Zero-G Read Free Page A

pool.
    The middeck was the middle of Atlantis ’s three decks. One deck below that was the lower deck, a place for ductwork, wires, and the like. His concern was with flesh and blood, not insulation and instrumentation.
    The compartment stood empty. The sight of the abandoned space made his already tripping heart stutter. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. Each action made the pain in his head rage. Against his will, his eyes crashed shut, lids tightening until tears squeezed out.
    A few moments later, the agony diminished and he felt his jaw relax. “Pull yourself together, Tuck.” Sleepy. The profound weariness returned. This time he tortured the other cheek.
    Sleep.
    That was it.
    He pushed across the open compartment making sure he didn’t smash a shin on the latched table at the forward end of the small space. On the opposite side, the starboard side, were the sleep stations: three horizontal beds stacked so closely they made submarine bunks seem spacious. A vertical sleep space, essentially a sleeping bag tethered in place, was just aft of the bunks — it was empty.
    Tuck launched himself to the sleeping area harder than necessary and it took some effort to keep from smashing his head into the metal structure. He pulled the first privacy screen to the side. Empty. He moved to the middle bunk. Also empty, as was the bottom.
    â€œThink, Tuck. Think.”
    The head? On the orbiter the bathroom bore the more noble moniker “Waste Management Compartment.” Astronauts had more colorful names for the small space where men and women did the business necessary of all biological entities.
    â€œBe there, Vinny. Be taking a bio-break.” Tuck shoved off the bunk rack and moved like a missile to the WMC at the left rear of the middeck. He jerked the privacy curtain aside.
    No Vinny.
    Next to the privacy curtain stood the personal hygiene station, a place where crew could shave, clean up, and do other routine personal chores. A mirror hung on the surface. Tuck let his eyes drift to his reflection. He saw his sandy brown hair, strong jaw, trim face, and near empty hazel eyes.
    Uncertain what to do, Tuck let himself drift above the middeck until he felt something hard against his back. He had drifted to the airlock hatch.
    Something flickered in his mind. A brief image.
    Then it came through the haze like a speeding freight train.
    â€œNo. Oh, no. Dear God, no, no, no.”
    Tuck pushed forward and up the interdeck access, rapping his knee as he did so. The pain didn’t matter. He didn’t want to do what he did next, didn’t want to see what he knew he would.
    His next act required more courage than anything he had done before, including sitting atop tons of rocket fuel. He forced himself to look out the aft viewing windows, the ones that looked over the orbiter’s cargo bay. The cargo doors were open as they always were once the Shuttle reached orbit. What ripped his breath away was the site of the RMS sticking into the darkness like one leg of a praying mantis. The Remote Manipulator System had been in use when whatever happened, happened. At the end of the fifty-foot, thousand-pound arm stood a human figure clad in a space suit.
    â€œVinny.” The name trickled from Tuck’s lips.
    Puzzle pieces of memory rained in Tuck’s consciousness. Vinny was doing an extravehicular procedure. How long had he been out there?
    Tuck keyed his mike. “Vinny. Do you read me, Vinny.”
    No response.
    â€œHouston. I can’t raise Vinny. He’s EVA.”
    No response.
    Tuck touched his mike, then realized the problem. He reeled in the loose end and plugged it into a com port. “Vinny, this is Tuck. Do you read?”
    Nothing.
    â€œHouston, I can’t raise Vinny. He’s EVA.”
    â€œTuck, we know about Vinny.”
    A second passed before Tuck made the connection. Houston monitored vital signs of any astronaut who worked outside the safe