“Give me a minute so I can shave,” said O’Donnell. He paused at the door. “Hey, Freddy, do people dream in space?”
Dan Tighe raced down the passageways and through the hatches toward Trikon Station’s command module, grabbing handholds and literally flying weightlessly past startled technicians and crewmen, his feet never touching the deck.
All of the station’s energy and environment control systems were regulated by the life-support program in the station’s mainframe computer. The life-support program monitored air quality in every one of the ten pressurized modules and regulated the circulation fans and carbon-dioxide absorbers on a second-by-second basis. Heat, electrical power, air, water—every breath taken by every man and woman aboard Trikon Station depended on the uninterrupted operation of the life-support program.
If whoever copied Nutt’s files tried to upload the stolen data, Stu Roberts’s hug would cripple the thief’s computer and spread to the mainframe. The life-support program would be stopped along with everything else. They could all die within minutes.
Tighe pulled himself into the command module, banging his knee on the entry hatch and tumbling toward the floor.
“Ouch!” said Dr. Lorraine Renoir. Her infirmary was adjacent to the hatch. Her accordion door was open, and she was floating freely inside the cubbyhole making notes on a clipboard.
Tighe ignored both the comment and the pain in his knee. Before his body hit the floor he pushed with his palms and redirected his momentum down the length of the module like a swimmer barreling off the bottom of a pool.
The command and control center was located in the aft end of the module, adjacent to the space shuttle docking port. It contained the main computer terminal, manual controls for all systems, and the viewing ports.
Tighe curled his feet into the loops at the base of the computer and hurriedly typed in his password. The computer beeped. Tighe breathed a sigh and entered the emergency code. A series of options played across the screen.
WHICH ONE, COMMANDER TIGHE? asked the last line. The cursor blinked.
“What’s going on, Dan?”
Dr. Renoir steadied herself in the doorway to the command section. A French braid of chestnut hair floated from the back of her head.
“We have a real problem, Lorraine. I’ll explain in a minute.”
Tighe selected the option that read: AUX COMPUTER/AUX POWER/ESSENTIAL UTIL ONLY. The lights in the command module went out. He heard a gasp of surprise from Lorraine, behind him. Then the emergency lamps came on, substantially dimmer than the normal cabin lights.
Tighe flicked on the station intercom.
“This is Commander Tighe. A situation has arisen that requires a transfer to the station’s auxiliary power supply. All essential utilities such as life support will continue to operate at normal levels. However, nonessential utilities will remain inoperable until the situation is rectified. I am ordering everyone to remain where you are until full power is restored. The only exceptions are crew members Jeffries and Stanley. They are to report to the command module immediately.”
Tighe clicked off the intercom.
Lorraine was staring at him, eyes wide with either surprise or fear. Or both.
“Some idiot scientist stole files from the computer terminal in The Bakery. Turns out that a bigger idiot’s infected the files with a bug that’ll jam the computer of anyone trying to access those files.” Tighe patted the computer terminal. “If it gets in here and starts to replicate, then we’re in deep yogurt.”
“Can you keep it out?”
Nodding, Tighe forced a grin. The old command philosophy: Instill confidence in the crew. Maintain their morale and you’ll automatically maintain their respect. It occurred to him that he wanted Lorraine’s respect. She was an intelligent, level headed woman whom he could depend on. Even though she was the physician who could permanently ground him.
She smiled back at him. She looked much better in micro-gee than she had on Earth. Back on the ground her face had been handsome, strong features and dark brows, her figure slim, almost boyish. The fluid shift that microgravity caused had served her well. Her brown eyes had an almost oriental cast to them now; her face was rounder, more feminine. Even her body seemed to have filled out better beneath the royal-blue jumpsuit she wore.