“We pull in the EVA crew, that ends all repairs for the next twenty-four hours.” The crew could not pop inside and go right out again. They needed time to recover, additional time to repeat decompression cycle.”

Though Woody Ellis didn’t say it aloud, he was probably thinking the same thing as everyone else in the room, Even if they did call the crew inside to assist, it would make little difference to Diana Estes. Her death was inevitable.

To Todd’s horror, the EKG tracing was now in sustained V tach. It was not recovering.

“She’s going downhill!” he said. “Get one of them inside now! Bring in Watson!” There was a second’s hesitation.

Then Flight said, “Do it.” Why isn’t Griggs responding?

Frantically Emma pulled herself from handhold to handhold, moving as fast as she could along the main truss. She felt slow and clumsy in the Orlan-M suit, and her hands ached from the effort of flexing against the resistance of bulky gloves. She was already exhausted from the repair work, and now fresh sweat was soaking into her lining, and her muscles quivered from fatigue.

“Griggs, respond. Goddamnit, respond!” she snapped into her comm link.

ISS remained silent.

“What’s Diana’s status?” she demanded between panted breaths.

Todd’s voice came on. “Still in V tach.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t rush, Watson. Don’t get careless!”

“She’s not going to last. Where the fuck is Griggs?” She was breathing so hard now she could barely keep up the conversation. She forced herself to concentrate on grabbing the hand rung, on keeping her tether untangled. Clambering off the truss, she made a lunge for the ladder, but was suddenly snapped a halt.

Her sleeve had caught on a corner of the work platform.

Slow down. You’re going to get yourself killed.

Gingerly she unsnagged her sleeve and saw there was no puncture.

Heart still hammering, she continued down the ladder and pulled herself into the air lock. Quickly she swung the hatch shut and opened the pressure equalization valve.

“Talk to me, Todd,” she snapped as the air lock began to repressurize.

“What’s the rhythm?”

“She’s now in coarse V fib. We still can’t get Griggs on comm.”

“We’re losing her.”

“I know, I know!”

“Okay, I’m up to five psi—”

“Air-lock integrity check. Don’t skip it.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Watson, no fucking shortcuts.” She paused and took a deep breath. Todd was right. In the hostile environment of space, one must never take shortcuts. She completed the air-lock integrity check, finished repressurization, opened the next hatch, leading into the equipment lock. There she swiftly removed her gloves. The Russian Orlan-M suit was easier to doff than the American EMU, but it still took time to swing open the rear life-support system and wriggle out. I’ll never make it in time, she thought as she furiously kicked her feet free from the lower torso.

“Status, Surgeon!” she barked into her comm assembly.

“She’s now in fine fib.” A terminal rhythm, thought Emma. This was their last chance to save Diana.

Now clad only in her water-cooling garment, she opened the hatch leading into the station. Frantic to reach her patient, she pushed off the wall and dove headfirst through the hatch opening.

Wetness splashed her face, blurring her vision. She missed the handhold and collided with the far wall. For a few seconds she drifted in confusion, blinking away the sting. What did I get in my eyes? she thought.

Not eggs. Please, not eggs … her vision Slowly cleared, but even then, she could not comprehend what she was seeing. Floating all around her in the shadowy node were giant globules.

She felt more wetness brush her hand, and she looked down at the blackish stain soaking into her sleeve, at the dark blooming here and there on her water-cooling garment. She held her sleeve up to one of the node lights.

The stain was blood.

In horror she gazed at the giant globules hanging in the shadows.

So much of it … Quickly she closed the hatch to prevent the contamination from spreading into the air lock. It was too late to protect the rest of the station, the globules had spread everywhere. She dove into the hab, opened the CCPK, and donned protective mask and goggles.

Maybe the blood was not infectious. Maybe she could still protect herself.

“Watson?” said Cutler.

“Blood … there’s blood everywhere!”

“Diana’s rhythm is agonal—there’s not much left to jump-start!”

“I’m on my way!” She pushed out of the node and entered the tunnellike Zarya. The Russian module seemed blindingly bright after the barely lit U.S. end, the globules of blood like gaily balloons floating in the air. Some had collided with the walls, splattering Zarya a brilliant red. Popping out the far end of the module, she could not avoid one giant bubble floating directly in her path.

Reflexively she closed her eyes as it splattered her goggles, obscuring her view. Drifting blindly, she wiped her sleeve across the goggles to clear away the blood.

And found herself staring straight at Michael Griggs’s chalkwhite face.

She screamed. In horror she thrashed uselessly at empty air, going nowhere.

“Watson?” She stared at the large bubble of blood still clinging to the gaping wound on his neck. This was the source of all the blood—a slashed carotid artery. She forced herself to touch the intact side of his neck, to search for a pulse. She could not feel one.

“Diana’s EKG is flat line!” said Todd.

Emma’s stunned gaze shifted to the hatch leading to the RSM, where Diana was supposed to be isolated. The plastic sheeting was gone, the module was open to the rest of the station.

In dread, she entered the RSM. Diana was still strapped to the patient restraint board. Her face had been battered beyond recognition, her teeth smashed to splinters. A balloon of blood was oozing from her mouth.

The squeal of the cardiac monitor at last drew Emma’s attention.

A flat line traced across the screen. She reached over to off the alarm, and her hand froze in midair. Glistening on the power switch was a blue-green gelatinous clump.

Eggs. Diana has already shed eggs. She has already released Chimera into the air.

The monitor alarm seemed to build to an unbearable shriek, yet Emma remained motionless, staring at that cluster of eggs. They seemed to shimmer and recede out of focus. She blinked, and as her vision cleared again, she remembered the moisture hitting her face, stinging her eyes as she had dived through the air-lock hatch.

She had not been wearing goggles then. She could still feel the wetness on her cheek, cool and clinging.

She reached up to touch her face, and stared at the eggs, like quivering pearls, on her fingertips.

The squeal of the cardiac alarm had become unbearable. She flipped off the monitor, and the squeal ceased. The silence that followed was just as alarming. She could not hear the hiss of the fans. They should be drawing in air, pulling it through the HEPA filters for cleansing.

There’s too much blood in the air. It has blocked all the filters. The rise in the pressure gradient across the filters had tripped the sensors, automatically shutting off the overheated fans.

“Watson, please respond!” said Todd.

“They’re dead.” Her voice broke into a sob. “They’re both dead!

Now Luther’s voice broke into the loop. “I’m coming in.”

“No,” she said. “No—”

“Just hang on, Emma. I’ll be right there.”

“Luther, you can’t come in! There’s blood and eggs everywhere. This station is no longer habitable. You have to stay in the air lock.”

“That’s not a long-term solution.”

“There is no fucking long-term solution!”

“Look, I’m in the crew lock now. I’m closing the outer hatch. Starting repress—”

“The vent fans have all shut off. There’s no way to clean this air.”