. end, the globules of blood like gaily balloons floating in the air. Some had collided with the walls, splattering Zarya a brilliant red. Popping out the far end of the module, she could not avoid one giant bubble floating directly in her path.

Reflexively she closed her eyes as it splattered her goggles, obscuring her view. Drifting blindly, she wiped her sleeve across the goggles to clear away the blood.

And found herself staring straight at Michael Griggs’s chalkwhite face.

She screamed. In horror she thrashed uselessly at empty air, going nowhere.

“Watson?” She stared at the large bubble of blood still clinging to the gaping wound on his neck. This was the source of all the blood—a slashed carotid artery. She forced herself to touch the intact side of his neck, to search for a pulse. She could not feel one.

“Diana’s EKG is flat line!” said Todd.

Emma’s stunned gaze shifted to the hatch leading to the RSM, where Diana was supposed to be isolated. The plastic sheeting was gone, the module was open to the rest of the station.

In dread, she entered the RSM. Diana was still strapped to the patient restraint board. Her face had been battered beyond recognition, her teeth smashed to splinters. A balloon of blood was oozing from her mouth.

The squeal of the cardiac monitor at last drew Emma’s attention.

A flat line traced across the screen. She reached over to off the alarm, and her hand froze in midair. Glistening on the power switch was a blue-green gelatinous clump.

Eggs. Diana has already shed eggs. She has already released Chimera into the air.

The monitor alarm seemed to build to an unbearable shriek, yet Emma remained motionless, staring at that cluster of eggs. They seemed to shimmer and recede out of focus. She blinked, and as her vision cleared again, she remembered the moisture hitting her face, stinging her eyes as she had dived through the air-lock hatch.

She had not been wearing goggles then. She could still feel the wetness on her cheek, cool and clinging.

She reached up to touch her face, and stared at the eggs, like quivering pearls, on her fingertips.

The squeal of the cardiac alarm had become unbearable. She flipped off the monitor, and the squeal ceased. The silence that followed was just as alarming. She could not hear the hiss of the fans. They should be drawing in air, pulling it through the HEPA filters for cleansing.

There’s too much blood in the air. It has blocked all the filters. The rise in the pressure gradient across the filters had tripped the sensors, automatically shutting off the overheated fans.

“Watson, please respond!” said Todd.

“They’re dead.” Her voice broke into a sob. “They’re both dead!

Now Luther’s voice broke into the loop. “I’m coming in.”

“No,” she said. “No—”

“Just hang on, Emma. I’ll be right there.”

“Luther, you can’t come in! There’s blood and eggs everywhere. This station is no longer habitable. You have to stay in the air lock.”

“That’s not a long-term solution.”

“There is no fucking long-term solution!”

“Look, I’m in the crew lock now. I’m closing the outer hatch. Starting repress—”

“The vent fans have all shut off. There’s no way to clean this air.”

“I’m up to five psi. Pausing for integrity check.”

“If you come in, you’ll be exposing yourself!”

“Going to full repress.”

“Luther, I’ve already been exposed! I got splashed in the eyes.”

She took a deep breath. It came out in a sob. “You’re the only one left. The only one with any chance of surviving.” There was a long silence.

“Jesus, Emma,” he murmured.

“Okay. Okay, listen to me.” She paused to calm herself. To think logically. “Luther, I want you to move into the equipment lock. It should still be relatively clean in there, and you can take off your helmet. Then turn off your personal comm assembly.”

“What?”

“Do it. I’m heading for Node One. I’ll be right on the other side of the hatch, talking to you.”

Now Todd broke in, “Emma? Emma, do not break off air-to-ground loop—”

“Sorry, Surgeon,” she murmured, and turned off her comm assembly.

A moment later, she heard Luther say, over the station’s hardline intercom system, “I’m in the equipment lock.” They were talking in private now, their conversation no longer monitored by Mission Control.

“There’s one option left for you,” said Emma. “The one you’ve been pushing for all along. I can’t take it, but you can. You’re clean. You won’t bring the disease home.”

“We already agreed on this. No one stays behind.”

“You’ve got three hours left of uncontaminated air in your EMU. If you keep your helmet on in the CRV and go straight to deorbit, you could make it down in time.”

“You’ll be stranded.”

“I’m stranded here anyway!” She took another deep breath, and spoke more calmly. “Look, we both know this goes against orders. It could be a very bad idea. How they’ll respond is anyone’s guess—that’s the gamble. But, Luther, it’s your choice to make.

“There’ll be no way for you to evac.”

“Take me out of the equation. Don’t even think of me.” She added, softly, “I’m already dead.”

“Emma, no—”

“What do you want to do? Answer that. Think only about yourself.”

She heard him take a deep breath. “I want to go home.”

So do I, she thought, blinking away tears. Oh, God, so do I. “Put on your helmet,” she said. “I’ll open the hatch.”

Jack ran up the stairs to Building 30, flashed his badge at Security, and headed straight to Special Vehicle Operations.

Gordon Obie intercepted him just outside the control room.

“Jack, wait. You go in there and raise hell, they’ll toss you out. Take a minute to cool down, or you won’t be any help to her.”

“I want my wife home now.”

“Every one wants them home! We’re trying the best we can, but the situation has changed. The whole station is now contaminated. The filter system’s off. The EVA crew never had a chance to complete the gimbal repairs, so they remain in power down. And they’re not talking to us.”

“What?”

“Emma and Luther have cut off communications. We don’t know what’s going on up there. That’s why they rushed you back—to help us get through to them.” Jack stared through the open doorway, into the Special Vehicle Operations Room. He saw men and women at their consoles, performing their duties as always. It suddenly enraged him that flight controllers could remain so calm and efficient. That the deaths of two more astronauts did not seem to alter their cold professionalism. The cool demeanor of everyone in the room only magnified his own grief, his own terror.

He walked into the control room. Two uniformed Air Force officers stood beside Flight Director Woody Ellis, monitoring the comm loops. They were a disturbing reminder that the room was not under NASA’s control. As Jack moved along the back row, toward the surgeon’s console, several controllers shot him sympathetic looks. He said nothing, but sank into the chair next to Todd Cutler. He was acutely aware that just behind him, in the viewing gallery, other Air Force officers from U.S. Space Command were watching the room.

“You’ve heard the latest?” said Todd softly.

Jack nodded. There was no longer any EKG tracing on the monitor, Diana was dead. So was Griggs.

“Half the station’s still in power down. And now they’ve got eggs floating in the air.” And blood as well. Jack could picture what it must be like aboard the station. The lights dimmed. The stench of death. splattering the walls, clogging the HEPA filters. An orbiting of horrors.

“We need you to talk to her, Jack. Get her to tell us what’s happening up there.”

“Why aren’t they talking?”

“We don’t know. Maybe they’re pissed at us. They have a right to be. Maybe they’re too traumatized.”

“No, they must have a reason.” Jack looked at the front screen, showing the station’s orbital path above the earth. What are you thinking, Emma?

He slipped on the headset and said, “Capcom, this is Jack McCallum. I’m ready.”

“Roger, Surgeon. Stand by, and we’ll try them again.” They waited. ISS did not respond.

At the third row of consoles, two of the controllers suddenly glanced back over their shoulders, at Flight Director Ellis. Jack heard nothing over the comm loop, but he saw the Odin controller, the controller in charge of onboard data networks, rise from his chair and lean forward to whisper across his console to the secondrow controllers.

Now the OPS controller, in the third row, took off his headset, stood up, and stretched. He started up the side aisle, walking casually, as though headed for a bathroom break. As he passed by surgeon’s console, he dropped a piece of paper in Todd Cutler’s and continued out of the room.

Todd unfolded the note and shot Jack a stunned look. “The station’s reconfigured their computers to ASCR mode,” he whispered.

“The crew’s already started CRV sep sequence.” Jack stared back in disbelief. ASCR, or assured safe crew return, was the computer config meant to support crew evacuation. He glanced quickly around the room.

None of the controllers was saying a word about this over the loop. All Jack saw were rows of squared shoulders, everyone’s gaze focused tightly on their consoles. He glanced sideways at Woody Ellis. Ellis stood motionless. The body language said it all. He knows what’s going on. And he’s not saying a thing, either.

Jack broke out in a sweat. This was why the crew wasn’t talking.

They had made their own decision, and they were forging ahead with it.

The Air Force would not be in the dark for long.

Through their Space Surveillance Network of radar and optical sensors, they could monitor objects as small as a baseball in low earth orbit. As soon as the CRV separated, as soon as it became independent orbital object, it would come to the attention of Command’s control center in Cheyenne Mountain Air Station. The million-dollar question was, How would they respond?

I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Emma.