Sluggishly, Endicott opened his eyes.
“What happened?” he asked, slurring his words.
“You tell me. One moment you’re sitting up telling me to soak some towels, the next I find you passed out on the floor. You tell me what happened.”
“I must have fainted.”
“You’re damn right you must have fainted. Jesus, Doc, just stay in bed. I’ll take care of Jean Paul.”
The room swirled by in blurred shadows as Endicott shook his head. Carter grabbed him under his arms and helped him to the makeshift bed. The reduced gravity made it seem like he was picking up an old man. Brunnet was watching from the corner of his eye.
“Feeling any better?” Carter asked.
“I must have fainted,” Endicott repeated.
“Just stay where you are.” Carter tucked in the bedsheet to prevent the doctor from getting up. He turned to face Brunnet, then looked down at the wet towels he had dropped on the floor. Without saying a word, he picked up the towels and tossed them on the bed beside Brunnet. With the tips of his fingers he gently touched the scientist’s forehead. He shook his head in disbelief, wondering how his temperature could have risen so quickly and without warning. He untied the cotton gown that was wrapped loosely around Brunnet’s body, and carefully removed it. The sight of the inflamed wound caused him to step back. It was red and purple and a sickly yellow, and it was bulging outward against the stitches. He was unable to take his eyes away. The infected area absorbed him and filled him with revulsion. He started to feel the same nausea he had felt in the operating room. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then concentrated on blocking the feeling from his mind. He grew angry. A man’s life was in his hands. After several more deep breaths he regained his composure.
“Doc, you’d better see this,” he said.
“I don’t think I should get up,” Endicott replied. “I’m still feeling a bit light-headed. Why don’t you describe it to me.”
“How about I show you.” He went over to a cabinet and unclipped a mirror attached inside. He held the mirror with both hands above the two beds and attempted to angle it so that Endicott could see the wound. The doctor turned his head until the pillow blocked his view and motioned with his index finger for Carter to move the mirror slightly. He cringed as the reflection of the wound came into full view.
“You need to increase the antibiotics,” he said weakly. “Double the dosage.”
“You sure?”
“Do it,” Endicott replied.
Carter typed in the command to adjust the amount of medication administered by the IV. The med-assist challenged the request.
“What do I tell it?” Carter asked.
“Tell it severe infection in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen accompanied by a fever of one hundred and three.”
At the sound of the last key the med-assist turned a brilliant red and reported a conflict in the temperature reading. It requested verification. Carter explained the discrepancy as a sensor malfunction. The med-assist accepted the explanation, but made an alternate recommendation.
Carter looked over his shoulder at Endicott. The doctor’s pupils were broken into jagged dots, obscured by the tiny slits his wrinkled eyelids had formed.
“I can barely make it out,” he said, squinting.
Carter enlarged the print.
“Increase the clindamycin by one-third,” Endicott said.
The med-assist analyzed but did not question the adjustment, and moments later the medication flowed into Brunnet’s veins. “I want you to wrap him in the towels,” Endicott said. He was becoming more alert. “His temperature is dangerously high. I suspect the radiation might have reduced his white blood-cell count, in which case he would be more susceptible to infection. I may need to go back in. Do a blood analysis as soon as you’ve wrapped him. An accurate white count is critical. Also, see if you can determine what is wrong with the sensor. The med-assist should have detected the rise in temperature.”
“Do you think it is serious?” Brunnet asked, his voice shaking.
Endicott hesitated for a second before responding. He knew that under the circumstances Brunnet’s condition could be fatal. The radiation could have complicated his recovery. If the antibiotics did not take effect, he would have to open him and clean out the wound. He did not have the strength to perform any more surgery.
“An infection is not an uncommon development after an appendectomy,” he said. He tried to sound optimistic. “The antibiotics should clear it up.”
“Just how bad is it?” Brunnet asked, as damp towels were being draped over his body.
“We don’t know yet,” Endicott replied. “The diagnosis depends largely upon the results of the blood analysis. We should have . . .”
Nelson’s voice trumpeted from the ceiling. The startled occupants of the lab module looked up at the plastic web-bing that covered the intercom. “The main console is showing a condition red medical emergency. What’s going on in there?”
“The sensor that was monitoring Brunnet has malfunctioned,” Al replied. “He’s got a temperature of one hundred and three, and his gut appears to be infected. The doc says he may have to go back in.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Carter placed the last of the wet towels over Brunnet’s feet. He then went to the drawer that contained the hypodermics and selected the needle he had sterilized earlier. Needles had bothered him ever since he was a young child. He could recall a white office that smelled like rubbing alcohol and a man with a long needle that looked like it would go all the way through his arm. He had swung his arm back as the needle entered it. The needle broke. He remembered the pain and his fear that there would be even more pain because the needle had broken. The doctor removed the needle with a pliers. The doctor said he would have to try again, and they strapped him down to a table. He had nightmares for months afterward.
Carter jabbed the needle into Brunnet’s arm.
“You’re perspiring,” Brunnet said.
“I’ll be damned,” Carter said, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He watched as the blood filled the syringe. “Must be all that heat you’re puttin’ out.”
Colonel Nelson entered the room and stopped. The lines around his mouth could have been chiseled in rock. He displayed no emotion. He scanned the faces and the eyes of his men. Without a word he went to Brunnet and placed his hand on his forehead.
“How long has he been like this?” he demanded.
There was an awkward pause as both Carter and Endicott wondered who should respond. Carter placed an antiseptic strip on the puncture. The strip turned red.
“Well?” he prompted.
“I don’t rightly know,” Carter replied. “The damn sensor . . .” “Endicott, diagnosis.”
“The wound is infected. We’ll need to perform a rectal examination to determine if there is an intra-abdominal abscess.”
“Give it to me in layman’s terms.”
“Pus near the inflamed tissue. It can be drained through the rectum if necessary. His condition is not uncommon, and under normal circumstances can be safely treated. I am concerned about the amount of radiation he absorbed. Excessive radiation can induce leukopenia.”
Nelson raised his eyebrows.
“A decreased production of white blood cells,” Endicott explained. “The very same cells that neutralize infection. His immune system could be impaired. I may need to go back in to clean the wound. Al is about to run a blood analysis. Hopefully, the additional antibiotics will clear the infection.”
“You don’t look so good. You up to this?”
“I can do it.”
“Has anybody notified Earth?”
“Not directly,” Carter replied. “They should have received the information I fed into the med-assist. That was about half an hour ago.” He paused to read the flashing contents of a window that had opened on the console. “The results of the blood test just came up. Appears the white count is low.”
“That’s not good.” Endicott had managed to free himself from his sheets and was once again sitting at the edge of his bed. “We should proceed with the rectal examination immediately.”
“Concur,” Nelson said. He looked at his watch, which was set for Greenwich Mean Time, and calculated the time would be 3 A.M. in Houston. Doctors Lear and Cain would have to be awakened.
Carter pulled the thermometer out of Brunnet’s mouth and held it at arm’s length to examine it.
“One hundred and two,” he said. “It’s gone down.”
“I certainly hope so,” Brunnet said. “It’s cold under these towels. Can they be removed now?”
Carter looked over at Endicott, who shook his head.
“Sorry, pal,” Carter said. “No can do.”
Moments later the communications window announced over the intercom that a message had been received from Earth. The window automatically expanded to fill the entire screen, and the familiar, somewhat pale face of the night operations manager appeared.
“The med-assist telemetry indicates a sudden increase in Major Brunnet’s temperature with possible infection. Medical condition red. Please confirm.”
“Condition confirmed,” Endicott replied weakly. “Transmitting medical data now. I will be conducting a rectal examination to determine the extent of the infection. Please alert the appropriate medical personnel.”
“I
have just received a communication from Colonel Nelson indicating that Brunnet’s condition is critical,” Colonel Dmitri Komarov said to his three crew members. “They will be performing emergency surgery within the hour. His chances of survival are at best fifty-fifty.”
“Fifty-fifty,” Vladimir repeated unbelievingly. His hands were entwined with Tanya’s. “How can that be?”
“There were complications owing to the radiation. His immune system is failing him.”
“What if he dies?” Tanya asked. “How would that affect the mission?”
“They can get by without him. The American lander does not require a full crew to land. There will be some differences, of course.”
“He is a brilliant man,” Satomura said. “It would be a great loss.”
“He won’t die,” Tanya said. “We must pray that he doesn’t.” Satomura frowned at Tatiana’s suggestion. For them to pray would not help Brunnet survive. He looked at Tatiana and Vladimir, fingers interlocked, and could see that they were scared. They were too young, he thought, to be aboard a mission like this. They should be back on Earth raising children. Satomura’s attempt to smile produced awkward breaks in the lines that creased his face and revealed two crooked rows of dull white teeth. His intention was to reassure the couple that everything would be all right. But a smile was so foreign to his face, it had the opposite effect.
“Are you feeling well?” Tanya asked.
“Yes,” Satomura scowled, “I am feeling well. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Before Komarov could say otherwise, the aging scientist disappeared abruptly through the portal.
“What was that all about?” Vladimir asked.
“I’ve never seen him so concerned,” Tanya remarked. “He’s always so analytical. I had almost forgotten he was human.”
“Comrades,” Komarov said in a tone that marked his disapproval.
“Well, it is true,” he said. “Sometimes he is like a robot. All logic, no emotion. Scientists can be that way.”
“Perhaps death frightens him,” Vladimir said. “He might be thinking of his wife. I understand he was never quite the same after she passed away.”
Within the small confines of the cabin, the several meters that separated the couple from Komarov were uncomfortably short. Eyes were focused on the floor and the ceiling. Although Vladimir could sense the tension, he attributed it largely to Brunnet’s situation and thought it unlikely it had anything to do with his wife and Dmitri. To reassure himself, he hugged Tanya warmly. She returned his warmth with a gentle kiss. Komarov saw all of this and decided it would be best to leave.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” he said. “I will notify you as soon as I hear something.”
The couple nodded in silence as they watched Komarov disappear through the portal. Vladimir was the first to speak.
“I apologize,” he said.
“And for what are you apologizing?”
“For last night. For accusing you of sleeping with Komarov. I don’t know what could have gotten into me. Sometimes my mind gets so filled with crazy thoughts I just can’t think.”
“I don’t think this is the time to discuss such things.” “You’re right. But I want you to know I am sorry.” “There is nothing to be sorry about.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Consider yourself forgiven,” she said, and gently placed a finger on his lips to silence him. He kissed her finger. “Do you think he’ll survive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why does it take death to remind us how precious life is?” Vladimir did not answer the question. It was not meant to be answered. All he could do in response was hold his wife tighter. He could sense her sadness and wanted very much to remove it but knew the only thing that would change her mood would be word from the American ship. He closed his eyes and prayed that Brunnet would survive.
They received the communication three hours later. Jean Paul Brunnet had died during the operation.
T
he NASA contingency plan for a funeral in space took into consideration the minutest of details, including the specific articles of clothing the deceased was to wear, the color of his socks, his underwear, and the medals, if any, to be pinned on his chest. The necessary passages from the Bible were included, along with suggested sentiments that could be expressed. How the body was to be prepared and what samples, hair, skin, fingernails, blood, urine, et cetera, had to be preserved for analysis on Earth were described with meticulous care. What combination of chemicals could be used to form a makeup base filled several screens. The arms were to be folded over the chest. The hair was to be sprayed in place. The eyes closed. Once the deceased was prepared and the final words spoken, the body was to be ejected into space. As Colonel Nelson read through the screens he began to think the level of detail was excessive. It was typical NASA. They possessed an insatiable need for detail. He was disgusted by it.
He turned the monitor off and watched the screen fade slowly into black. That was how Brunnet had died. The light had just faded from his eyes. Nelson did not feel well. He was suffering from mild symptoms of radiation sickness. Resting his elbows on his knees, he lowered his head and cradled it between his two large hands.