Chapter Four

 

While in route back to Mars, Cramer checked on his account balance. He nearly uttered a “Whoa” at Witherspoon’s generosity. Now he could start the doctors on Cindy’s treatment. He looked forward to relaxing, spending time with her, and observing her progress. The risky missions of Europa and Jupiter almost cost him his life and left him with some health problems. Working with Olympus Mons Mining, sticking to familiar jobs, and teaming up with Floyd again gave him an inner sigh of relief.

Cramer relaxed, his eyes half closed, as the freighter slowed, allowing the passengers a view of Vesta, the large asteroid, lit by the sun. Its cratered surface and characteristic long, straight scars portrayed themselves to him.

His mind wandered to Mona. She saved his skin, and he had begun to develop feelings for her, but not just because she saved his life. Lately, she acted more distant than usual, and her fits of arrogance turned him off. What attracted him to her? Was it her strong personality, her acting aloof toward him, her refusal to be chummy? Why would attributes he found negative attract him?

He probably wouldn’t see her again. Just as well, for he couldn’t afford emotional involvement with somebody who might interfere with his devotion to Cindy. Add to that the rejection he expected from her anyway. He guessed Mona would have a front seat ride all the way to Sirius and back, if they managed to make it back. He didn’t know the time dilation involved on a ship going eighty percent the speed of light, but he would be a prune faced old man when Mona returned, and perhaps her beautiful blond hair would be mingled with a few gray hairs.

Mars at last. Olympus Mons, with the odd formation of craters on its top, peeked through the clouds. The freighter, built for steep descent made possible by its huge rocket engines that jutted out the sides and faced in the direction of the nose, did away with numerous orbits at shallow angles. The engines belched to life, its smoky plume whizzing past his window. Soon they would touch down at the storage building some ten kilometers from the hospital. Once down, he looked forward to the ten-seated space taxi that would take him to the hospital and a much-awaited visit with Cindy.

After landing, he retrieved his two small bags from the baggage area, hurried to the passenger taxi, stowed his bags in the compartment under his seat, and settled in for the ten-kilometer flight.

In less than ten minutes, he leaped out of the taxi and headed for Cindy’s hospital room. He set his bags near the door and entered. As usual, she didn’t move her eyes in his direction, and he wondered once more if she recognized him or not. He pulled a chair close to her bed, leaned toward her ear to say softly, “Hi, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.”

He studied her face, hoping for some response, and, just like those many times, he could see no outward reaction. He continued, “Cindy, dear. Tomorrow a Doctor Canfield is going to see you, and he will start you on special treatments. You and I have waited a long time, and now I’m sure he can help you.” He stroked her long brown hair.

For an hour, he stayed at her bedside, during which time a nurse came to take care of Cindy’s needs. Cramer left and took his bags to his room just beyond the patient wing of the hospital. He returned and sat next to Cindy, talking now and then to her until he started nodding off. He came out of his dozing to see her sound asleep. After he went to his room, he climbed into bed, and the arms of Morpheus received him immediately.

Cramer woke in the early morning hours from a nightmare, a repeating dream about Cindy receding into the distance while somebody restrained him and forced him to go where he didn’t want to go. Sweat beaded his forehead. He turned on his room light, squinted, rubbed his eyes, dressed, and headed for Cindy’s room through low lighted corridors.

He sat down and watched her sleep. The horrible feeling of being separated from her returned. He nodded into a sound sleep, only to be awakened by the arrival of the morning nurse. Shortly, Dr. Canfield arrived.

“Doctor, I’m glad to see you. Will your treatment of Cindy be done here?”

Dr. Canfield, a short and slender middle-aged man, looked over his steel rimmed glasses at Cramer. “Yes. It seems you’re as anxious as I am to get started.”

“I’ve waited and saved money a long time for this. Do you have a few moments to explain the procedure?”

Canfield, seeming to ignore the question, walked over to Cindy’s bed, lifted her skinny arm, then considered it carefully from her wrist to the short-sleeved opening of the hospital gown. He did the same with the other arm, while Cramer stood by with little patience. Canfield then scanned her legs, stopping his examination just above her knees.

“As you know, her nerve endings are not properly formed. The equipment I’ve had shipped here from Europe will generate a bioelectric current which we’ll send into Cindy’s body through noninvasive patches placed at various places. This will stimulate the development of her nerve endings. The problem of her nerves short-circuiting with each other will be solved by applying a formulated cream that will absorb through her skin and promote cell growth between the nerve fibers, allowing a separation of those fibers. I know that sounds simple, but a lot of research has been done to develop this treatment.”

“Will Cindy feel any pain? Are there side effects?”

“No pain or side effects have been noted on the patients treated on Earth. The procedure has proven very successful on these patients. Please understand, the expense involved goes to paying for the research that has already been done. Since this affliction is rare, it wasn’t possible to get funding ahead of time, so a benefactor footed the bill, and we’re paying him back.”

“Let me guess. That benefactor is Brad Witherspoon.”

“Why yes. Nobody else had enough money. I’ve heard he’s about broke. I don’t know the details, but he’s sunk all his money into some project recently,” Canfield answered.

Cramer considered Witherspoon’s star ship and wasn’t surprised the outlay would put a strain on his massive pocketbook. “I’m very anxious for you to get started.”

“I’ll run some tests tomorrow to determine how thick her skin is, and with your permission do a brain biopsy to see the extent of her nerve fiber problem. After that I’ll know precisely how to proceed with treatments.”

Two days later Canfield started the procedure. Cramer watched as Canfield and his assistant, a young woman named Kira, hooked up the apparatus. Kira rubbed the cream over Cindy’s entire body.

As the first few weeks passed, Cramer thought he saw Cindy’s gaze tracking him as he walked from one side of her bed to the other. Canfield verified her eye movements followed motion of people or things across her field of view. By the third week Cramer spotted a slight expression, maybe a smile, on her face. Happiness numbed him.

Early one morning during her fourth week of treatments, Hendricks came to see Cramer. He sat down across from him at the kitchen table. Cramer worked on finishing his French toast.

“You’ll forgive me, but I’d like to finish my breakfast then get to business I have this morning,” he said, using his fork to cut a bite-sized piece, smearing it slowly around in the syrup on his plate then jabbing it into his mouth.

“No problem. I’m here to ask you to reconsider going to Sirius on behalf of Mr. Witherspoon.”

“I appreciate his confidence in me, but my answer is still the same.”

“We need you for this trip. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Hendricks said.

“Yes, quite literally.”

“May I ask why you are opposed to going?”

“I have a close family member who’s ill. She has no one else but me, and I will not abandon her for any reason.”

“Mr. Witherspoon won’t take no for an answer,” Hendricks said.

“Excuse me?” Cramer stopped his fork and piece of French toast halfway to his mouth.

“Eh, what I mean is Mr. Witherspoon will be disappointed.”

“That sure isn’t what it sounded like.” He laid his fork down and lost interest in finishing his breakfast.

“It was just a way of saying how Mr. Witherspoon will react,” Hendricks said.

“Prone to throw fits when he doesn’t get his way, eh?”

“You could say that. Look, there will be one person on board who you’ll know. Mona Watson.”

“I expected that. She’s very capable, but the answer is still no. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to at least finish my orange juice alone. I need to head to the patient wing.”

“Of course. I’ll be on Mars another week if you change your mind.” Hendricks started to leave but looked back.

“I won’t.” Cramer opened the door for him, then watched him go, noticing a mixture of anger and disappointment on his face. Even his walk portrayed aggravation.

~ * ~

Cramer noticed more improvement in Cindy’s responses. Now she reached her hand toward him. Yes, he thought, dreams do come true. When that happened, his tears flowed as he took her boney hand in both of his. Canfield cautioned him that her progress would become less pronounced as time went on, but she should make a full recovery. The time frame Cramer could only guess at, and Cramer suspected Doctor Canfield estimated high so he wouldn’t be disappointed. Total nerve ending regeneration would take six months to a year, but it would be worth the wait. Cramer’s money might not hold out, so he decided to track down Floyd and also speak with Olympus Mons Mining to line up some work for the near future.

He went back to his room that evening resolving to investigate further employment the next day. Before retiring that night, he made a long overdue call to his lawyer and settled arrangements over the phone for Cindy’s care, given his life-threatening work. He sealed those legal stipulations with his voice imprint, then dropped into a fitful sleep.

Cramer awoke suddenly and heard a low-pitched hissing, low enough in frequency his tinnitus didn’t block the sound. He bounded out of bed, and bounced to the door. When he felt dizzy, and his vision blurred, that prevented him from reading the LED clock on his bureau. He stumbled against the door and hit the light switch.

Squinting his eyes at the brightness, he looked down. A cloud of vapors spread like a flimsy blanket into his room, flowing under the door. His vision of the room started tilting, like being trapped in a falling building. He grasped the door bar and pushed. The lock snapped open, and he shoved, but the door wouldn’t budge. His strength waned, so he banged into the door with his shoulder; the hall lights shone through the ten-centimeter crack. He shoved harder, trying to gulp fresh air, but numbness swept over his body, making him stumble. He lost his footing, dropped to the floor, and his conscious existence closed like a theater production bringing the curtain down for the last time. He surrendered to the darkness.

~ * ~

Cramer awakened to a throbbing headache, which reminded him of the headache following his handling of a nitroglycerin based explosive bare-handed when assembling a blasting device for mining deep below the surface of the asteroid, Herculina. He learned that lesson the hard way and always remembered how nitroglycerin passed through the skin directly into the bloodstream. The nerve gas he’d inhaled must have dilated the blood vessels in his brain just as the nitro from the explosive had many years ago.

Bit by bit, he opened his eyes and stared straight up from a bed. The ceiling seemed to be a bulkhead like he expected on a ship. He could hear the faint sound of rocket engines. Unconfined in the bed, he noticed somebody had removed his PJs and dressed him with his slacks and T-shirt.

He tried to rise up on one elbow but a swimming, throbbing sensation forced him back down. He breathed as deeply as his damaged lungs would allow. Like a fog whisked away by a wind, his thoughts began to coalesce. As he rose onto one elbow again, his world seemed more stable, at least physically.

Something felt different. He couldn’t hear the engines anymore. He put his feet on the floor, tested his balance, then tried the door. Opening it, he stepped into a dimly lit hallway. Which way to go? One direction led toward a bright area. He wanted answers, answers he probably wouldn’t like.

Stepping with care, keeping against one wall, he inched forward toward the light, glancing behind him frequently. The glow lit the door at the end of the hall. He put his ear to that door and tried to listen for voices. Although muffled, he could distinguish a man and woman’s voice. The door, unlocked, opened outward. Hendricks swung in his chair to stare at him, as did the woman.

“Joe. About time you came around,” Mona said.

“What the devil is going on?” Cramer yelled, his face feeling flush.

“Take it easy,” Hendricks said with a calm tone.

“I get drugged and put on a ship to no telling where, and you’re telling me to take it easy?” He stepped toward Hendricks, intent on taking him by the throat in a chokehold to emphasize his words. Just then, a muscular man rose from his chair and stood between him and Hendricks.

“Back off. You’ll be filled in soon enough,” the new man said with a deep voice.

“Eh, this is Stark, Witherspoon’s cruiser pilot,” Hendricks said.

“Don’t tell me to back off.” Cramer continued his advance. Stark grabbed him, stopping him, clamping onto his wrists tightly. He felt like he’d hit a brick wall.

“Don’t hurt him,” Hendricks told Stark.

Stark lessened his hold on Cramer. He glared at Stark, then Hendricks, and the feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him. He jerked free of Stark’s grip in disgust and defiance, turned away from all of them, strode to the door, put his hand against it, and looked down, slumping his shoulders. “Where are we?”

“Look out the side port,” Mona said.

He glanced up, turned his head and spotted the port. He walked over and shielded his eyes, getting close enough to cut out room light. His nose almost touched the recessed glass. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A huge bluish-green ball without prominent cloud formations floated nearby.

He could see pinpoints of light, some bright enough to show a disk, moons that circled the gas giant. “Uranus?”

“That’s right,” Hendricks answered.

“Either I was out a long time, or this cruiser is incredibly fast,” he said.

“A combination of both,” Hendricks said. Stark returned to his pilot chair.

“This is such a long way from Mars. In fact, I’ve never been farther than Saturn before,” Cramer said. Grief threatened to get the best of him as he reflected on Cindy far away. His quick mental arithmetic told him it would take light over two and a half hours to make its journey here.

“Mars will soon be a lot farther away,” Hendricks said. “Mr. Witherspoon’s star ship, Quest, is parked nearby and will be leaving in two days. I know that’s much sooner than I told you. Mr. Witherspoon put a rush on completing its construction.”

“If you think I’m going on this voyage, you’re crazy,” Cramer said. “Besides, you need someone younger. On top of that, I have hearing problems, and my lungs are messed up.”

“Mr. Witherspoon wants you. He feels your sensitivity, your caring for other people, is your additional asset that goes with your success in space missions.”

“I have a sick family member who has just started treatments. I must be there for…”

“Your daughter,” Hendricks finished.

“How did you know what family member it was?” Cramer asked.

“Mona told us. She stood up for you, but Mr. Witherspoon wouldn’t change his mind. Don’t blame her for your abduction,” Hendricks said.

Mona dropped her gaze, avoiding Cramer’s stare.

“That was you outside her room, wasn’t it? Right after our Saturn rings mining trip.” He remembered someone at the Martian Medical hospital outside Cindy’s room while he visited her.

“Yes. You know why I was questioning you about whether anything else was on your mind,” Mona answered, continuing to stare at the floor, then lifting her gaze to meet his stare.

“A fear I wouldn’t concentrate on what I was doing. Why didn’t you take my word? Well, Witherspoon is going to have a real problem with me concentrating on his venture. This is truly a nightmare come true. If you don’t mind, I’m going back to my room.”

“Joe, you shouldn’t be alone right now. May I go with you?” she asked.

“I appreciate the offer, but it is a little late to reconcile my being abducted. Hendricks here displays his high and mighty gallantry by saying it wasn’t your fault for my being kidnapped. Couldn’t you have refused to cooperate after their underhanded tricks?”

Again, she looked down, apparently not being able to find words.

Cramer continued, “I suppose you envisioned a ticker-tape parade upon returning. It is a big deal, being the first to go to a nearby star.”

“Well, I don’t expect a parade. Like I told you before the Saturn mission, I’ve fought the idea of women being second-class citizens. This mission will certainly strike a blow to that,” she said, her anger flushing her cheeks.

“Mona, how could anybody think that of you? Snagging the big one, from Saturn’s rings, diving into Europa’s ocean for blind fish, dipping into Jupiter’s atmosphere hardly makes you a second-class citizen. Witherspoon, Hendricks and Sanchez obviously recognize you as a top explorer as do I.”

“I still regret not objecting more for you being forced to come along. Admittedly, I feel better about you going because this undertaking is risky to say the least.” Her lips turned down, and she broke eye contact with Cramer.

Hendricks jumped in, “Mr. Witherspoon saw to it your daughter had the remaining monies for her treatments. Dr. Canfield is sure her treatments will be successful.”

Cramer saw through his pitiful attempt to soothe his depression. “I still need to be there,” he said, wishing he could slam the door as he left, but the doors were not like the ancient entrances and exits of the distant past.

He walked back to his room. Once inside, he noticed a bag. How thoughtful. The kidnaper packed some of his clothes and other items. He hated the idea of someone pawing at his personal things. He looked through the contents and found a family photo of him, Cindy, and his wife, Rita. He gazed at the photo taken fifteen years ago, just shortly before Rita died. He took a deep breath, held the framed photo against his chest, and tried to fall asleep but could not.

A soft rap on his door brought him back to a harsh reality, of being some place he didn’t want to be, of heading for a place he didn’t want to go, of probably never returning to the place he wanted to be.

“Joe, we’ll be arriving at the star ship in fifteen minutes,” Mona said.

He acknowledged, swung his feet to the floor, and put the photo back in his bag. Cramer entered an empty hall and went forward to the pilot’s cabin.

“We’ll transfer to Quest through an air lock just beyond your room, Joe.” Hendricks spun in his chair to face him.

Cramer said nothing as he walked to the port where he’d seen Uranus before. He saw the gas giant slightly off center from the viewport now. An external light on their ship came on, showing the star ship. The giant ship consisted of large spheres all in a straight line, each connected by corridors—for lack of a better description. It reminded him of ancient wooden tinker toys stuck together, each short stick having round wheels fastened on each end. He counted ten spheres as they passed. The back one terminated in the massive star drive engines. The front sphere appeared a bit different, perhaps serving as the control center for the entire ship.

“You might want to take a seat, Mr. Cramer. I’ll be kicking in the braking rockets in about thirty seconds,” Stark said.

Cramer took the one remaining seat behind Mona and fastened himself in. The breakers fired, and a shudder went through the cruiser. Stark maneuvered to come to an airlock, apparently somewhere on the other side of the star ship, Cramer guessed. That took about five minutes. He felt a slight nudge, and Stark announced docking complete.

Cramer trailed Hendricks and Mona out, all with their belongings in canvas bags. The three of them walked in silence down the short hall, past his room and two other rooms on the opposite side, until they came to a circular door about seven feet in diameter. Hendricks checked a gauge on the wall, then activated a button. The door rolled into the wall out of sight. Cramer stared at the narrow corridor about ten meters long, terminated at the other end by a similar circular door.

“Watch your step. This passage is a bit flimsy,” Hendricks said as he started through toward the star ship gingerly.

Mona followed, and Cramer brought up the rear, initially having trouble with his footing. He felt himself floating part of the time; gravity was not provided in this connection between ships. He pushed off the sides and kept his upright position, something he had done on his many assignments for Olympus Mons Mining.

Mars. Depression hit him when he considered it and the possibility he may never see the red planet again—and if he did he would be an old man. What of Cindy? Would she be cured? Would she recognize him if he made it back? Would she remember him if he didn’t? He didn’t remember going through the other door into the starship.