They were in the rumpus room. Cramer, still sedated, was bound hand and foot with duct tape and secured with bungee cords to the rear bulkhead not far from Dan’s bonsai menagerie. A plastic helmet was tightly strapped under his chin to prevent him from injuring his head. Lorraine, Jaeckle, and Dan gathered in a circle near the centrifuge.
“You were treating him for what?” Dan asked.
Lorraine and Jaeckle looked at each other like game-show contestants deciding on the correct answer.
“Overwork,” said Jaeckle.
“Sleep disorder,” said Lorraine at the same time.
“Well, which is it?” Dan snapped.
Lorraine and Jaeckle each took a deep breath.
“He came to me several weeks ago complaining of bad dreams and an inability to sleep,” said Lorraine. “I told him he should cease exercising at least three hours before sleep time. The complaints seemed to disappear. Two weeks ago, he returned and demanded that I prescribe sleeping pills. I gave him a placebo and ordered him to report to me on a daily basis. He never did. When I confronted him, his reaction was testy.”
“Someone on the station was acting in this manner and you kept that information to yourself?”
“I didn’t,” said Lorraine. “I reported my observations to Professor Jaeckle as Cramer’s immediate superior.”
“That’s right, Dan,” said Jaeckle. “Dr. Renoir and I conferred at great length. I reviewed my records and discovered that Cramer had not been spending the required amount of R and R time in the observation blister. Instead, he had been working too hard on analyzing Martian soil samples. I relieved him of his research duties until he brought his blister time current. He was on his second two-hour stint in the blister when this happened.”
“How did he behave during the first?” asked Dan.
Jaeckle looked at Lorraine and shrugged. “Fine.”
Dan sensed something conspiratorial passing between Jaeckle and Lorraine.
“I don’t like the way this was handled,” he said.
“We complied with the regulations,” said Jaeckle.
“Technically, but I expect more than a technical reading of the regs. From both of you.” Dan looked at Lorraine, but she refused to meet his eyes. “I want full written reports from each of you by oh-eight-hundred hours tomorrow.”
“What do you intend to do with Cramer?” asked Jaeckle.
“A Trikon bigwig is coming up here by aerospace plane in a few days,” said Dan. “Cramer will be on the return flight.”
“You can’t do that! He’s vital to the project!”
“The hell I can’t,” said Dan. “Cramer trashed your module, trashed himself, and damn near killed one of your personnel. And all because he couldn’t take a little R and R. Not on my station, Professor Jaeckle. Not on your life.”
Stu Roberts peeled open the accordion door of Chakra Ramsanjawi’s office in ELM and dove inside. He fought for breath with long rasping heaves as his trembling hands pawed at the retracted door.
Ramsanjawi was bellied up to his computer console. His kurta billowed out from his back and the ceiling lights glittered on the greasy sheen of his black hair.
“Close the door, please,” he said without taking his eyes off the computer display.
Roberts, still panting, finally worked his fingers around the handle and slid the door shut.
“Cramer. Did you hear? Crazy. He—”
“Just one moment, please.” Ramsanjawi’s singsong voice matched the rhythm of his stubby fingers as they worked the computer keyboard. He typed unperturbed for several minutes, saved his work, then removed one foot from a loop so that he could turn his rotund body in Roberts’s direction. Roberts was calmer now, but his eyes still had the terrified look of a hunted animal.
“As you were saying,” said Ramsanjawi.
“Cramer went crazy in the observation blister,” said Roberts. “He beat up a couple of Martians and had to be restrained by the crew. He’s tied up in the rumpus room.”
“I detected a disturbance in the tunnel,” said Ramsanjawi. “That would explain it.”
“He went crazy, man. He freaked out.”
“That is truly unfortunate.”
“You don’t suppose—” Roberts’s eyes locked as an idea slowly fit together in his head. “You don’t suppose that the Ecstacy did it?”
Ramsanjawi said nothing. He smoothed the front of his kurta along the outline of his generous stomach. The loose garment was so much more comfortable than the ridiculous flight suit that had been issued to him.