Attwell is standing over Warren’s shoulder, staring at my over-sized foot. “How the hell did you make it down here?”
I nod to Turco. “She helped. I figure it would be better to have first-aid in a gravity environment instead of in free fall.”
“Too bad,” says Warren. “I would have loved the practice.”
“Next time I’ll be more considerate.”
Warren closes his medical kit. “Good thing Samantha was there to help in time.”
“Yeah…she did take her sweet time,” I say in jest.
“I was waiting to see if you were going to explode.”
“The human body doesn’t explode in space,” says Warren.
“I know. But one can hope.”
Technically, I’ve seen a person explode in space. But it’s an experience so morbid that I don’t care to ever describe it to anyone.
“Keep your weight off the foot for a few hours,” says Warren as he stands up to leave.
“Is it better to do that down here or up in zero-gravity?” I ask.
He shrugs. “We still don’t have enough research on that to tell you. If you’re willing to let the other foot go through the same trauma after this one heals, we could try a controlled experiment with one in gravity and then one weightless.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Maybe I’ll just let that be a mystery and take my chances down here.”
The onlookers begin to go back to work one by one, now that the emergency and novelty is over. I get plenty of well wishes from everyone, but I can also sense that they’re looking at me, wondering if I just bring bad luck with me. That’s a good question, even coming from me.
I’m finally left alone in the lounge and use the time waiting for my foot to go back to normal to file a report on my laptop. Tamara had fetched it for me from my room. I trusted her to go in there because she can always waltz in anytime she wants. And the less distrustful I seemed, hopefully would make me more trustworthy.
The pain is still really, really intense but is gradually fading. I spend at least twenty minutes trying to write the first paragraph of my evaluation because I can’t concentrate.
Since this is an actual AstroFirm report, and anybody could read it, I’m intentionally vague on certain details. I just say that I was doing a flexion test and a seal gave way. I already suspect that the range of motion I put the shoe through was beyond what the engineers were anticipating. Also, there’s the chance that the material the 3D printer used for that joint wasn’t up to standard — something I should have tested for if I wasn’t so eager to play space spy.
“That looks almost normal,” says Samantha as she steps into the lounge with a towel covered tray.
I glance down at my foot and notice that it’s close to the size of my other one. “Yeah. Sorry you don’t get to see an amputation.”
“Next time.” She gives me that smile that’s either very mischievous or sinister.
“You bring your dinner down so you can watch me suffer?”
“Almost.” She takes the towel off the tray and reveals a steaming bowl of water and a wash cloth. “Warren said it would be a good idea to start stimulating the tissue now. And it might still be painful for you. So, win-win.”
Despite her mocking cruelty, she carefully lifts my foot and places a warm towel underneath then begins to gently wash the skin with warm water.
At first I feel the skin pricks again, but soon they fade and give way to genuine pleasure as she uses her fingers to knead the muscles of my foot while avoiding too much pressure on the swollen areas.
I know this is clinical, but there’s something sensual about the way she’s doing this. Technically, she’s not even on the station roster as medical staff.
“This is very kind of you,” I say, for lack of anything intelligent.
“I almost became a physical therapist; then realized I liked chemistry better.”
“Physical therapy’s loss.”
She winks at me. “Not completely.”
I try to pretend this is about as interesting as getting a tooth filled and not that an attractive, brilliant woman with mysterious, if not deadly intent, is caressing me.
“Feel better?” she says, drying off the foot.
“Very much.”
Her eyes narrow. “Want me to massage the other?”
I feel a range of emotions at the way she just asked that question. I nervously look around to see if the lounge is still empty, feeling like a teenager sneaking behind the school bleachers. “Well, since we’re already here.”
She reaches into her pocket and drops something on the table. “Then how about you tell me what this is all about?”
I stare down at the little box I’d tried to pull off the hull of the station.
Thirty-Nine
Undercover
Samantha fixes me with an intense gaze that’s a mixture of when a woman looks at you with suspicion and the way a scientist scrutinizes something under a microscope.
She has me at a particular disadvantage, not only has she lured me into bit of a trap using a dirty trick, I’m very aware of the fact the she’s much more intelligent than I am.
It’s like I just walked into chess club to play checkers.
Where Tamara and Attwell were rather direct, if not blunt, with their suspicions, Samantha Turco has me cornered.
Her right hand is still gently massaging my foot as her thumb caresses the inside of my arch.
I’m clearly not cut out for this spy business. If she had me in a slightly more compromising position I’d be ready to give her nuclear secrets.
She’s waiting for an answer as her fingers tease my skin.
Jessup didn’t prepare me for this situation. I can handle flat out denial and insist that I’m up here to test equipment. But Samantha just dropped something I need on the table and wants an explanation.
I realize now that she didn’t volunteer to help me out because she was bored. She wanted to find something out about me and this gave her the perfect opportunity.
Was it curiosity? Or is something else at play here? If she’s the saboteur, then this could be a brilliant gambit — she’s put me on the spot to explain myself, while she’s the one with something to hide.
Okay, David. The longer you procrastinate, the more suspicious you look. Say something…
What did Bennet always tell us in training when we found ourselves in a situation we couldn’t see our way out of? Imagine someone you know who is smarter than you and do what you think they would do.
The smartest person I know is Markov. Maybe Laney in years will have his wisdom, but right now he’s probably one of the most intelligent people on the planet.
What would that old Russian spymaster do in this situation?
He’d turn a disadvantage into an advantage. Turco has me cornered and wants answers. I want answers. If she’s got something to hide, then she’ll try to avoid telling me. If she doesn’t, then she won’t try to conceal that.
I could try to tell her that the box was already coming loose, but if she saw me pry it off, then I’d be caught in a lie. Also, I have no business doing impromptu repairs on the station.
“What is this to you?” I finally reply.
She stop massaging my foot. “I’m the one asking you.”
“Look at it, tell me what it is…” I say this casually, as if the answer should be obvious.
She turns it over and inspects the inside of the box. “There’s an antenna here. A transmitter of some kind.”
“I accidentally kicked it with my foot. When I knelt down to look at the box I could see that it was little off-angle. I should have left it where it was, but when I tried to push it back it came loose. Right before my boot sprung a leak I saw what was underneath.”
“The actual temperature sensor.”