Tess Gerritsen - Gravity

"Just before she went silent, she sent you a final E-mail." Capcom added gently, "Jack, she was saying goodbye." No. At once he released his grip on the hatchway and pushed out of the air lock, diving headfirst into the open payload bay.

No.

He grabbed a handhold and scrambled up over the clamshell door, to the other side of Apogee II. Suddenly the space station was there, looming above him, so big and sprawling he was momentarily stunned by the wonder of it. Then, in panic, he thought, Where is the air lock? I don't see the air lock! There were so many modules, so many solar arrays, fanned out across an area as large football fields. He could not orient himself. He was lost, overwhelmed by the dizzying spread.

Then he spotted the dark-green Soyuz capsule jutting out. He was underneath the Russian end of the station. Instantly snapped into place.

His gaze shot to the American end, and he identified the U.S. hab. At the upper end of the hab was Node 1, which led to the air lock.

He knew where he was going.

Here came the leap of faith. With only his SAFER jet pack to propel him, he would be crossing empty space without tethers, without anything to anchor him. He activated the jet pack, pushed off from Apogee, and launched himself toward ISS. It was his first EVA, and he was clumsy and inexperienced, unable to judge how quickly he was closing in on his goal. He slammed into the hab hull with such force he almost caromed off, and barely managed to grab onto a handhold.

Hurry. She is dying.

Sick with dread, he clambered up the length of the hab, his breaths coming hard and fast.

"Houston," he panted. "I need Surgeon -- have him standing by -- "

"Roger that."

"Almost -- I'm almost to Node One -- "

"Jack, this is Surgeon." It was Todd Cutler's voice, speaking with quiet urgency. "You've been out of the loop for two days. You need to know a few things. Emma's last dose of HCG was fifty-five hours ag,. since then, her labs have deteriorated. Amylase and sky-high. Last transmission, she was complaining of headaches and visual loss. That was six hours ago. We don't know her current condition."

"I'm at the airlock hatch!"

"Station control software has been switched to EVA mode. You're a go for repress." Jack swung open the hatch and pulled himself into the crew lock. As he twisted around to close the external hatch, he caught glimpse of Apogee II. She was already moving away. His only lifeboat was going home without him. He'd passed the point of no return.

He closed and sealed the hatch. "Pressure-equalization valve open," he said. "Beginning repress."

"I'm trying to prepare you for the worst," said Todd. "In case she -- "

"Tell me something useful!"

"Okay. Okay, here's the latest from USAMRIID. The Ranavirus does seem to work on their lab animals. But it's only been in early cases. If it's given during the first thirty-six hours infection."

"What if it's given after that?" Cutler didn't respond. His silence confirmed the worst.

The crew lock pressure was up to fourteen psi. Jack opened the middle hatch and dove into the equipment lock. Frantically he detached his gloves, then doffed his Orlan-M suit and wriggled out of the cooling garment. From the Orlan's zippered pockets he pulled out various packets containing emergency medications and prefilled syringes of Ranavirus. By now he was shaking with fear, terrified of what he would find inside the station. He swung open the inner hatch.

And confronted his worst nightmare.

She was floating in the gloom of Node 1, like a swimmer adrift in a dark sea. Only this swimmer was drowning. Her limbs jerked in rhythmic spasms. Convulsions wracked her spine, and her head snapped forward and back, her hair lashing like a whip. Death throes.

No, he thought. I won't let you die. Goddamnit, Emma, you are not going to leave me.

He grasped her around the waist and began to pull her toward the Russian end of the station. Toward the modules that still had power and light.

Her body twitched like a live wire jolted by electric shocks, thrashing in his arms. She was so small, so fragile, the strength now coursing through her dying body threatened to overpower his grip on her.

Weightlessness was new to him, and he bounced drunkenly off walls and hatchways as he struggled to maneuver them both into the Russian service module.

"Jack, talk to me," said Todd. "What's going on?"

"I've moved her into the RSM -- getting her onto the restraint board -- "

"Have you given the virus?"

"Tying her down first. She's seizing -- " He fastened the Velcro straps over her chest and hips, anchoring her torso to the medical restraint board. Her head slammed backward, her eyes rolling up into the orbits.

The sclerae were a brilliant and horrifying red. Give her the virus. Do it now.

A tourniquet was looped around the restraint-board frame. He whipped it free and tied it around her thrashing arm. It took all strength to forcibly extend her elbow, to expose the antecubital vein. With his teeth he uncapped the syringe of Ranavirus.

Stabbing the needle into her arm, he squeezed the plunger.

"It's in!" he said. "The whole syringe!"

"What's she doing?"

"She's still seizing!"

"There's IV Dilantin in the med kit."

"I see it. I'm starting an IV!" The tourniquet floated by, a startling reminder that in weightlessness, what was not tied down would quickly drift out of reach. He snatched it from midair and reached, once again, for Emma's arm.

A moment later he reported, "Dilantin's going in! IV's running wide open."

"Any change?" Jack stared at his wife, silently demanding, Come on, Emma.

Don't die on me.

Slowly her spine relaxed. Her neck went limp and her head stopped battering the board. Her eyes rolled forward, and he could see her irises now, two dark pools ringed by bloodred sclerae. At his first glimpse of her pupils, a moan rose in his throat.

Her left pupil was fully dilated. Black and lifeless.

He was too late. She was dying.

He cupped her face in his hands, as though by sheer will he could force her to live. But even as he pleaded with her not to him, he knew that she would not be saved by mere touch or prayer.

Death was an organic process. Biochemical functions, the movement of long across cell membranes, slowly ceased. The brain waves flattened.

The rhythmic contractions of myocardial cells faded to quiver. Just wishing it so would not make her live.

But she was not dead. Not yet.

"Todd," he said.

"I'm here."

"What is the terminal event? What happens to the lab animals?"

"I don't follow -- "

"You said Ranavirus works, if given early enough in the infection. Which means it must be killing Chimera. So why doesn't it work when given later?"

"Too much tissue damage has occurred. There's internal bleeding -- "

"Bleeding where? What do the autopsies show?"

"Seventy-five percent of the time, in dogs, the fatal hemorrhage is intracranial. Chimera's enzymes damage blood vessels on the surface of the cerebral cortex. The vessels rupture, and the bleeding causes a catastrophic rise in intracranial pressure. It's massive head injury, Jack. The brain herniates."

"What if you stop the bleeding, stop the brain damage? If you get the victims past the acute stage, they might live long enough Ranavirus to work."

"Possibly." Jack stared down at Emma's dilated left pupil. A terrible memory flashed into his head, Debbie Haning, unconscious on a hospital gurney. He had failed Debbie. He had waited too long to take action, and because of his indecision, he had lost her.

I will not lose you.

He said, "Todd, she's blown her left pupil. She needs burr holes."

"What? You're working blind. Without X-ray -- "

"It's the only chance she has! I need a drill. Tell me where the work tools are kept!"