Ben Bova - The Trikon Deception

Even with things falling apart around him, Dan Tighe stubbornly refused to abandon established station procedure. After learning from Freddy that O’Donnell had been installed in the observatory, he ensconced himself in the command and control center and in his patient, painstaking manner, checked and rechecked every system within the station’s operation—life support, station attitude, orbital configuration, fuel supply, and waste management. The atmospheric replenishment system would be low on oxygen in a few hours. Dan left a message for Freddy to replace the expended tank. As he completed his recheck, he sensed a presence. Lorraine Renoir hovered a few feet from him, holding two squeeze bottles of coffee.

He started to reach for one of them. “Thanks, Lorraine.” She pulled back slightly. “I hate to do it, Dan, but I’ve got to get a blood pressure reading on you.”

Tighe felt his shoulders sag. “Now?”

“Sooner or later.”

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

She still withheld the coffee. “Afterward. Caffeine raises the pressure.”

“What the hell doesn’t?” Dan grumbled. He kicked free of the anchoring loops and followed her the length of the command module to her infirmary.

Lorraine quickly and efficiently wrapped the cuff around his left arm and took a reading. She glanced up into his eyes.

“Let’s try the other arm.”

“That bad, huh?” Somehow Dan didn’t care. Almost. As the doctor inflated the cuff again he told himself, Let them take the station away from me; it’ll be a relief. But he knew he did not truly believe that.

Lorraine smiled at him. “I don’t understand it.”

“What?”

Her smile widened. “Your pressure is down into the normal range.”

“You’re sure?” Dan blurted.

“High normal, but normal.”

“I’ll be damned.” — “Let me try another reading.”

She puffed up the cuff once again and stared at the numbers. “I think you thrive on trouble, Dan.” She seemed delighted. “Or perhaps responsibility.”

“It’s really down?”

“Really.”

He grinned back at her. “Can I have my coffee now?”

They sipped and talked, and even though the conversation eventually turned to O’Donnell, Dan felt a quiet ease settling gently over them. My pressure’s down! He marveled at the news. Lorraine wouldn’t fake the readings, he knew. But she sure seemed happy about it.

For more than an hour they traded information they had gleaned from their independent conversations with O’Donnell. The twelve-year gap in his biography slowly shrank. But when it reached the three years starting in 1995 it would close no more.

“Maybe Weiss knew something about O’Donnell that O’Donnell didn’t want anyone else to know,” said Lorraine.

Dan’s eyes focused on infinity for a long moment. “Maybe.”

“You looked troubled, Dan. Is it because he’s your friend?”

“Friend, buddy, whatever. You spend time with a guy, you kid around with him. You want to think that he’s leveling with you and that you can read him. When you find out you’ve been wrong, well, maybe he’s been bullshitting you or maybe you just can’t read people. Either way, that can be a dangerous proposition up here.”

“Don’t feel bad about having misread him,” said Lorraine. “I did, too. Addicts are con artists. It’s part of their survival instinct. Even if they clean up, those other habits die hard.”

“I know something about addicts,” said Dan, forcing himself to brighten the somber mood. “My ex-wife was addicted to her career.”

Lorraine laughed. “And you weren’t?”

Dan grinned back at her, ruefully.

“You know,” she said, more seriously, “that’s the first time you’ve mentioned your ex-wife to me.”

“Someday I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”

“I’d like that.”

Before Dan could say anything more Kurt Jaeckle appeared in the infirmary doorway. Jaeckle looked more than grim; he looked scared.

“Has either of you seen Lance Muncie?” he asked.

Dan and Lorraine looked at each other.

Dan said, “He just completed transferring O’Donnell to the observatory along with Freddy Aviles.”

“I think he’s suffering from Orbital Dementia,” said Jaeckle. He described his encounter with Lance in the logistics module. The account was disturbing enough in itself, but Jaeckle’s narrative skills made it sound chilling. Throughout, Lorraine hovered close to Dan. At the mention of the tattered flowers, she nudged softly against his shoulder. Jaeckle concluded: “I’m certain he was referring to me.”

Dan scrutinized Jaeckle suspiciously. He knew that Jaeckle often blabbed to the other scientists that the station commander “had it in for” the Mars Project and had sent Russell Cramer Earthside as part of some convoluted personal vendetta. He also knew that Jaeckle and Lance were inextricably linked by Carla Sue Gamble. Lance had fought with O’Donnell. But he said he had been provoked and O’Donnell hadn’t contradicted him. Was this a poor attempt at payback by Jaeckle? Or was it a legitimate report?

“Lorraine?” he asked.

“No harm in examining him,” she replied.

Dan nodded abruptly, then looked at his wristwatch. “We all have jobs to do,” he said.

“Yes,” said Lorraine. “I’ve got to log in the results of the latest test I performed.”

Dan wanted to kiss her, right there in front of Jaeckle. Instead he settled for a grin. My pressure’s down, he said to himself again as he sailed toward his own office. And Lorraine’s just as happy about is as I am.

Lance responded without any hesitation to Lorraine’s suggestion that he come to the infirmary. That was a positive sign, she thought. Russell Cramer had routinely avoided her.

She studied Lance’s appearance between glances at his personnel file. The gash on his cheek and jaw was starting to scab. His blond hair was neatly tucked beneath a hairnet. His uniform was in good shape. He seemed slightly edgy, occasionally biting his lower lip or running his tongue along the outside of his front teeth. But everyone was a little edgy. Lance had better reasons than most.

“Have your stomach problems persisted?”

“Nope. Eating fine now,” said Lance. “Are you seeing me because you think something else is wrong?”

“I believe it’s a good idea to talk to everyone on the station,” said Lorraine. “I wanted to start with you because you’ve been at the center of these events.”

Lance rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. “I’ll say.”

“Do you feel troubled at all?”

“I’m troubled that a man got killed,” said Lance. “But you don’t mean that.”

“That’s right, Lance. I mean that you more than anyone are carrying images of what happened. You discovered the body and you were the victim of an attack. Will those images interfere with your work?”

“Nope,” said Lance.

“Would you want to return to Earth?”

“I have more’n two more months to go up here.”

“I realize that,” said Lorraine. “But this is very important now, Lance. Does the fact that Constellation will be here shortly put the idea in your head that you might want to return now?”

Lance emphatically shook his head.

“Thanks for stopping by, Lance. You’ll contact me if you want to talk?”

Lance nodded and left the office. Lorraine noted in his chart: Somewhat agitated, but not beyond the normal range indicated by recent events. Diagnosis — no signs of O.D. observed.

Lance hurried to Hab 2 and sealed himself in his compartment. His stomach and chest felt like an overloaded steam pipe. He buried his head in his sleep restraint. Once again, his angry words spewed forth in a hissing hot torrent.