“When did it happen?” said Dan.
“Very hard to tell. Blood doesn’t pool in micro-gee, so I have to base an estimate on the rigidity of the body. I’d say no less than eight hours ago, but that’s a gross estimate.”
They both stared at the body. Dan thought of the fight between O’Donnell and Weiss. He remembered O’Donnell’s anxiety over his work the previous night. O’Donnell had skipped darts to spend time in his lab. Weiss was given to roaming the station at all hours. Dan tried to crowd the implications out of his mind.
“What now, Dan?” asked Lorraine. For the first time in what seemed to be several weeks she spoke to him without a trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“You and Lance get him into a body bag and stow it in the auxiliary airlock. Stanley, you take over for Freddy at the hatch. No one enters, no one asks questions, you don’t know anything.”
Dan exited the logistics module and signaled for Freddy to follow. As he flew toward the command module, he wondered if his orders had sounded as uncertain as he felt.
Once in his office, Dan inserted an encryption chip designated for operational emergencies into his comm console and called ground control in Houston. The accordion door to Dan’s office was closed. Freddy Aviles hovered against it, his normally jolly face somber, his eyes flicking back and forth between his commander and the image of Tom Henderson on the monitor.
“We have a real problem up here, Tom,” said Dan. “A fatality.”
Henderson smiled crookedly, as if hoping Dan suddenly had developed a warped sense of humor and would follow up with a punch line.
“Aaron Weiss, the CNN reporter,” continued Dan. “Looks like a broken neck.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Henderson. “How did it happen?”
“It wasn’t any damned accident. One of my men found him stuffed in an empty canister in the logistics module. Been dead about eight hours.”
Henderson let out a long whistle. “What are you going to do? The shuttle—”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do! We don’t have a goddamn protocol for murder on an orbiting facility!”
“Easy, Dan,” said Henderson. “Let me get some people over here.”
Henderson disappeared from his console. Dan took a deep breath and looked at Freddy.
“They on the ground, man,” said Freddy. “They don’ know nothing.”
Dan nodded in agreement. That was the problem. People on the ground thought like people on the ground. No matter how much they claimed to understand, they didn’t realize that simply being in orbit—confined, weightless, entirely dependent upon a fragile web of technology to keep you alive—automatically transformed every facet of existence into an abnormal environment. Now the station was faced with the worst possible scenario: an abnormal situation in an abnormal environment.
Tom Henderson returned to his console. Several other people stood behind him, some in shirtsleeves, others in suits. All wore headsets with tiny microphones in front of their mouths.
“I have some people here,” began Henderson.
“Listen, Tom,” said Dan. “I know you can’t get a shuttle here anytime soon.”
“Or an aerospace plane, either,” said Henderson. “They—”
“Doesn’t matter. But you still can help me. I’m going to cut off all comm links between us and the ground.” Dan shot a glance at Freddy as if to say that he was the person who would actually effect the blackout. “Make up some bullshit as a cover. Tell ’em we’ve had another goddamn power-down. That’ll give you time to contrive some sort of story about Weiss’s death. Don’t say it was a murder. Not yet, anyway.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Henderson, running a nervous hand over his bald pate.
“Try to find out who did it.”
Henderson’s response was interrupted by one of the men standing behind him. He spoke with the man briefly, then returned his attention to Dan.
“What have you done with the body?” he asked.
“It’s in a body bag,” said Dan. “I’m going to stick it in the auxiliary airlock.”
The man behind Henderson leaned down into the screen. He looked like a lawyer-type in a baggy gray suit.