Deep Storm (30 page)

He pushed the stack of printouts aside with a sense of unreality. At last hed done it: hed found the commonality. It was neurological. The theta waveforms of normal adults were supposed to be flatline. And even when they did spike, they were never supposed to fire in a precise, quantifiable rhythm. This was something utterly unknown to medical science.

He stood up and walked toward the internal phone, his thoughts piling up fast. He needed to consult with Bishop about this, and right away. With the autonomous nervous system affected, all these seemingly disparate symptoms suddenly snapped into place. He was a fool not to have seen it before. But how was it propagated? Neurological deficits on such a broad spectrum were absolutely unheard of

Unless

Oh, Jesus, he breathed.

Quickly, almost frantically, he reached for a calculator. His gaze flew from the EEGs to the calculator as he furiously punched in numbers. Then he stopped abruptly, staring at the readout in disbelief.

It couldnt be, he whispered.

The phone rang, shockingly loud in the quiet office. He jerked upright in his chair, then reached for it, heart racing. Crane.

Peter? It was Ashers voice, sounding reedy and artificial in the oxygenated atmosphere of the hyperbaric chamber.

Dr. Asher! Crane said. Ive found the common vector! And, my God, its something so

Peter, Asher interrupted. I need you to come here right now. Just drop everything and get down here.

But

Weve done it.

Crane paused, mentally struggling with this abrupt shift. Deciphered the message?

Not message. Messages. Its all on the laptop. Ashers voice not only sounded thin it had an air of desperation to it as well. I need you here, Peter. Immediately. Because its imperative, absolutely imperative, that we dont

There was a crackle, and then the phone abruptly went dead.

Hello? Crane frowned at the phone. Dr. Asher? Hello?

Silence.

Still frowning, Crane hung up the phone. He glanced at the pile of reports on his desk. Then he turned and quickly exited the office.

Chapter 35

The last time Crane had been on deck 7 less than five hours before the scientific level had been in its usual state of orderly bustle. But now when he stepped out of the elevator, he found himself in the midst of sudden chaos. Alarms were blaring; shouts mingled with cries; marines, technicians, and scientists ran past him. There was a feeling in the air very much like panic.

Crane stopped a maintenance worker. Whats going on? he asked.

Fire, the man said breathlessly.

Sudden fear lanced through Crane. As a submariner, he had learned to dread fire underwater. Where?

Hyperbaric chamber. And the man freed himself from Cranes grasp and ran off.

Cranes fear redoubled. Asher

Without another thought, he tore down the hallway.

The hyperbaric suite was full of emergency response crews and rescue workers. As he pushed his way through the crowd, Crane caught the acrid scent of smoke.

Doctor coming through! he shouted, forcing himself into the control room. The tiny area was jammed with security personnel. Hopkins, one of the young medical technicians, was at the controls. Commander Korolis stood behind him. As Crane approached, Korolis glanced at him briefly, then returned his gaze to Hopkins without a word.

What happened? Crane asked Hopkins.

Dont know. Sweat poured from Hopkinss forehead as his hands flew over the instrumentation. I was down the hall in Pathology when the alarm sounded.

When was that?

Two minutes ago, maybe three.

Crane glanced at his watch. It has been less than five minutes since Asher had telephoned him. Youve called in a paramedic team?

Yes, sir.

Crane looked through the glass partition toward the hyperbaric chamber itself. As he did so, he saw a gout of flame leap up the chamber porthole.

Jesus! Its still on fire!

Why hasnt the water deluge system engaged? he shouted at Hopkins.

Dont know, the medic repeated, still feverishly working the controls. Both the primary and backup extinguisher systems have been overridden somehow. Theyre not responding. Im doing a crash depressurization now.

You cant do that! Crane said. The chamber would have been at peak pressure!

It was Korolis who answered. With the sprinklers out, its the only way to get the hatch open and extinguishers at the fire.

The pressure in the chamber was set at two hundred kilopascals. I did it myself. You dump it suddenly, youll kill Asher.

Korolis raised his eyes once again. Hes dead already.

Crane opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Whether or not Korolis was right, they could not let the fire continue to burn: if it reached the oxygen tanks, the entire level might be threatened. There was no choice. Crane slammed his fist against the bulkhead in rage and frustration, then forced his way out into the waiting area.

Rescue teams were clustered around the entrance to the chamber, readying extinguishers and snugging oxygen masks over their mouths and noses. A small speaker above the glass partition to the control room squawked into life. Full decompression in fifteen seconds, came the electrified voice of Hopkins.

The rescue crews checked their equipment, donned their masks.

Decompression complete, said Hopkins. Locks disengaging.

With a snap of electronic bolts, the entrance to the chamber sprang open. Immediately, heat and black smoke flooded into the waiting area. The stench of acrid smoke and burnt flesh suddenly became overpowering. Crane turned away involuntarily, eyes welling over with sudden tears. From behind came the sound of running feet, shouted orders, the sharp nasal gush of fire extinguishers.

He turned back. The extinguishers were still going. The crews were inside the cylinder itself now, and the dark plumes of smoke had been replaced by a thick fog of flame retardant. Stepping forward, he clambered into the chamber and forced his way past the rescue workers. Then he stopped abruptly.

Asher was lying on the floor, curled up around his laptop. Marris was lying nearby. They had crouched on the floor in an attempt to avoid the flames and smoke. A futile attempt: Ashers clothes hung in charred flakes from his limbs, and his skin was horribly blackened. His mane of gray hair had been burned away, and the bushy eyebrows singed to tiny curls.

Crane knelt quickly for a gross examination. Then he reconsidered. It seemed inconceivable Asher could have survived. Blood was flowing freely from his ears, but that was the only sign of movement. Barotrauma the sudden loss of pressure had ruptured his middle ear. And that would have been the least of the effects: the emergency depressurization would have caused massive gas embolisms, basically carbonating his blood. And the smoke inhalation, the massive third-degree burns

The suddenness of this tragedy, the loss of a friend, the sheer waste of it all, staggered Crane; and yet part of him almost felt glad Asher was dead. The burns and the embolisms would have left him in unimaginable pain

The emergency crews were receding now, the palls of fog rolling away. Fire suppressant dripped from every surface. Outside the chamber, Crane heard a scattering of voices as the paramedic team arrived. Gently, he laid a hand on Ashers shoulder. Good-bye, Howard, he said.

Ashers eyes flew open.

For a moment, Crane thought it was muscle contraction, the nucleotide ATP running down after death. But then the eye fixed itself on him.

Fluids! Crane called immediately to the paramedic team. I need massive saline, now! Ice compresses!

Slowly agonizingly Asher raised a claw that was little more than singed meat on bone. It gripped Cranes shirt collar, pulled him close. The chief scientist struggled to move blackened lips; they cracked with the effort, weeping clear fluid.

Dont try to talk, Crane said in a low, soothing voice. Lie still. Well get you to Medical, get you comfortable.

But Asher would not lie still. His hand tightened around Cranes shirt. Whip, he said in a desiccated whisper.

An EMT came up behind Crane and, with gloved fingers, began pulling back Ashers charred clothing and prepping an IV. Another one bent over the still form of Marris.

Relax, Crane told Asher. Youll be out of here in a moment.

Ashers grip grew tighter still, even as his limbs began to convulse. Whip

He let out a high-pitched gasp and shuddered. His eyes flew up in his skull; there was a gargling in his ruined throat. Then his grip relaxed, his arm slid to the floor, and he spoke no more.

Chapter 36

Crane sat at the desk in his quarters, staring at the computer monitor but seeing nothing. Several hours had passed since the accident but he was still numb. Hed taken a long shower, and hed delivered his clothes to the laundry, yet his room still stank of charred hair and skin.

He felt a sense of disbelief that was almost paralysis. Was it really only eight hours since hed performed the autopsy on Charles Vasselhoff? At the time, theyd had one postmortem report to write.

Now they had three.

In his mind, he kept seeing Howard Asher as hed first appeared: an image on a screen in the Storm King library, tanned and smiling. What we have here, Peter, is the scientific and historical discovery of all time. Asher had never smiled again as much as he had on that first day. In retrospect, Crane wondered how much of it had been a show put on to make him feel welcome, feel comfortable.

There was a soft rap on the door, then it pushed open to reveal Michele Bishop. Her dark blond hair was pulled back severely, exaggerating her high cheekbones. Her eyes looked reddened and sad.

Peter, she said, her voice low.

Crane wheeled his chair around. Hi.

She stood in the doorway, uncharacteristically hesitant. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Ive been better.

Its just that you never said a single word. Not when we moved Ashers body to the Medical Suite. Not when we performed the final examinations. I guess Im a little concerned.

I cant understand what went wrong in the hyperbaric chamber. What caused the fire? Why was the sprinkler system off-line?

Spartans ordered an investigation. Hell find out what went wrong.

I should have done more. Checked the chamber myself. Tested the water deluge system.

Bishop took a step forward. Thats exactly what you shouldnt be thinking. You did everything you had to. It was an accident, thats all. A terrible accident.

There was a brief silence before Bishop spoke again. I guess Ill head back to the Medical Suite. Can I bring you back something from the pharmaceutical locker? Xanax, Valium, anything?

Crane shook his head. Ill be fine.

Ill look in on you later, then. And Bishop turned away.

Michele?

She looked back.

Thanks.

She nodded, then left the stateroom.

Crane turned slowly back toward the terminal. He stared at it, without moving, for several minutes. Then he pushed himself roughly away from the desk and began pacing. That didnt help, either: he recalled how Asher had paced in much the same way on the day hed revealed what Deep Storm was really about.

That had been just four days ago.

It was all so horribly ironic. Here, at last, hed made the breakthrough only for Asher to die before he could hear about it. Asher, who had brought him down to solve the medical mystery in the first place.