'The EKG shows only nonspecific changes -- a few T wave inversions. It's not a classic pattern for an MI. Also, Hirai thoroughly screened for cardiovascular disease prior to his in the program. He had no risk factors. Frankly, we're not sure what's going on. But we do have to assume he has had a heart attack. Which makes a shuttle evac the best option. It's a reentry and a controlled landing. Far less stress on the patient coming home in the CRV. In the meantime, ISS can deal with any arrhythmias he may have.'
Jack looked up from the lab reports he'd been scanning. 'Without the necessary lab equipment, the station can't fractionate CK levels. So how can we be sure this enzyme is really from the heart?' Every one's attention turned to him.
'What do you mean by 'fractionate'?' asked Woody Ellis.
'Creatine kinase is an enzyme that helps muscle cells utilize stored energy. It's found in both striated and cardiac muscle. If there's damage to heart cells, say, in a heart attack, the CK rise in the blood. That's why we're assuming he had a heart attack. But what if it's not the heart?'
'What else could it be?'
'Some other type of muscle damage. Trauma, for instance, or convulsions. Inflammation. In fact, just a simple intramuscular injection can cause the CK to rise. You need to fractionate the CK order to tell if it's from heart muscle. The station can't do that test.'
'So he may not have had a heart attack at all.'
'Correct. And here's another puzzling detail. After acute muscle damage, his CK levels should drop back to normal. But look at the pattern.' Jack flipped through the lab sheets and read off the numbers. 'In the last twenty- four hours, his levels have been steadily rising. Which indicates continued damage.'
'It's just part of the bigger puzzle,' said Todd. 'We've got abnormal results all over the board, without any recognizable pattern. Liver enzymes, renal abnormalities, sedimentation rate, blood cell counts. Some labs go up while others are dropping. It's as though different organ systems are taking turns being attacked.
Jack looked at him. 'Attacked?'
'Just a figure of speech, Jack. I don't know what process we're dealing with. I know it's not lab error. We've run controls on other crew members, and they're perfectly normal.'
'But is he sick enough to warrant any evac?' The question was asked by the mission operations director for the shuttle. He was not happy about any of this. Discovery's original mission was to retrieve and repair the classified Capricorn spy satellite. Now mission had been usurped by this crisis. 'Washington is not happy about postponing the satellite repair. You've commandeered their flight so Discovery can play flying ambulance. Is it really necessary? Can't Hirai recover on the station?'
'We can't predict it. We don't know what's wrong with him,' said Todd.
'You have a physician up there, for God's sake. Can't she figure it out?'
Jack tensed. This was an attack on Emma. 'She doesn't have X-ray vision,' he said.
'She's got just about everything else at her disposal. What'd you call the station, Dr. Cutler? A well-equipped medical facility?
'Astronaut Hirai needs to get home, as expeditiously as possible,' said Todd. 'That remains our position. If you want to second guess your flight surgeons, that's your choice. All I can say is, I'd never presume to second- guess an engineer on propulsion systems.' That effectively ended the argument.
The NSTS deputy director said, 'Are there any other concerns?'
'Weather,' said the NASA forecaster. 'I just thought I'd mention there's a storm system developing west of Guadeloupe and moving very slowly westward. It won't affect the launch. But depending on its path, it could be a problem for Kennedy in the next week or so.'
'Thanks for the heads up.' The deputy director glanced around the room and saw no further questions. 'Then launch is still a go for five A.M. CDT. See you all there.'
Punta Arena, Mexico
The Sea of Cortez shimmered like beaten silver in the fading light.
From her table on the outdoor deck of the Las Tres Virgenes cafe, Helen Koenig could see fishing boats heading back to Punta Colorado. This was the time of day she loved best, the evening cool against her sun-flushed skin, her muscles pleasantly weary from an afternoon's swim. A waiter brought the margarita she'd ordered and set the drink before her.
'Gracias, senor,' she murmured.
For an instant he met her gaze. She saw a quiet and dignified man with tired eyes and silver-streaked hair, and she felt a prick discomfort.
Yankee guilt, she thought as she watched him walk back to the bar. A feeling she experienced every time she drove down to Baja. She sipped her drink and gazed at the sea, to the whining trumpets of a mariachi band playing somewhere up the beach.
It had been a good day, and she'd spent almost all of it in the sea. A two-tank dive in the morning followed by a shallower dive the afternoon.
And then, just before dinner, a swim in the sunset-gilded waters. The sea was her comfort, her sanctuary. It always been so. Unlike the love of a man, the sea was constant it never disappointed her. It was always ready to embrace her, soothe her, and in moments of crisis she found herself fleeing its waiting arms.
This was why she had come to Baja. To swim in warm waters and to be alone, where no one could reach her. Not even Palmer Gabriel.
Her lips puckered from the tang of the margarita. She drank it down and ordered a second. Already the alcohol made her feel as if she were floating. No matter, she was now a free woman. The project was finished, aborted. The cultures destroyed. Even Palmer was furious with her, she knew she had done the right thing. The safe thing. Tomorrow she would sleep in, order hot chocolate and huevos rancheros for breakfast. Then she'd slip beneath the waters for another dive, another return to her seagreen lover.
A woman's laughter drew her attention. Helen looked at the bar, where a couple was flirting, the woman slim and tanned, the man with muscles like steel cord. A vacation fling in the making. would probably have dinner together, walk along the beach, hold hands.
Then there would be a kiss, an embrace, all the hormone-charged rituals of mating. Helen watched them with both a scientist's interest and a woman's envy. She knew such rituals did apply to her. She was forty-nine years old and she looked it. Her waist was thick, her hair more than half gray, and her face was unremarkable save for the intelligence of her eyes. She was not of woman who attracted looks from sun-bronzed Adonises.
She finished the second margarita. By now the floating sensation had spread to her whole body, and she knew it was time to get some food in her stomach. She opened the menu. 'Restaurante de Las Tres Virgenes' it said at the top. The Three Virgins. An appropriate place for her to eat.
She might as well be a virgin.
The waiter came to take her order. She looked up at him and had just requested the grilled dorado when her eyes focused on the TV over the bar, on the image of the space shuttle poised on the launchpad.
'What's happening?' she said, pointing to the TV. The waiter shrugged.
'Turn up the sound,' she called out to the bartender. 'Please! I need to hear it!' He reached for the volume knob, and the broadcast spilled out in English. An American channel. Helen crossed to the bar counter and stared at the television.
' ... medical evacuation of astronaut Kenichi Hirai. NASA has not released any further information, but reports indicate their flight surgeons remain baffled by his illness. Based on today's tests, they felt it was prudent to launch a shuttle rescue. is expected to lift off tomorrow at six A.M. Eastern Daylight Time.'
'Senora?' said the waiter.
Helen turned and saw he was still holding his order pad. 'Do you wish another drink?'
'No. No, I have to leave.'
'But your food -- '
'Cancel my order. Please.' She opened her purse, handed him fifteen dollars, and hurried out of the restaurant.
