“Where’s the telescope?” she asked. Jaeckle did not answer. When she turned she saw that he was staring at her. He had shed his flight suit and wore nothing but briefs.
“Here,” he said, pointing at his crotch, where something was telescoping indeed.
My God, Lorraine thought, he’s like a twelve-year-old. She was not quite surprised, but she felt somewhat cheated. Too bad you didn’t stay in your space suit, she berated herself. Too late.
Lance Muncie shot a jet of water to the back of his throat, closed his mouth, and swallowed. The water tasted like warm plastic from his having clutched the thin polystyrene bottle in his hand for the entire shift. He had tried letting the bottle float free in the cool air as he watched Russell Cramer between pages of a paperback thriller he had borrowed from a Trikon scientist. But the bottle kept drifting into the dull silver expanse of the rumpus room. Lance found this tendency to be the most annoying aspect of micro-gee. Objects did not remain where you put them, unless you bungeed them, or Velcroed them, or corralled them in a compartment.
Ten feet away, a sedated Russell Cramer hung silently in a sleep restraint that fit snugly over his pear-shaped body. His helmet was tethered to the wall to prevent his head from bobbing with the pulse of his carotid arteries. The zipper of the sleep restraint was locked.
Lance closed the book over a flattened straw he used as a mark and bound the covers with a rubber band. It was almost midnight, the time he would be relieved by Freddy Aviles. He pulled himself close to Cramer and stared intently at his face. Cramer’s eyes were partially opened, the lids welded in place by dried white gunk. His jaw was slack. A strawberry-shaped bruise discolored one cheek.
“Hey, man.”
Lance shot away from Cramer with a start. Freddy Aviles, trailing a flight bag from his shoulder, slowly spiraled through the rumpus room. He deftly arrested himself by hooking a handhold with a single finger.
“You get any closer to him, people goin’ to talk.”
Lance’s face hardened. “That isn’t funny, Freddy.”
“Hey, man, don’ look at me. I don’ care. I’m very liberal, you know?”
“It’s not funny.”
Freddy undipped the flight bag from his shoulder and attached it to the wall. He removed a banana and a squeeze bottle containing a bright red liquid.
“Hawaiian Punch,” he said. “Wan’ some?”
Lance waved away the offer. “Why did you say that?” he asked.
“Is a joke, okay?”
“You know I’m not like that.”
“Forget it.”
“I was looking at him because I’m interested in what happened.”
“Lotsa people interested,” said Freddy, “here and on the ground.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Orbital Dementia. Tha’s what the doctor’s report said.”
“What if that isn’t the reason?” said Lance.
Freddy felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.
“Whatchyou mean?” he asked. “What else could it be?”
Lance shrugged.
“You made it sound like you knew something.”
“Just a feeling,” said Lance.
“Well, he had all the symptoms we learned in preflight. Cranky. Recluse.”
“I know all that,” said Lance. “But what if something else caused it?”
“Like what?”
“Something evil.”
Freddy shook his head and took a bite of the banana.
“Something so evil and so clever that it makes itself look like Orbital Dementia.”
“You reading too much of that shit.” Freddy nodded toward the book tumbling slowly behind Lance’s head. To accentuate the point, he fished around in his flight bag for a thin volume devoted to computer esoterica.
“I’m not talking about fiction,” said Lance. “I’m talking about real evil. The devil, maybe.”
“The devil is fiction, man.”
“If the devil is fiction, why do you wear that crucifix?”
“Is a gift,” said Freddy. He tugged at the chain until the crucifix popped out from under his shirt. “Besides, I can believe in Jesus Christ without believing in the devil. The devil is what we all can be if we don’ got God.”
“All right, suppose it isn’t the devil. Suppose it is Orbital Dementia. Maybe that’s a sign we shouldn’t be here.”
“That sound awful strange from somebody who say he always wanted to be an astronaut.” Freddy grinned as he stuffed the crucifix back inside his collar.