Then the thought occurred to him, Where had the blue-green substance come from? Bill had been using the glove box. Was whatever he'd spilled toxic?
Kenichi floated to the computer workstation and looked at the experimental protocol Bill had last called up. It was CCU#23, a culture.
The protocol reassured him that the globule contained nothing dangerous.
Archaeons were harmless single-celled marine organisms, without infectious properties.
Satisfied, he returned to the glove box and inserted his hands.
He reached for the needle.
July 16.
We have no downlink.
Jack stared up at the plume of exhaust streaking into the azure sky, and terror knifed deep into his soul. The sun was beating down on his face, but his sweat had chilled to ice. He scanned heavens. Where was the shuttle? Only seconds before, he had watched it arc into a cloudless sky, had felt the ground shake the thunder of liftoff. As it had climbed, he'd felt his heart with it, borne aloft by the roar of rockets, and had followed its path heavenward until it was just a glinting pinprick of reflected sunlight.
He could not see it. What had been a straight white plume was now a jagged trail of black smoke.
Frantically he searched the sky and caught a dizzying whirl of images.
Fire in the heavens. A devil's fork of smoke. Shattered fragments tumbling toward the sea.
We have no downlink.
He woke up, gasping, his body steeped in sweat. It was daylight, and the sun shone, piercingly hot, through his bedroom window.
With a groan he sat up on the side of the bed and dropped his head in his hands. He had left the air conditioner off last night, now the room felt like an oven. He stumbled across his bedroom to flip the switch, then sank down on the bed again and breathed a sigh of relief as chill air began to spill from the vent.