A Step Beyond Read online

  Brunnet, still under the influence of the sedation, mumbled a few unintelligible words. He took several deep breaths in an attempt to clear his mind of the lingering effects of his medication. He motioned for Endicott to come closer and waited until Endicott’s ear was only inches away before whispering into it. The two words barely made it past his lips.

  “He told me thank you,” Endicott said. He was still worried over Brunnet’s condition, but for the first time since the operation he actually felt proud of what he had done. He attempted to contain the smile that emerged.

  “Vladimir suspects,” Tanya Pavlova said.

  “Suspects what?” her commander asked. They were in the command module, alone, their faces dimly lit by the multicolored lights of the navigation panel.

  “Us.”

  “Nonsense, there is nothing to suspect.”

  “He suspects us, nonetheless.”

  “If he suspects, then we should oblige and provide him with something to suspect. I am tired of waiting. Why do you tease me so?”

  “Come now.” Tanya laughed. “You are beginning to sound like Vladimir. Perhaps I like to tease you. Perhaps it gives me pleasure.”

  “You are cruel.”

  “I have never heard anything so ridiculous. He suspects; therefore, you must not be so open with your advances.”

  “Ah-ha, so you don’t mind?”

  “Mind what?” she replied, feigning confusion.

  “You don’t actually mind my advances.” As he spoke, he moved a few inches closer to Tanya. “You just mind their openness.” She responded by moving the same distance backward, which without the benefit of full-Earth gravity she did awkwardly, and was forced to grab Komarov’s sleeve to steady herself. He offered his hand to help, but she withdrew hers the moment he touched it.

  “Of course I mind. I am a married woman, and you are a married man, and neither one of us is married to each other. It would be wrong of me not to mind. I warn you, Dima, keep your distance. Vladimir is a sensitive person; I cannot bear to hurt him.”

  “There is no need for him to know,” her commander persisted.

  “I said no.”

  “Yesterday you didn’t say no.”

  “Yesterday was another day, and I did say no.”

  “You said, ‘Perhaps later.’ That is not no.”

  “Well now is later, and I say no.”

  Realizing it was time to change his approach, Komarov backed away. Almost immediately, his stern countenance melted into a forlorn pout. He turned his palms outward as if to ask the gods what he had done to deserve such harsh treatment.

  “Do you find me disagreeable?” he asked.

  “Save your theatrics for sixteen-year-old girls who don’t know any better.” Tanya paused, placed her hands on her hips, and looked him up and down. “No, I don’t find you disagreeable, Dmitri Fyodorovich, but I am not interested. I already have one man to tend to. I don’t need another.”

  “A hypothetical question then. If you were not married, would you be interested?”

  “I refuse to answer your hypothetical question.”

  “You are an impossible woman.”

  “So I have been told.”

  “You will change your mind. Not today, but eventually.” “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.”

  “You will,” he repeated, with a knowing smirk.

  “You are incorrigible, Dmitri,” she said with a smile.

  “It is one of my better traits.”

  Tanya suddenly leaned over and kissed her commander hard on the lips. For a brief moment her tongue slipped from her mouth into his, then darted quickly back. She pulled away before he could respond.

  “Just something for you to think about,” she said. She turned her back and left the room without another word.

  Al Carter was in the lab module, leaning back on a chair, his feet plopped upon a stack of books placed between two makeshift beds. A stethoscope dangled from his neck, and a thermometer poked out from his shirt pocket. He flipped an aluminum coin in the air. It spun in slow motion as it climbed to the top of its arc, where it hung suspended for a second, then lazily fell into his outstretched hand. He flipped the coin again. The difference in its motion because of the reduced gravity intrigued him.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep.” The voice came from one of the two beds. It belonged to Endicott. “We’ll be all right. You can’t do anything for us right now.”

  “It’s no bother,” Al replied.

  “Seriously,” Endicott insisted. “The best thing for all of us is some rest. You received a relatively high dosage yourself.”

  “How do you feel?” Al asked.

  “Slightly nauseous,” Endicott admitted. “Although the diarrhea appears to have ceased.”

  “How about you, Jean Paul?”

  “I’ve felt better.” At the blurred edge of Jean Paul’s vision, a coin flashed brightly as it twirled through the air.

  “It’s time to take some blood,” Carter said.

  “Didn’t you take some just a few hours ago?” Brunnet protested. “I’m weak enough as it is. Carl, are you going to let this man stick another hypodermic into me?”

  “I assume you have checked with the med-assist,” Endicott offered weakly.

  “I am to take samples every twelve hours. I can bring it up on the screen if you like.”

  “No need.” Endicott allowed his head to roll to one side until one eye was buried in the white clouds of his pillow. The other peered over at his fellow patient. “He needs the blood to assess your condition. I would do the same.”

  Brunnet sighed and withdrew into silent reflection. He wasn’t feeling well enough to offer resistance. He stared blankly at the ceiling. Carter’s hand appeared above him and descended, growing larger as it got nearer, until it touched his forehead. It was uncomfortably cold.

  “Jesus, you’re burning up,” Carter exclaimed.

  “Am I?” Brunnet replied meekly. “I feel cold.”

  “The med-assist should have detected the rise in temperature. What the hell is going on?” He turned to the computer and requested a temperature check. The reading remained at 98.7.

  “Are you certain?” Endicott asked.

  “He’s burnin’ up, I tell you.”

  “Might be a malfunction in the sensor,” Endicott said, propping himself up by his elbows. “Check it manually.”

  Carter retrieved the thermometer from his pocket and cleaned it with a tissue soaked with disinfectant prior to placing it inside Brunnet’s mouth. The digital readout climbed quickly: 98 . . . 99 . . . 100 . . . 101 . . . 102 . . . 102.5 . . . 103.

  Carter shook the electronic thermometer as if it were broken, as if the sudden motion would fix it, or at least lower the reading. The number did not change.

  “One hundred and three,” he said. “Doc, what should I do?” “The very first thing we’ve got to do is bring his temperature down. Could you pass the keyboard over here.” Endicott scanned the distant screen then typed several instructions. “That should take care of the medication. I want you to take several towels and wet them down with cool water. We’re going to lower his temperature by covering his body with the towels. I’ll remove his clothing.”

  “Right,” Carter said.

  With some effort, Endicott managed to sit upright and drop his legs over the edge of his bed. He shook his head to clear it and, after pausing to gather his strength, jumped the few inches to the floor. The sudden shift in blood from his head to his lower extremities caused him to sway and buckle at the knees. He grabbed his bedsheet for support, but the sheet gave away and he fell to the deck.

  Carter turned around in time to witness the white sheet settle gently on top of Endicott. It formed a large, white lump on the floor, and looked similar to a shroud placed by the police upon a dead body at the scene of a crime. The body underneath the shroud was still.

  He hesitated, wondering if he should alert Nelson, but decided against it. He bent down next to the doct
or and cautiously pulled back the sheet. Endicott’s face was pale. The lips were white. Carter placed his hand next to the mouth. He did not feel anything. He checked Endicott’s wrist for a pulse. The wrist was warm. He thought he could detect a pulse but was unsure. He checked his own wrist to make certain he was applying the right amount of pressure, then he rechecked the doctor’s. He felt a slight pulse. He grabbed one of the towels he had just dampened and placed it on the doctor’s forehead.

  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?”