Ben Bova: The Trikon Deception

“Didn’t want… ! Hell, I wanted you to come up on the space plane two weeks ago. But I guess it’s a good thing that you didn’t. Things got kind of hairy up here for a while.”

“But it’s all okay now, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Everything’s fine now.”

“Uh, Dad, is it okay if I call you again?”

“Sure! Certainly. I’d like to call you…”

“Well, Mom gets kind of upset when you call, you know. That’s why I waited until I got to campus.”

“I see.”

“She gets all wound up.”

“I do want to see you, son. Whether it’s up here or back on Earth.”

“I’d sure get a blast out of coming up there!”

“Okay, we’ll try to work something out for you.”

“Great!”

“I’ll call you in a day or two.”

“Okay. Make it around this time in the afternoon. I’m usually in the dorm then.”

“I want you to tell your mother, Bill. It’s not a good thing to keep secrets from her.”

“Sure, okay. I’m learning how to handle her — I think. So long for now, Dad.”

“So long for now, son.”

Hugh O’Donnell stared at the foaming water of the Jacuzzi. He had always had wiry, marathon runner’s legs, but after six weeks in a hip cast his right leg was toothpick thin. And hairless. From the waist down he looked like two different people. That’s why he enjoyed the Jacuzzi: he didn’t have to see that damn leg.

The synthesized tone of the videophone sliced through the humid air. The apartment may have been equipped with this fancy bathroom/spa, but its only telephone was located in the living room. The rings mounted, five, six, seven times. No one else wanted to answer. Hugh swung out of the water, knotted his bathrobe around his waist, and hobbled into the living room on his cane.

His leg was still too stiff to bend comfortably unless it was immersed in warm water, so he leaned on the back of the sofa and shouted the phone’s answering code. The faces of Dan and Lorraine appeared on the monitor; him grinning, her smiling radiantly.

“How are you, buddy?” Dan asked.

“Hobbling along. I sure miss microgravity, with this leg. How’s everything up there?”

“Hobbling along,” Lorraine answered.

Dan cast a disapproving glance at her. “Repairs are on schedule. We’ll be open for business again in three weeks.”

“Great.”

“It helps to have Bianco here,” Dan added. “It’s funny: he doesn’t push anybody, but somehow things seem to be getting done much faster with him watching.”

“He’s an inspirational force,” said Lorraine.

“I’ll bet,” Hugh said.

“How is your leg?” Lorraine asked. “Is the therapy proceeding satisfactorily?”

“Yeah, I guess. Slow but steady, you know.”

“You ought to come back up here,” Dan said. “It would be good for you.”

Hugh nodded, knowing that it was impossible. Changing the subject, he said, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Lorraine looked surprised. Dan tried to look noncommittal.

Hugh grinned at them. “Come on, the rumor’s all over the tabloids. ‘Space station commander and medical officer to marry.’ ”

Lorraine broke into a huge smile. “Dan told me what I said under the influence of the Lethe. He asked if I wanted to retract any of it. I said no.”

“Tighe, you’re a true romantic,” said Hugh.

“Ramsanjawi would be surprised to learn he’s a matchmaker, huh?” said Dan. “Is your leg really coming along okay? Is there anything we can do?”

“I’ll miss the next Olympics,” said High. Out of the corner of his eye he saw clothes being tossed into a suitcase on his bed. “You guys are okay up there?”

“The lab modules are still a mess,” said Dan. “Otherwise, we’re operational.”

He continued as if issuing a report to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Mars module had fared the best because it had separated early and somehow had avoided a collision as the station cartwheeled across the sky. Half of the Martians had resigned from the project. NASA and ESA were requiring the rest to recertify, including Jaeckle. Although his demented separation order had saved the multibillion-dollar module from severe damage, neither agency was treating him as a hero.

Fabio Bianco, that old coot, was busily selecting a new contingent of scientists and preaching that the entire incident was an object lesson on the need for international cooperation.

Hugh listened absently to Dan’s account. His time in the station seemed part of a distant past, a dream that reverberated in the deepest chambers of his mind whenever he dropped off to sleep. And these two people, his only friends since he had ceased existing as Jack O’Neill, were now images on a screen.

But there was one memory that prodded him daily. He remembered waking up in the ex/rec area, floating among the debris and damaged equipment. His shattered leg throbbing red-hot inside his EMU, sending up blinding waves of pain. Dan and Lorraine swam out of the shadows. They pried him out of his suit and fashioned a splint for his leg. Later, at the sick bay, Lorraine offered him a painkiller.

“No drugs,” he had said, and slipped back into the darkness. She had honored his request.

Dan stopped talking, and Hugh realized that they were staring at him. He shifted his weight on the cane. From the bedroom came the sound of heavy luggage being slammed shut.

“Company?” Dan asked, arching his eyebrows.

Welch stepped out of the bedroom and peered at Hugh over the tops of his sunglasses. Freddy Aviles, walking rockily on prosthetic legs, passed behind him. Both men carefully stayed out of range of the videophone’s lens. Welch pointed at the screen and drew his finger across his neck.

“Sort of,” said Hugh. “I’ve got to go now.”

“Come up and see us,” Lorraine said.

“Right,” Dan agreed. “Whenever you can. Just let me know and I’ll set up the transportation for you.”

“Thanks,” said Hugh, feeling awkward, under surveillance. “I’ll try.”

“Move your ass,” said Welch as soon as Hugh cut the phone connection. “Plane leaves in an hour.”

Hugh started for the bedroom, leaning heavily on his cane. The damned leg hurt like hellfire.

His eye caught Freddy’s. He saw sympathy there. A shared pain.

“I’m not going on the plane,” Hugh heard himself say to Welch.

“What?”

“I’m not going with you. I’m going back to Trikon Station.”

Welch’s face looked like a smoldering volcano. “What do you think…”

“I’ll finish the job aboard Trikon,” Hugh said, feeling stronger with each word. “Otherwise no deal.”

“I’ll have you in the slammer so fast your goddamned ass’ll be singed!”

“Hey, wait up a minute, Mr. Welch.” Freddy’s gold tooth glimmered in his smile.

Pointing a finger, Welch said, “You keep out of this, Aviles.”

Ignoring the order, Freddy said, “You want O’Donnell to finish the cocaine project, right? O’Donnell wants to finish it. What’re you arguin’ about? What difference does it make where he finishes, huh?”

“It makes a difference to me,” Hugh said, tapping his right thigh. “I finish the project in micro-gee or you find yourself another boy, Welch.”

Welch started to reply, but Hugh added, “And Freddy comes with me.” Freddy’s smile dazzled. He turned to Welch. “An’ you can have these tin legs back. Give ’em to somebody who really needs ’em.” Welch growled at the two of them. But he did not say no.