Deep Storm (7 page)

Can I get you something to drink, Peter? Corbett asked.

No thanks.

A snack of some kind?

Im fine, really. The sooner we get to the medical problem, the better.

Corbett and Bishop exchanged glances.

Actually, Dr. Crane, its not problem, Bishop said. Its problems.

Really? Well, I guess Im not surprised. After all, if were dealing with some variant of caisson disease here, it often presents in a variety of ways.

Caisson disease was so named because it was first diagnosed in the mid-nineteenth century in men working in environments of compressed air. One environment was in the first caisson dug beneath New Yorks East River to support the Brooklyn Bridge. If the diggers in the caisson reemerged into open air too quickly after working under pressure, nitrogen bubbles formed in their bloodstreams. This caused, among other symptoms, intense pain in the arms and legs. Sufferers frequently doubled over in agony, and the ailment became known mordantly as the Grecian bend. This led to the nickname the bends. Given the depth at which they were currently working, Crane felt certain caisson disease was involved one way or another.

I assume you have a hyperbaric oxygen therapy chamber or some other kind of recompression equipment on site youve been treating the patients with? he asked. When were done here, Id like to question them directly, if you dont mind.

Actually, Doctor, Bishop said in a clipped voice, I think we could proceed more quickly if you let me outline the symptomology, rather than make assumptions.

This took Crane by surprise. He looked at her, unsure why she had responded so tartly. Sorry if Im overeager or presumptuous. Its been a long trip, and Im very curious. Go right ahead.

We initially became aware something was wrong about two weeks ago. At first it seemed more a psychological issue than a physiological one. Roger noticed a spike in the number of walk-in visits.

Crane glanced at Corbett. What were the symptoms?

Some people complained of sleep disturbances, Corbett said. Others, malaise. A few cases of eating disorders. The most common complaint seemed difficulty in focusing on what they were doing.

Then the physical symptoms began, Bishop said. Constipation. Nausea. Neurasthenia.

Are people working double shifts down here? Crane asked. If so, Im not surprised theyre feeling fatigued.

Others complained of muscle tics and spasms.

Just tics? Crane asked. No associated pain?

Bishop looked at him with mild reproach, as if to say, If there had been pain, I would have mentioned it, wouldnt I?

These people arent presenting with caisson disease, Crane said. At least, no variant Im aware of. I guess I dont see the concern. Problems with concentration or focus, constipation, nauseathats all non-specific. It could simply be work-induced stress. Its an unusual environment and an unusual assignment, after all.

Im not through, Bishop said. Over the last week, the problems have grown worse. Three cases of cardiac arrhythmia in people with no history of heart disorders. A woman with bilateral weakness of the hands and face. And two others suffered what appeared to be transient ischemic attacks.

TIAs? Crane said. How extensive?

Partial paralysis, slurred speech, lasting in each case less than two hours.

What were their ages?

Late twenties and early thirties.

Really? Crane frowned. That seems awfully young for a stroke. Two strokes, at that. You did neurological workups?

Dr. Crane, please. Of course we did neurological workups. Non-contrast cranial CT scans; EKGs to check for cardioembolic event triggers; the rest. Theres no EEG on the station you know theyre mainly used for seizure disorders or coma but in any case it wasnt necessary here. Except for evidence of stroke, everything was completely normal.

Once again the tartness had crept into her tone. Shes territorial, Crane thought. This is her turf and she doesnt like me stepping on it.

Even so, he said, its the first evidence of dysbarism Ive heard today.

Dysbarism? Corbett asked, blinking through his round glasses.

Decompression sickness. Caisson disease.

Bishop sighed. Actually, I believe that caisson disease is the one thing we can safely rule out.

Why? I assumed Crane fell silent. He realized that Asher had never told him outright what the problem was. Given the nature of the Deep Storm station, hed assumed caisson disease.

Im sorry, he went on more slowly. I guess I dont understand why, exactly, you people asked for me.

Howard Asher asked for you, Bishop said. And for the first time, she smiled. A brief silence fell over the conference room.

Have you been able to isolate any commonalities? Crane asked. Do the patients all work on the same level or in the same general area of the Facility?

Bishop shook her head. Weve received patients from most of the decks and from all general work areas.

So theres no common vector. And no common complaint. It all seems like coincidence to me. Just how many patients, total, have you received?

Roger and I figured that out while we were waiting for you. Bishop took a sheet of paper from her lab coat pocket and glanced at it. The Facility has been operational almost five months. On average, between mental health services and medical, we see perhaps fifteen patients a week. In the past, nothing worse than a case of strep. But since this thing started, weve seen one hundred and three.

Crane was stunned. One hundred and three? My God, thats

A quarter of the population, Dr. Crane. And far, far too large a number to be coincidence.

And she stuffed the paper back into her pocket with something almost like triumph.

Chapter 7

Crane stood in the silence of his quarters on deck 10, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The room was small, and like the rest of the Facility softly lit. There was a narrow bed, two chairs, a walk-in dressing alcove, and a desk with a terminal that was linked to the Facilitys central network. Beside the desk, a comm unit set into the wall allowed Crane to dial the Medical suite, reseve a lane at the bowling alley, even order a pizza delivery from Times Square. Save for a large flat-panel television, the light-blue walls were devoid of prints or decoration.

There were two doors of the same strange platinum-hued metal hed seen elsewhere, but here they were tastefully edged in blond wood. One led to the outside corridor, the other to the bath he shared with Roger Corbett. The mental health officer had offered to take him to lunch at Top, the prosaically named mess on deck 11. Crane said hed meet him there. He wanted a few minutes alone first.

A sealed folder lay on the desk, his name and a bar code imprinted along one edge. Crane picked up the folder, broke the seal with a fingernail, and dumped the contents onto the desk. Out fell a bulky name tag with a magnetic stripe and pocket clip; another copy of Code of Classified Naval Conduct; a two-page bibliography of books on Atlantis, all available in the library or for download to his terminal; and an envelope that contained a list of temporary passwords for the general and medical computer networks.

He clipped the ID to his pocket. Then he sat down at the desk and stared a moment at the blank screen. At last, with a sigh, he booted up the terminal and logged on with his temporary password, pausing to massage the spot on his upper arm where the radio tag had been inserted a few minutes earlier. Opening the text editor, he began to type.

Non-specific symptomology:

physiological& neurological?? deficits

& psychological detachment / dissociation

Check clinical presentations

Look for index case?

Atmospheric / environmental?

Poisoning: systemic or general?

Preexisting condition(s)?

He pushed back from the desk and glanced at the screen. Caisson disease? Nitrogen narcosis? hed asked Asher from the Storm King oil platform. More the former than the latter, had been the reply. Crane was only now beginning to understand just how evasive that answer had been. In fact, Dr. Asher as affable and open as he appeared to be had so far told him next to nothing.

This was annoying, maybe even a little alarming. But in one respect it didnt really matter. Because, at last, Crane was beginning to understand why Asher had so specifically requested him

Is it all becoming clear, then? asked a voice at his shoulder.

Crane almost leapt out of his seat in surprise. He wheeled around, heart racing, to see a rather astonishing sight. An old man in faded bib overalls was standing there. He had piercing blue eyes, and a shock of silvery hair stuck up, Einstein-like, from his forehead. He was very short no taller than five feet and gaunt. For a moment, Crane wondered if hed come to repair something. The door to the room was closed. There had been no knock, no sound of entry. It was as if the man had materialized out of thin air.

Excuse me?

The man looked over Cranes shoulder at the screen. My, my. So few words, so many question marks.

Crane cleared the screen with the touch of a key. I dont believe weve had the pleasure of meeting, he said drily.

The man laughed: a high, piping sound like the twitter of a bird. I know. I came to make your acquaintance. I heard there was a Dr. Crane on board and that intrigued me. He held out his hand. The names Flyte. Dr. Flyte.

Pleased to meet you.

An awkward silence followed and Crane sought a neutral, polite question. Whats your role here, Dr. Flyte?

Autonomous mechanical systems.

Whats that?

Spoken like a true newcomer. The Facility is like a frontier town and, if youre a fan of Western movies, as I am, you would know that in a frontier town there are two questions you dont ask: Where do you come from? And: Why are you here? Flyte paused. Suffice to say, Im indispensable mores the pity. My work is highly classified.

Thats nice, said Crane lamely, at a loss for a reply.

You think so? Not I. This is no happy assignment, Dr. Crane, here so far beneath -.

Crane blinked. Beg pardon?

Bless me, not another! Flyte raised his eyes skyward. Does no one speak the mother tongue anymore? There was a time when ancient Greek was sung upon every civilized lip. He wagged a finger at Crane. Ocean, who is the source of all. Homer, you see, was a countryman of mine. You would do well to read him.

Crane resisted an impulse to glance at his watch. Roger Corbett was waiting for him in Top. It was nice meeting you

And you, Flyte interrupted. I am a great admirer of any practitioners of the noble art.

Crane began to feel a swell of annoyance. He wondered how a man like Flyte had managed to slip through the vetting process everyone must have undergone before being admitted to the Facility. The best way to handle things, he decided, was to cut short any attempts at friendship on his part.

Dr. Flyte, Im sure youve got as busy a day ahead as I do

Not at all! Ive all the time in the worldat the moment. Its only when the drilling resumes that they might need me and my artistry. He held up his small hands and wiggled his fingers as if he were a concert pianist.

The mans bright eyes began to wander and fell once again on the open duffel. What have we here? he asked, reaching down and picking up a couple of books peeking out of the open duffel. He held up one of them, An Anthology of Twentieth Century Poetry.

What is the meaning of this? the man demanded crossly.

What does it look like? said Crane, exasperated. Its a book of poetry.