"Jason?" She unstrapped and moved her helmet closer to his, staring into his face. Oh, God… it was twisted and contorted, obviously he was in great pain. "Jason, can you hear me?"
"Get me… get me off the flight deck… airlock… max pressure, hurry." One of his eyes rolled back up into his head, and he began to shiver, an oppressive, body-contorting shaking.
Ann moved free of the right seat and fumbled at his straps.
"Hurry, Ann… hurry for God's sake."
"What is it, Jason? What's wrong?"
"Nitrogen… too much nitrogen… not enough prebreathing oxygen… oxygen…"
He began to fumble for his spacesdIs oxygen controls. "My suit pressure. … suit pressure… increase…"
She reached down to his spacesuit control panel on his chest and moved the suit pressurization selector to PRESS, increasing the suit's pressurization to maximum, nearly nine p.s.i.
What had he said? Get him to the airlock. She lifted him up, an easy task in microgravity, brought him over to the ladder, then carried him down to the middeck level and into the airlock.
By this time he was unconscious. She sealed the airlock behind her and studied the airlock controls. She had received briefings on how to operate the shuttle airlock, but that was a long time ago… Finally she found the right switches and set the controls to maximum pressurization. While pure oxygen was being pumped into the chamber and the pressure slowly increased, she switched communication controls on her spacesuit chest panel from IC to A/G. "Control, this is Enterprise. Emergency."
"Enterprise, this is Falcon Control. Dr. Page, is that you?"
"Yes. General Saint-Michael is unconscious. He passed out a few minutes ago complaining of extreme pain. We're in the shuttle's airlock with the controls set at emergency pressurization. "
"Copy, Enterprise. Stand by. We're calling the flight surgeon now.
The wait was not long. "Enterprise, this is Doctor Haroki Matsui. Is General Saint-Michael wearing a spacesuit?"
"Yes."
"Did he complete the proper prebreathing before wearing the suit?"
It was then she finally realized what was happening. Dysbarism, the bends, occurred when the body was moved from normal atmospheric pressure to an area of lower pressure. If the pressure was low enough — as it was when wearing a spacesuit — nitrogen in the bloodstream, which was denser than other dissolved gases, would bubble out of solution. Tiny bubbles of nitrogen would then float through the bloodstream, lodge in blood vessels or joints, grow larger and cause tremendous pain. In many cases nitrogen bubbles in the brain caused nitrogen narcosis, which made the victim feel angry or scfiizophrenic.
Prebreathing oxygen before putting on a spacesuit was critical to flush nitrogen cut of the bloodstream. The normal prebreathing time was two hours before exposure to a low-pressure regime. Ann had been spared the effects of dysbarism because the rescue ball had been inflated to one standard atmosphere with pure oxygen, which she had been breathing for hours. But Saint-Michael had been wearing a POS off and on before putting on his spacesuit, which did not provide enough time to flush the deadly nitrogen from his bloodstream. So he had had absolutely no protection. The physical labor he had done on Armstrong Station and on Enterprise only made things worse…
"No, I don't think he prebreathed properly," Ann said, having sorted it out. "Then it's dysbarism. You've done the only thing you can do for him now. Listen carefully. When the pressure in the chamber exceeds ten p.s.i., the pressure in the airlock will be greater than his suit's pressure. Remove his helmet and yours. Monitor the airlock pressure to make sure it climbs to at least twenty p.s.i. on the emergency setting. If it falls below ten p.s.i. for any reason, seal him back up in his spacesuit and set his suit controls to EMER again. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Keep him quiet and immobilized as much as possible. You'll be in there for at least twenty-four hours until the rescue craft reaches you. How do you feel?"
"I feel like I wish you guys were here now."
"No pain in your joints? Lightheadedness? Nausea?"
"No, no…"
"You should be okay if you follow the same regime as prescribed for the general. We'll fly a hyperbaric chamber up with Atlantis in case he hasn't recovered by then."
"Thanks," Ann said. Then had a sudden thought: "Can you retrieve the lifeboat with a hyperbaric chamber in the cargo bay? Will there be enough room?"
No reply. "Control? Do you copy?"
"Falcon here, Enterprise." The controller had come back on the channel, and his voice was muted, a monotone. Ann felt a shiver, anticipating what was coming next.
"Dr. Page, we lost contact with the lifeboat some hours ago. We were in radio contact with them shortly after separation from Armstrong Station. About a half-hour later they said they… sustained some damage. We lost control soon afterward."
"I see." Her body went limp. "Control, what sort of damage? What… happened?"
There was a moment's pause, then, "The last survivor, Airman Moyer, said they were under attack from a Soviet spaceplane. It apparently fired a single missile into the lifeboat. They didn't have time to get into spacesuits before their air ran out. There were no survivors…
CHAPTER 28
Govorov entered the Stavka conference chambers, accepting congratulations as he made his way to his place at the conference table. He gave a polite bow, then sat down, giving the other Stavka members their cue to follow. The Soviet general secretary remained standing, saying, after the room had quieted, "Welcome home, General Lieutenant Govorov. I'd like to ask you at this time to please step forward."
Govorov got up, walked to the front of the room beside the general secretary, and stood to attention. "Attention to orders," Minister of Defense Czilikov said in a properly ringing voice. The members of the Stavka got to their feet. Czilikov held up an ornately lettered document and read: "By order of the commander in chief of the military forces of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, Alesander Govorov is hereby promoted to the rank of Marshal Kommander, Soviet Space Defense Command, Troops of Air Defense, effective this date. The Politburo joins with the Kollegiya and the people of the Soviet Union in honoring the accomplishments of Comrade Marshal Alesander Govorov this day."
The general secretary moved forward, unclipped Govorov's gold and black three-star shoulder boards and replaced them with shoulder boards carrying one large five-pointed star underneath a gold four-blade propeller. Govorov saluted the general secretary and turned again to face the members of the Stavka.
Czilikov called out, "Present arms." Govorov and the members of the Stavka saluted the hammer and sickle over the general secretary's right shoulder, then saluted Govorov, who returned their salute. "Ready, front." The Stavka members returned to attention and were motioned back to their seats. When the group was settled it was all the general secretary could do to keep to himself the Politburo's wanting to award Govorov the Order of Lenin for his exploits in space the previous month, but he couldn't reveal it — at least publicly — because of Govorov's accidental destruction of the American space station rescue craft, mistaking it for a missile. It was damned unfair but there it was; he could just imagine the international press screaming about the Russian barbarians. True, it was against policy to shoot down a rescue craft, but it hadn't been intentional… Well, perhaps later, after things had calmed down…
The general secretary nodded to Czilikov, who now took the podium beside him. "I extend my personal congratulations to Marshal Govorov, to his staff, and to every member of his command. I also extend to him the condolences of a nation for the loss of his comrade and wingman, Colonel Ivan Voloshin, who will receive the Order of Lenin for his role in the attack on the American space station. His actions are worthy of praise in any world forum." Followed by a short, polite round of applause. A few astute people understood that this was also a way of honoring Govorov… once removed.