Ben Bova - The Trikon Deception

“On the pad at Kennedy. Still will take two, maybe three days before she’s cleared for launch. One good break, the weather looks like it will cooperate.”

Thank heaven for small favors, thought Dan.

“All the personal communications for the Trikon people are piling up here,” Henderson said. “My people think you ought to let the incoming messages through.”

Dan shook his head. “If I do then they’ll start pressuring to send down their replies. No deal.”

“Some stuff for your crew members, too. Including the medical officer.”

Hesitating a moment, Dan grudgingly answered, “Okay, I guess you can send that through. Nothing else, though.”

“Okay.”

Before either Dan or Henderson could say another word, an alarm buzzer sounded in the command module.

“—the hell is that?” said Henderson.

Dan did not answer. He flew into the command and control center. A warning light on the life-support instrument panel flashed yellow, indicating that the oxygen supply in the atmospheric mix was nearing a dangerously low level. Dan tapped the blinking button and the angry buzz of the alarm switched off. But the yellow light still flashed balefully.

“Freddy!” he shouted.

No one answered.

Dan launched himself to the infirmary and banged on Lorraine’s door. She had a European tech inside with her; they both looked more curious than apprehensive.

“Was that an alarm we heard?” she asked, with a slightly puzzled smile.

“You seen Freddy anywhere?”

Lorraine’s smile evaporated. “No. Why?”

“What about Lance or Stanley?”

“Haven’t seen them either.”

“Thanks. No big deal. Sorry.”

Dan sailed back to his office, where Henderson’s image waited on the screen.

“Minor problem, Tom. A crewman forgot to replace an oxygen cylinder. I’ll do it myself. You have anything else?”

“Not now. If I do, I’ll holler.”

“Rog,” said Dan as he cut the comm link.

He went directly to the logistics module without searching for any of his crewman. It was unlike Freddy to ignore an order, especially one so vital to the station’s life support. But then again, the conditions on the station had been abnormal. Anything could get lost in the shuffle. I’ve got to get this tin can running efficiently again, Dan growled to himself.

He located the nearly depleted oxygen cylinder and quickly replaced it with a fresh one. As he was about to exit the module, he noticed a science-supply canister attached to a bulkhead in a position reserved for waste receptacles. Stencil markings on the canister identified it as belonging to the Mars Project.

“Goddamn Martians act like they own the place,” muttered Dan. He detached the canister and shoved it gently in the direction of its proper storage area. The canister wobbled slightly and struck a dry-goods cylinder with a loud thud. Dan instantly realized the canister held something far more massive than usual.

He opened the lid. Carla Sue Gamble stared back at him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Jesus H. Christ and a half.”

They were in the deepest recess of the logistics module, well hidden from anyone who happened to float past the hatch. Dan had waited until after Lorraine completed her therapy session with the European tech before asking her to accompany him. He did not want to arouse suspicion.

“Asphyxiation. Eight, maybe ten hours ago,” said Lorraine, her voice dropping in response to Dan’s urgent gestures. “I’ll get another body bag.”

“Not yet,” whispered Dan. “We’re going to leave her right here.”

Lorraine held her hands palm up as if asking why.

“I know I didn’t kill her and I’m pretty sure you didn’t either. After that, I’m not certain about anyone. Every innocent person on this station thinks we have a killer locked away at the observatory. If they learn otherwise, we’ll have a real panic on our hands. And the shuttle is still at least two days away.”

“But someone will notice she’s missing.”

“We’ll deal with that problem when it comes up. Help me with this.”

They closed Carla Sue in the canister.

“Lorraine, can you take over for me for a couple of hours?”

“Me?”

Nodding, “Stanley’s on watch at the command module. If you have any problems, he can help. I don’t know where the hell Freddy Aviles or Lance Muncie have gotten to.”

She saw the anxiety on his face, heard it in his voice. “Sure, Dan. But where will you be?”

“I want to visit O’Donnell. Maybe I was wrong about him.”

In the main airlock. Dan sucked oxygen from a mask as he worked himself into an EMU. Prebreathe was a pain in the ass. The pure oxygen was so dry it felt like sandpaper rasping his sinuses. And it was boring. He usually fumed about NASA, ESA, and Trikon’s joint inability to fashion a space suit pressurized to one atmosphere, but this time he actually welcomed the forced inactivity. At least he wouldn’t discover any more dead bodies.

His thoughts turned to O’Donnell. What did he expect to accomplish by traveling to the observatory? Would O’Donnell have any answers, any clues about what the hell was happening on Trikon Station? Did he expect to return O’Donnell to the station? And if so, as what? An advisor? An ally? An instant source of panic?

Dan snapped his helmet into place and called Lorraine over channel D, the secured comm link he had designated for their chatter.

“I’m all gassed up and ready for egress,” he said. “Any of my crew show themselves?”

“Just Stanley,” said Lorraine, her usually husky voice sounding thin over the tiny speaker. “I haven’t seen Lance or Freddy.”

“Any other problems?”

“Not a one. No one’s asked about Carla Sue yet.”

“I won’t be gone long. Out.”

“Take care,” she replied before he cut the link.

Outside the airlock, Dan backed himself into an MMU and ran a quick check of its propulsion and guidance systems. Finding everything in proper order, he undocked and jetted off on a path that looped around the raft of modules at a safe distance. The brilliant wash of sunlight and earthglow exhilarated him, and he found himself thinking not of Weiss or O’Donnell or Carla Sue but of Lorraine. For reasons he could not fully understand, he sensed that their relationship was about to change. Everything that had happened before—the early days of their stint on the station, the blood-pressure testing, her fling with Kurt Jaeckle—slowly diminished into irrelevance. He did not know exactly what lay ahead for them, but he felt certain that a new relationship between them was beginning. It almost made him smile.

The sight of the observatory growing smoothly beyond his visor returned Dan to the problems at hand. He nudged the translation control, brought the MMU to a stop less than a meter from the airlock, and docked to a fitting next to the airlock entry hatch. After some trouble disengaging himself, he tethered the MMU to the docking port and entered the observatory. As the airlock slowly repressurized, Dan stared down through the mesh-covered porthole. The raft of modules—so massive and labyrinthine when viewed up close—seemed like insignificant Tinkertoys against the luminescent Earth.

After the pressure equalized, Dan removed his helmet and pulled himself through the hatch into the observatory. O’Donnell floated near the apex of the conical interior. He obviously realized he had a visitor, but he kept his eye nestled against the lens of an optical telescope. His hair, which normally gave a slicked-back appearance when restrained by a net, floated out in a nest of spikes. His free hand twirled his glasses by the eyepiece.

“You ever see any of this stuff?” he said without taking his eye off the telescope. “Makes you appreciate how much our atmosphere distorts light rays.”