They loped down the main corridor, all pretense of secrecy forgotten, in their hurry to reach the access tunnel. Wo, in his powered wheelchair, scattered startled people like a bowling ball rolling through sentient pins capable of getting out of its way — just barely.
Despite himself, Grant grinned at the shouted curses and yells of anger that echoed along the corridor as he and the others sprinted after Wo's speeding powerchair.
Wo was yelling into the chair's built-in phone as he careened along the corridor. He was calling someone. Grant could make out the words, '… security,' and '… seal off the area…' Apparently the director wanted to make certain there were no gawkers at the access tunnel when they brought out the ship's crew.
They skidded to a stop at the tunnel's entry hatch. Sure enough, two burly security guards were standing there. And there were two more at the airlock hatch.
'You two get up to the entry area,' Wo commanded. 'Clear the entire section of corridor between here and the infirmary.'
They hustled up the tunnel, leaving the five controllers and Dr Wo facing the sealed airlock hatch.
'I've got to get in there,' Buono said, pushing herself in beside Wo in his chair. 'The sooner—'
'You can't go through,' the director said. 'They're in high-pressure fluid. You're not equipped to breathe it.'
Buono's jaw sagged open. 'I'd forgotten…'
'They must be depressurized,' Wo went on. 'The procedure will take several hours.'
'How will that affect Irene's condition?' Ukara asked urgently.
Wo shrugged his heavy shoulders. 'Who knows?'
'We know one thing,' Buono said gloomily. 'The longer it takes to get her into the infirmary, the worse her chances will be.'
Pascal was the first one out of the airlock. Under Wo's orders, telephoned into the pressurized airlock, Karlstad and Muzorawa placed the unconscious woman in the airlock and slowly pumped out the perfluorocarbon liquid. They followed the preplanned procedure exactly, despite the urgency; it took the better part of an hour for her lungs to drain.
Patti Buono fidgeted nervously every instant of the wait. Grant saw that even Wo looked tense, almost frightened, his eyes darting back and forth like a trapped animal's.
Once Krebs told them that the airlock was down to normal air pressure, Quintero swung the heavy hatch open. Irene Pascal lay limp and still, on her side, her electrode-studded legs folded to fit the cramped area of the airlock floor. Her skin-suited body looked cold, and still dripped oily liquid. Grant could not tell if she was breathing.
Ukara leaped past the startled Quintero into the airlock and sank to her knees beside the prostrate body.
'She's not breathing!' Kayla cried.
Patti Buono slapped an oxygen mask over the prostrate woman's face. 'Quick, help me carry her to the infirmary. Quickly!'
Quintero reached for Pascal's body but Ukara pushed him away. 'No!' she snapped. 'Let me do it.'
She grasped the unconscious Pascal under the shoulders while Grant squeezed into the airlock and picked up her feet. Together they ran past the guards and down the corridor toward the infirmary. The corridor was completely empty except for them and Buono, her moccasins thumping on the thin carpeting as she tried to keep pace with the two of them. Grant saw another trio of uniformed guards pacing up and down a few meters beyond the infirmary's entrance.
And Sheena was knuckle-walking alongside them. What are they doing with her? Grant wondered as, puffing from the exertion, he helped Ukara carry Pascal's limp body into the infirmary. A quartet of medics was already there. Buono pounded in behind them and immediately began shouting orders. Grant and Kayla were shooed away, back into the corridor, and the infirmary door slid firmly shut.
Wo was wheeling up the corridor, with Frankovich puffing along beside him. The director impatiently yanked open the infirmary door and rolled inside. Grant could see the team of green-gowned medics huddled over Pascal's bed.
Frankovich stopped at the door, chest visibly heaving. 'What about the rest of the crew?' Grant asked.
'They're okay,' said Frankovich. 'Decompressing and coming through the airlock one at a time.'
The guard captain showed up, ducked into the infirmary for a few moments, then came out and shut the door again. He folded his arms across his chest and stood there with a stony expression on his face, the picture of inflexible authority, obviously intending to keep anyone else from entering the infirmary until Dr Wo gave his permission.
Grant hesitated, not knowing what to do, where to go. He saw Sheena again, further up the corridor, accompanying the guards. If the gorilla had noticed Grant, she gave no sign of it. She just shambled along on her knuckles, a dozen paces in one direction, then back the other way, like a soldier on guard duty.
Grant asked the taciturn guard captain, 'Why is Sheena here?'
Barely moving his lips, the captain said, 'We use her now and then for crowd control.'
'Crowd control? There isn't any crowd here.'
'Ah, you see? It works.'
'Sheena shouldn't be exposed to crowds,' Grant said.
The ghost of a smile flickered across the captain's stern, hawk-nosed face. 'It's the other way around, rather. People are frightened of the ape.'
'She wouldn't hurt anyone!'
'They don't know that.'
Sheena wouldn't hurt anyone, Grant repeated to himself. Not unless someone hurt her first.
The captain said flatly, 'The director wants to keep this section clear. The gorilla discourages people from coming close.'
'I see.'
'You ought to be leaving now,' said the captain.
'I want to wait here,' Ukara said.
'All of you, on your way,' the captain insisted. 'There's nothing more for you to do here.'
Ukara snarled, her hands arching into red-tipped claws. For an instant Grant thought she was going to leap at the guard captain, a coiled-steel panther attacking a stolid, well-muscled buffalo.
Then Frankovich touched her arm and said, 'He's right, Kayla. Let's go help the others.'
Ukara visibly shuddered but she turned away from the captain and followed Frankovich down the corridor, back toward the airlock, in the direction opposite Sheena.
Still unmoved, the guard captain jabbed a finger at Grant's chest. 'You too. On your way.'
Grant took a deep breath and walked toward the three uniformed guards patrolling with Sheena. The gorilla stopped her shuffling walk when she saw Grant approaching.
'Hello, Sheena,' he said softly. The small burned patch of hair on her skull looked like a deliberate brand of shame to Grant.
The gorilla stared at him out of deep brown, red-rimmed eyes. 'Grant,' she said.
Grant held out his hand, palm up, as if begging. The guards watched with amused grins.
'Are we still friends, Sheena?'
'Grant hurt Sheena.'
'I didn't mean to. It was an accident.'
'Hurt.'
'I'm sorry.'
Sheena looked down at Grant's hand, still outstretched toward her. At last she said, 'You go now.'
'Sheena, I want to be your friend again,' Grant pleaded.
'You go!'
'But Sheena—'
The gorilla shook her head, a gesture that involved her massive shoulders, as well. 'You go!'
Defeated, Grant let his hand drop and turned his back to Sheena. As he walked away, he heard one of the guards stage-whisper, 'Would you believe it? A lover's quarrel with an overgrown monkey!'
One by one, the crew of
Zheng He
came through the airlock.
Karlstad and O'Hara were already out in the access tunnel, wrapped in blankets. Lane looked sad, close to tears. Egon was hollow-eyed, all his old snide cockiness wiped from his face.
The hatch sighed open and Muzorawa stepped through, sucking in big chestfuls of air, oily liquid still dripping from the tip of his nose and running in thin rivulets down his neck and arms.
Kayla Ukara threw a blanket around Zeb's shoulders.
'Thanks,' he said, shivering visibly. 'This is the first time I've felt warm since we went into the soup.'
'Are you all right?' Grant asked.
'Yes. I believe so. No injuries. How's Irene?'
'Don't know,' Frankovich answered. 'We ran her down to the infirmary. Patti's working on her.'
'What happened?' Ukara asked.
Zeb shook his head. 'I'm not certain. We had entered the ocean… at least, the sensors indicated the outside environment was in the liquid state.'
'Who was on duty?'
'We all were. Krebs wanted us all connected to the ship's systems until we were cruising at our first depth objective.'
'Irene was connected, then?'
'Yes,' said Muzorawa. 'Everything seemed completely normal, but she suddenly gave a scream and doubled over, almost into a fetal posture.'
'Krebs said she'd complained of chest pains,' Frankovich pointed out.
'Yes, that's true. She seemed to lose her physical coordination, but that isn't unusual when the pressurization starts to rise. It happens to all of us. It's a temporary thing.'
'Then she doubled over?' Grant asked.
'Yes. I think she had a heart attack.'
Frankovich scratched his balding pate. 'She had a clean bill of health, though. No indicators of cardiovascular problems.'
Muzorawa made a helpless little shrug. 'It's different down there, my friend. Very different.'
They stayed by the airlock, talking, guessing, worrying, until the hatch slid open again and Christel Krebs stepped through, blinking uncertainly, like a burrowing animal exposed to unaccustomed light.
'Where is Pascal?' she asked, her voice sharp, cutting.
'In the infirmary,' Grant said.
'Take me there. Immediately.' And she extended her hand to Grant like a blind person asking to be led.
Grant got only as far as the security guards stationed at the access tunnel's entrance. One of them took Krebs up the corridor, toward the infirmary, while another told the rest of them to follow him. He walked the group to the small conference room that they had been using as a wardroom.
The guard captain was already there, standing at the head of the oval conference table.
'Dr Wo wants you to stay here until further orders,' he told them.
'What about dinner?' Frankovich bleated. 'We haven't had anything to eat all day, just about.'
The captain eyed Frankovich disdainfully. 'We'll bring in dinner trays for you a bit later on. For now, you remain here. The director's orders. No exceptions.'
He left and closed the door firmly.
Karlstad puffed out a breath. 'That's the longest speech I've ever heard from old eagle-beak.'
'We're prisoners,' said Ukara, scowling at the idea.
Grant wanted to try the door, but realized that even if it was not locked, there would be guards posted out in the corridor. Maybe even Sheena was out there.
Abruptly, the door slid open. Startled, Grant jumped back.
Krebs stepped into the room, stopped, peered at Grant as if she could barely see him. She was fully dressed in a turtleneck sweater and jeans.
'How is Irene?' O'Hara asked. She and the others had not been able to put on fresh clothes. They still held blankets wrapped around themselves.
Krebs turned toward the sound of her voice. 'They are still trying to revive her.' She limped to the table, leaned both hands on it. 'We are to remain here until Dr Wo can talk with us.'
'Well,' said Muzorawa, clutching his blanket, 'I suppose we should follow the ancient dictum: when handed a lemon, make lemonade.'
And he pulled out one of the molded plastic chairs from the table and sat down. The chair creaked slightly.
Krebs made her way to the head of the table as the others took chairs for themselves. Instead of sitting, though, she remained on her feet.
'We should use this time to review what happened,' she said, flat and cold. No room for disagreement or even discussion.
'Could we get some decent clothing, d'you think?' O'Hara asked.
'Later,' said Krebs.
She used the conference room's smartwalls to display the mission's data records. Grant studied the propulsion and power systems' performance. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything functioned normally, with smooth efficiency. No one else seemed to find any anomalies in their areas, either.
Even Pascal's medical data showed her to be fine, until suddenly her heart rate, blood pressure and pulse all spiked at once.
'There's nothing to indicate the chest pain she complained of,' Frankovich noted.
Krebs snapped, 'Then it was not severe enough to register on the monitoring systems.'
'Let's look at her EEG,' Muzorawa suggested. 'That loss of limb control should show something in the record.'
It did not.
O'Hara murmured, 'Could it've been psychosomatic, do you think?'
They went through the data for hours. Two guards came in with dinner trays for them. Krebs ordered them to bring clothes for the three blanket-clad crew members. They ate as they talked, discussed, argued over the data.
'As far as the records are concerned,' Kayla Ukara said, frowning angrily, '
nothing
went wrong.'
'Not until Irene doubled over,' Muzorawa said. He looked troubled, Grant thought.
Karlstad had recovered some of his old flippancy. 'Maybe she scared herself to death.'
'She's not dead!' Ukara snapped.
'Want to bet?' Karlstad sneered. 'If she were okay, Patti or maybe eyen Old Woeful himself would have come in here and told us.'
'They are still working on her, most likely,' said Muzorawa. 'If they're still working on her after this many hours, she's a goner.'
'That's a terrible thing to say,' O'Hara muttered. Karlstad shrugged nonchalantly. 'It's like the ancient Spartan mothers used to tell their sons, "Come back with your shield or on it." Irene came back on hers.'
'I still think it's a terrible thing for you to say,' O'Hara repeated.
Ukara glowered at him.
'Why? Are you afraid that my saying it will make it come true?' 'I…'
The corridor door slid open and Dr Wo wheeled his powerchair into the room. He looked exhausted, drained. For the first time, Grant thought of the director as
old
.