'No word. It's been silent up there.'
'How long since the last transmission?'
'Jack signed off five hours ago to get some sleep. It's been almost three days since he got much rest. We're trying not to disturb him.'
Three days, and still no change in Emma's status. Gordon sighed and headed along the back row to the flight surgeon's console. Todd Cutler, unshaven and haggard, was watching Emma's biotelemetry readings on his monitor. And when had Todd last slept? Gordon wondered. Every one looked exhausted, but no one was ready to admit defeat.
'She's still hanging in there,' Todd said softly. 'We've withdrawn the phenobarb.'
'But she hasn't come out of the coma?'
'No.' Sighing, Todd slumped back and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I don't know what else to do. I've never dealt with before. Neurosurgery in space.' It was a phrase many of them had uttered over the last few weeks. I've never dealt with this before. This is new. This is something we've never seen. Yet wasn't that the essence of exploration? That no crisis could be predicted, that every new problem required its own solution. That every triumph was built on sacrifice.
And there had been triumphs, even in the midst of all this tragedy.
Apogee II had landed safely in the Arizona desert, and Casper Mulholland was now negotiating his company's first contract with the Air Force.
Jack was still healthy, even three days being aboard ISS -- an indication that Ranavirus was both a cure and a preventive against Chimera. And the very fact that Emma was alive counted as a triumph as well.
Though perhaps only a temporary one.
Gordon felt a profound sense of sadness as he watched her EKG blip across the screen. How long can the heart go on beating when the brain is gone? he wondered. How long can a body survive a coma? To watch this slow fading away of a once-vibrant woman was more painful than to witness her sudden and catastrophic death.
Suddenly he sat up straight, his gaze frozen on the monitor.
'Todd,' he said. 'What's happening to her?'
'What?'
'There's something wrong with her heart.' Todd raised his head and stared at the tracing shuddering across the monitor. 'No,' he said, and reached for the comm switch. 'That's not her heart.' The high whine of the monitor alarm sliced through Jack's twilight sleep, and he awakened with a start. Years of medical training, of countless nights spent in on-call rooms, had taught him to surface fully alert from the deepest sleep, and the instant he opened his eyes he knew where he was. He knew something was wrong.
He turned toward the sound of the alarm and was briefly disoriented by his upside-down view. Emma appeared to be suspended facedown from the ceiling. One of her three EKG leads floated loose, like a strand of sea grass drifting underwater. He turned hundred eighty degrees, and everything righted itself.
He reattached her EKG lead. His own heart was racing as he watched the monitor, afraid of what he would see. To his relief, normal rhythm blipped across the screen.
And then -- something else. A shuddering of the line. Movement.
He looked down at Emma. And saw that her eyes were open.
'ISS is not responding,' said Capcom.
'Keep trying. We need him on comm now!' snapped Todd.
Gordon stared at the biotelemetry readings, not understanding any of it, and fearing the worst. The EKG skittered up and down, then suddenly went flat. No, he thought. We've lost her!
'It's just a disconnect,' said Todd. 'The lead's fallen off. She may be seizing.'
'Still no response from ISS,' said Capcom.
'What the hell is going on up there?'
'Look!' said Gordon.
Both men froze as a blip appeared on the screen. It was followed by another and another.
'Surgeon, I have ISS,' Capcom announced. 'Requesting immediate consultation.' Todd shot forward in his chair. 'Ground Control, close the loop. Go ahead, Jack.'
It was a private conversation, no one but Todd could hear what Jack was saying. In the sudden hush, everyone in the room turned to look at the surgeon's console. Even Gordon, seated right him, could not read Todd's expression. Todd was hunched forward, both hands cupping his headset, as though to shut out any distractions.
Then he said, 'Hold on, Jack. There are a lot of folks down here waiting to hear this. Let's tell them the news.' Todd turned to Flight Director Ellis and gave him a triumphant thumbs-up.
'Watson's awake! She's talking!' What happened next would remain forever etched in Gordon Obie's memory. He heard voices swell, cresting into noisy cheers.
He felt Todd slap him on the back, hard. Liz Gianni gave a rebel whoop.
And Woody Ellis fell into his chair with a look of and joy.
But what Gordon would remember most of all was his own reaction. He looked around the room and suddenly found his throat was aching and his eyes were blurred. In all his years at NASA, no one had ever seen Gordon Obie cry. They were damn well not going to see it now.
They were still cheering as he rose from his chair and walked, unnoticed, out of the room.
Five Months Later
Panama City, Florida
The squeal of hinges and the clank of metal echoed in the vast Navy hangar as the door to the hyperbaric chamber at last swung open.
Jared Profitt watched as the two Navy physicians stepped out first, both of them taking in deep breaths as they emerged. They had spent over a month confined to that claustrophic space, and they seemed a little dazed by their sudden transition into freedom. turned to assist the last two occupants out of the chamber.
Emma Watson and Jack McCallum stepped out. They both focused on Jared Profitt, crossing toward them.
'Welcome back to the world, Dr. Watson,' he said, and held out his hand in greeting.
She hesitated, then shook it. She looked far thinner than her photographs. More fragile. Four months quarantined in space, followed by five weeks in the hyperbaric chamber, had taken its toll.
She had lost muscle mass, and her eyes seemed huge and darkly luminous in that pale face. The hair growing back on her shaved scalp was silver, a startling contrast against the rest of her mane.
Profitt looked at the two Navy doctors. 'Could you leave us alone, please?' He waited until their footsteps faded away.
Then he asked Emma, 'Are you feeling well?'
'Well enough,' she said. 'They tell me I'm free of disease.'
'None that can be detected,' he corrected her. This was an important distinction. Though they had demonstrated that Ranavirus did indeed eradicate Chimera in lab animals, they could not be certain of Emma's long-term prognosis. The best they could say was that there was no evidence of Chimera in her body. From the moment she'd landed aboard Endeavour, she'd been subjected to repeated blood tests, X rays, and biopsies. Though all were negative, USAMRIID had insisted she remain in the hyperbaric while the tests continued. Two weeks ago, the chamber pressure had been dropped to a normal one atmosphere. She had remained healthy.
Even now, she was not entirely free. For the rest of her life she would be a subject of study.
He looked at Jack and saw hostility in the man's eyes. Jack had said nothing, but his arm circled Emma's waist in a protective gesture that said clearly, You are not taking her from me.
'Dr. McCallum, I hope you understand that every decision I made was for a good reason.'
'I understand your reasons. It doesn't mean I agree with your decisions.'
