“Trying hard enough to be frustrated by failure?” asked Lorraine.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. A day rarely goes by that he doesn’t argue with me over releasing the original results. I would dearly love to issue that media release, but I simply can’t until we are absolutely sure there is life in that soil. Cramer doesn’t understand public relations.”
“Whatever the reason, it seems to me that Mr. Cramer is showing the early signs of Orbital Dementia,” Lorraine said. “He is agitated and cranky and his failure to keep his appointment with me is definite evidence of reclusiveness.”
“Are you certain of your diagnosis?”
“One is never certain of Orbital Dementia,” said Lorraine. “In its early stages the symptoms are far from clear.”
“We wouldn’t want to make a mistake,” Jaeckle said. “I wouldn’t want a run-of-the-mill bad mood to threaten a young man’s career.”
“No,” said Lorraine. “But protocol requires me to report my concerns to the young man’s immediate superior. If I’m not satisfied with the action taken by the superior, I am required to go to the commander.”
“I appreciate that. The same protocol requires me to pass on my own report to the station commander. I will investigate Mr. Cramer’s behavior at once. You may consider it done.”
“Thank you.” Lorraine turned toward the door.
“Lorraine,” said Jaeckle. “I meant it that your visit here was a pleasant coincidence. I wanted to speak to you about something.”
She slowly turned back and steadied herself by extending a hand to the wall.
“I need an assistant for my next several television shows. I would like her to be you.”
Lorraine felt a mild shock of surprise. A pleasant shock. “But you already have an assistant.”
“I know, but the producer wants a change. Something about it being necessary for ratings. It’s all very esoteric.”
“I’m not sure I have the time.”
“I can promise you that it will not interfere with your duties. And if you would prefer, I can clear it with Dan.”
“I can speak to him myself, thanks,” said Lorraine. “Let me think about it.”
She pushed herself out of the compartment, leaving a delicate spoor of perfume in her wake.
Jaeckle waited until Lorraine was gone, then made a beeline to his office in the Mars module. She’s certainly good to look at, he thought. Nice throaty voice, too. Sexy. But how competent is she? Orbital Dementia is more of an accusation than a diagnosis. It could begin and end with Russ Cramer. Or it could infect the entire project like influenza. Or a witch hunt.
At his office, he quickly called up the project’s computerized records and paged through Russell Cramer’s personnel file. I’ve got to nip this problem quickly, Jaeckle told himself.
The Klaxons belonged to fire engines. Hugh O’Donnell lay in his bedroom with the windows open and the shades pulled back. Red emergency lights licked the ceiling as the engines passed.
He tried to push off the bed, but found himself restrained. The Klaxons whooped louder. He pushed harder. The restraints snapped. He sailed toward the open window, his fingers clawing for something to grab. He struck a solid wall. Still, the Klaxons whooped. He rubbed his forehead, stared at the unfastened straps of his sleep restraint.
“The first night,” he groaned. “Shit.”
Wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, he looped his glasses around his ears and dove out of his compartment. People swarmed in the aisle of Hab 2. Muncie. Freddy. Techs and scientists from the shuttle trip. Most of them in rumpled flight suits; a few in pajamas or skivvies. O’Donnell fell in behind them. Like a lemming, he thought, a goddamn lemming looking for a cliff.
They curved out of Hab 2 and flew down the connecting tunnel, arms pumping, feet kicking, everyone keeping pace. Chakra Ramsanjawi popped out of Hab 1 and joined the rush, his kurta flapping like a flag. The group bottlenecked at CERV Port 1. There were grunts, shouts, complaints, shoulders banged and knees skinned. Crewman Stanley, flattened against the tunnel wall and holding a stopwatch, yelled for everyone to hurry.
Eventually, they worked through the port and into the chamber beyond. O’Donnell found the last unoccupied harness and stretched the straps across his chest. Stanley strapped himself into the chair facing a tiny instrument panel.