Ben Bova - The Trikon Deception

Satisfied, she transmitted the words to Jaeckle.

Now I need to get me some protection, she thought.

O’Donnell did not even attempt to speak during the first few hours of captivity in the rumpus room. His body seemed to be processing the last remnants of the fentanyl in spasms. At different intervals his limbs went numb, his vision blurred, and his whole body shuddered.

In between these episodes, he tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing he remembered was brushing his teeth. The toothpaste had tasted funny, and as an ex-coke addict he knew that the gums were efficient at absorbing drugs into the bloodstream. But the method was less important than the motive. Who would want him drugged? Did that same person want Aaron Weiss dead? And why?

By the time O’Donnell felt well enough to speak, Lance Muncie was on guard duty. Lance did not come very close, preferring to hover near the variable-gravity centrifuge. Although nothing seemed to occupy him other than his thoughts, he pointedly refused to meet O’Donnell’s eyes. Still, O’Donnell decided to venture a question. “What happened, Lance?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“Who told you?”

“Commander Tighe. It’s his orders.” Lance pulled himself to the other side of the centrifuge.

“You mean you people are going to keep me tied up here and no one’s going to tell me what’s going on?”

“You already know.”

“The hell I do.”

“I can’t talk to you.”

“Then listen to me. Dan thinks I killed Weiss. Now why would I do a thing like that?”

Lance did not answer. He positioned himself on the carpeted surface of the jogging track and began to run. He moved slowly at first with bent legs and a stooped torso.

“You know me, Lance,” continued O’Donnell. “We did the Cape together. We bounced around in the Vomit Comet together. We flew up here together. Do I look like a person who’d kill someone?”

Lance’s strides grew longer and more fluid. His posture straightened as he gained speed.

“Just shake your head, Lance. If you can’t say I didn’t do it, at least let me know you hear me.”

But Lance ran on. His thundering feet created such a racket that O’Donnell gave up trying to prod him into conversation. Lance eventually slackened his pace. He hunched forward and bumped the heels of his hands against the running surface to dampen his momentum. As Lance drifted in a long lazy circle around the inside of the track, O’Donnell noticed Carla Sue hovering in the tunnel. Lance saw her at the same time.

“This module is off limits,” he snapped.

But Carla Sue squirmed her sleek body through the hatch.

“Lance, I just need to see you for a minute.”

“It’s off limits,” he said. “No exceptions.”

“Well, you’ll just have to make an exception for me.” Carla Sue pulled up in front of him and arranged her lips in a pucker. Lance dodged her kiss.

“My, my, we’re all business, aren’t we?” she teased.

“What do you want, Carla Sue?”

“I was scared, what with all this talk about murder and such.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of.” Lance nodded in O’Donnell’s direction as if to say the situation was under control.

“Well, I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” Lance blurted.

“Why, yes,” she said, rubbing both hands along his biceps. “I know you’re a big strong man, but I worry just the same.”

“You can’t stay here,” Lance said. He was virtually pleading.

“I’ve booked an hour in the observation blister,” she whispered, patting his chest. He grabbed her wrist, then quickly released it.

“Okay, Lance,” she said. “I won’t trouble you none. But when you’re off duty, come to the blister. I’ll be waiting.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and flew out of the room. O’Donnell could see that Carla Sue’s visit had shaken Lance. His face was flushed as if he had just been sitting in front of a raging fire.

“What’s she into you for?” called O’Donnell.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You remember the bartender at the Cape,” said O’Donnell. “He said Carla Sue belonged to Jaeckle.”

“She does not.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” said O’Donnell. “But he made sense when he said to keep away from Carla Sue.”

“She’s okay,” Lance said.

“If she’s so okay, why did you chase her out of here?”

“Orders.”

“Orders my ass. If I had someone like her puckering those lips at me, I’d forget orders pretty damn quick,” said O’Donnell. He paused to let the words sink in. “Unless of course I thought she was using me too.”

“She’s not using me,” said Lance.

“I guess you’d know,” O’Donnell said with a smile.

Lance suddenly flew at him. He crashed into O’Donnell’s chest with his shoulder, then grabbed two wads of O’Donnell’s shirt.

“You think it’s funny, huh?” he yelled. “You think it’s funny she used me!”

Lance braced himself on the floor and punched O’Donnell squarely in the stomach. O’Donnell’s head snapped forward. A gasp of saliva shot out of his mouth and the top of the helmet banged against Lance’s cheek and jaw, opening a large red gash.

“Son of a bitch!” screamed Lance.

O’Donnell felt Lance’s knee explode into his groin. Stars obliterated his vision, and he sagged away from the bulkhead as far as the tethers would allow. A hand grabbed his chin as if lining up his head for a haymaker.

“Lance!”

Through his blurry vision, O’Donnell saw Dan and Freddy hurtling toward them. They pulled Lance away.

“What the hell is going on here, Muncie?” Dan barked.

Lance sniffed back a wad of snot and tamped his sleeve against the gash on his face.

“He suckered me, sir. Said he couldn’t breathe and wanted me to loosen the tape a little. When I tried to, he butted me with his head.”

O’Donnell was gasping desperately, eyes rolling with pain. Could he be that crazy? Dan asked himself. Start a fight with his hands tied? Can drugs scramble your brain that badly?

“You damn fool,” Dan said to Muncie. “Go get cleaned up.”

By midafternoon, the people on Trikon Station had returned to a semblance of their normal daily routines. Stanley relieved Freddy, who had relieved Lance, and accomplished the tricky maneuver of feeding O’Donnell from a collection of squeeze bottles. O’Donnell, still smarting from Lance’s attack, meekly cooperated.

At 1500 hours, Dan called Lance and Freddy to his office. He had attended several meetings, both in person and over his comm link Earthside, since the discovery of Weiss’s body early that morning. He hoped that this one would be the last.

“Keeping O’Donnell in the rumpus room is causing logistical problems,” he said. “And some of the scientists are concerned for their own safety.”

“Like who?” Freddy asked.

“Jaeckle, for one.”

“Wimp,” said Freddy. He looked at Lance and nodded.

“Maybe he has a valid point for a change,” said Dan. “Anyway, I’ve decided it’s best to move O’Donnell.”

“Where to?” said Freddy.

“The observatory.”

“Ain’t that going a little too far?”

“Not after this latest incident,” Dan said. “Putting him in the observatory poses the fewest logistical problems and requires the least manpower,”

“Hokay,” said Freddy. It was obvious he disagreed with the decision, but it was just as obvious that Dan would not be swayed. “Who gonna move him?”

“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?”