The sound of a ringing telephone cut the silence. Jack glanced sideways and saw one of the Air Force monitors answer it. Suddenly he went rigid and turned to Woody Ellis.

“What the hell is going on here?” Ellis said nothing.

The officer quickly typed on Ellis’s console keyboard and stared at the screen in disbelief. He grabbed the phone. “Yes, sir. I’m, that’s a confirmation. The CRV has separated. No, sir, I don’t know how it—Yes, sir, we have been monitoring the loop, but—” The oficer was red-faced and sweating as he listened to the tirade from the receiver.

When he hung up, he was shaking with rage.

“Turn it around!” he ordered.

Woody Ellis answered with barely disguised contempt. “It isn’t a Soyuz capsule. You can’t command it to drive around like a goddamn automobile.”

“Then stop it from landing!”

“We can’t. It’s a one-way trip home.” Three more Air Force officers walked swiftly into the room.

Jack recognized General Gregorian of the U.S. Space Command—the man now in authority over NASA operations.

“What’s the status?” Gregorian snapped.

“The CRV is undocked but still in orbit,” the red-faced officer replied.

“How soon before they reach atmosphere?”

“Uh—I don’t have that information, sir.” Gregorian turned to the flight director. “How soon, Mr. Ellis?

“It depends. There are a number of options.”

“Don’t give me a fucking engineering lecture. I want an answer. I want a number.”

“Okay.” Ellis straightened and looked him hard in the eye. “Anywhere from one to eight hours. It’s up to them. They can stay in orbit for four revolutions max. Or they can deorbit now and be on the ground in an hour.”

Gregorian picked up the phone. “Mr. President, I’m afraid there’s not much time to decide. They could deorbit any minute now. Yes, sir, I know it’s a hard choice. But my recommendation remains the same as Mr. Profitt’s.”

What recommendation? thought Jack with a surge of panic.

An Air Force officer called out from one of the flight consoles, “They’ve started their deorbit burn!”

“We’re running out of time, sir,” said Gregorian. “We need your answer now.” There was a long pause. Then he nodded, with relief.

“You’ve made the right decision. Thank you.” He hung up and turned to the Air Force officers. “It’s a go.”

“What’s a go?” said Ellis. “What are you people planning to do?

His questions were ignored. The Air Force officer picked up the phone and calmly issued the order, “Stand by for EKV launch.” What the hell is an EKV? thought Jack. He looked at Todd and saw by his blank expression that he didn’t know what was being launched, either.

It was Todd, the trajectory controller, who walked over to their console and quietly answered the question. “Exoatmospheric kill vehicle,” he whispered. “They’re going to intercept.”

“Target must be neutralized before it descends to atmosphere,” said Gregorian.

Jack shot to his feet in panic. “No!” Almost simultaneously, other controllers rose from their chairs in protest. Their shouts almost drowned out Capcom, who had to yell at the top of his voice to be heard.

“I have ISS on comm! ISS is on comm!” ISS? Then someone is still aboard the station. Someone has been left behind.

Jack cupped his hand over his earpiece and listened to the downlinked voice.

It was Emma. “Houston, this is Watson on ISS. Mission Specialist Ames is not infected. I repeat, he is not infected. He is only crew member returning aboard CRV. I urgently request you allow the vehicle’s safe landing.”

“Roger that, ISS,” said Capcom.

“You see? There’s no reason to shoot it down,” Ellis said to Gregorian.

“Stop your EKV launch!”

“How do we know Watson’s telling the truth?” countered Gregorian.

“She must be telling the truth. Why else would she stay behind? She’s just stranded herself up there. The CRV was the lifeboat she had!” The impact of those words made Jack go numb. The heated conversation between Ellis and Gregorian suddenly seemed to fade out.

Jack was no longer focusing on the fate of the CRV. He could think only of Emma, alone now, and trapped on the station, with no way to evacuate.

She knows she is infected. She has stayed behind to die.

“CRV has completed deorbit burn. It’s descending. Trajectory is on the front screen.” Tracing across the world map at the front of the room was a small blip representing the CRV and its lone human passenger.

They heard him now, on comm.

“This is Mission Specialist Luther Ames. I am approaching entry altitude, all systems nominal.” The Air Force officer looked at Gregorian. “We’re still standing by for EKV launch.”

“You don’t have to do this,” said Woody Ellis. “He’s not sick. We can bring him home!”

“The craft itself is probably contaminated,” said Gregorian.

“You don’t know that!”

“I can’t take that chance. I can’t risk the lives of people on earth.”

“Godddamnit, this is murder.”

“He disobeyed orders. He knew what our response would be.” Gregorian nodded to the Air Force officer.

“EKVS have been launched, sir.” Instantly the room hushed. Woody Ellis, pale and shaken, stared at the front screen, at the multiple trajectory tracings, toward an intersecting point.

The minutes went by in dead silence. At the front of the room, one of the women controllers began to cry softly.

“Houston, I’m approaching entry interface.” It was a shock to hear Luther’s cheery voice suddenly crackle on the comm. “I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d have someone meet me on the ground, ‘cause I’m gonna need help getting out of this EMU.” No one responded. No one had the heart to.

“Houston?” said Luther, after a moment of silence. “Hey, you guys still there?” At last Capcom managed to reply, in an uneven voice, “Uh, roger, CRV . We’ll have the beer keg waiting for you, Luther of’ buddy. Dancing girls. The whole works .”

“Geez, you guys have loosened up since we last spoke. Okay, looks like I’m bout ready for LOS. You keep that beer cold, and I—” There was a loud burst of static. Then the transmission went dead.

The blip on the front screen exploded into a shocking sunburst of fragments, scattering into delicate pixels of dust.

Woody Ellis crumpled into his chair and dropped his head in his hands.

“Securing air-to-ground loop,” said Capcom. “Stand by, ISS.”

“Talk to me, Jack . Please talk to me, Emma pleaded silently as she floated in the hab’s semidarkness. With the circulation fans shut down, the module was so quiet she could hear the whoosh of her own pulse, the movement of air rushing in and out of her lungs.

She was startled when Capcom’s voice suddenly said, “Air-to-ground secure. You may proceed to PFC.”

“Jack?” she said.

“I’m here. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

“He was clean! I told them he was clean—”

“We tried to stop it! The order came straight from the White House. They didn’t want to take any chances.”

“It’s my fault.” Her exhaustion suddenly gave way to tears. She was alone and scared. And haunted by her catastrophically wrong decision. “I thought they’d let him come back. I thought it was best chance of staying alive.”

“Why did you stay behind, Emma?”

“I had to.” She took a deep breath and said, “I’m infected.”

“You were exposed. That doesn’t mean you’re infected.”

“I just ran my own blood tests, Jack. My amylase level is rising.”

He said nothing.

“I’m now eight hours postexposure. I should have another twenty-four to forty-eight hours before I … can no longer function.” Her voice had steadied. She sounded strangely calm now, as though she were talking about a patient’s impending death. Not her own. “That’s enough time to get a few things in order. Jettison bodies. Change out some of the filters, and get the fans working again. It should make cleanup easier for the next crew. If there is a next crew…” Jack still hadn’t spoken.