His gaze suddenly focused on Kenichi Hirai’s EKG, and he leaned forward.

The heart tracing had shuddered up and down in a few rapid oscillations.

Now it sketched a completely straight line across the top of the screen.

Jack relaxed. This was nothing to worry about, he recognized it as an electrical anomaly—probably a loose EKG lead. The blood pressure tracing continued across the screen, unchanged. Perhaps the patient had moved, accidentally pulling off a lead. Or Emma had disconnected the monitor, to allow him to use the toilet in private. Now the blood pressure tracing abruptly cut off—another indication that Kenichi was off the monitors. He watched the screen for a moment longer, expecting the readings to reappear.

When they did not, he got on the loop.

“Capcom, this is Surgeon. I’m seeing a loose lead pattern on the patient’s EKG.”

“Loose lead?”

“Looks like he’s been disconnected from his monitor. There’s no heart tracing coming across. Could you check with Emma to confirm?”

“Roger, Surgeon. I’ll give her a jingle.” A soft whine pulled Emma from a dreamless sleep, and she awakened to the cold kiss of moisture on her face. She had not intended to doze. Though Mission Control was continually monitoring Kenichi’s EKG on biotelemetry and would alert her to any changes in his status, she had planned to stay awake throughout the crew’s designated sleep period. But in the last two days, she had caught only brief snatches of rest, and those were often interrupted by crewmates, waking her with questions about her patient’s status.

Exhaustion, and the utter relaxation of weightlessness, had caught up with her. Her last waking memory was of watching Kenichi’s heart rhythm blip across the screen in a hypnotic squiggle, the line fading to a blur of green. To black.

Aware of the cold splash of water clinging to her cheek, she opened her eyes and saw a globule float toward her, twirling with rainbow of reflections. It took her a few dazed seconds to understand what she was looking at, another few seconds to register the dozens of other globules dancing like silvery Christmas ornaments all around her.

Static, then a voice, crackled over her comm unit. “Uh, Watson, this is Capcom. We hate to wake you, but we need to confirm status of the patient’s EKG leads.”

Hoarse with exhaustion, Emma replied, “I’m awake, Capcom. I think.”

“Biotelemetry shows an anomaly on your patient’s EKG. Surgeon thinks you’ve got a loose lead up there.” She had been drifting, turning in midair while asleep, and now she reoriented herself in the module and turned to where her patient should be.

His sleep restraint bag was empty. The disconnected IV tube floated free, the catheter end releasing drops of glistening into the air. Loose electrode wires drifted in a tangle.

At once she shut off the infusion pump and quickly glanced around.

“Capcom, he’s not here. He’s left the module! Stand by. She pushed off the wall, shot into Node 2, leading to the NASDA and ESA labs. A glance through the hatchways told her he was not there.

“Have you located him?” Capcom asked.

“Negative. I’m still looking.” Had he become disoriented, wandered away in confusion?

Backtracking through the U.S. Lab, she shot through the node hatchway.

A droplet splattered her face. She swiped at the of moisture and was startled to see her finger was smeared with blood.

“Capcom, he’s passed through Node One. Bleeding from his IV puncture site.”

“Recommend you shut off airflow between modules.”

“Roger that.” She glided through the hatchway of the hab module.

The lights had been dimmed, and in the gloom, she saw Griggs and Luther, both sound asleep and zipped into their restraint bags.

No Kenichi.

Don’t panic, she thought as she shut off the intermodule airflow.

Think. Where would he go?

Back to his own sleep station, at the Russian end of ISS. Without waking Griggs or Luther, she left the hab and moved quickly into the tunnel of connecting nodes and modules, her gaze darting left and right in search of her fugitive patient. “Capcom, still haven’t located him. I’m through Zarya and heading for the RSM.” She slipped into the Russian service module, where Kenichi normally slept. In the gloom she saw Diana and Nicolai both asleep, floating as though drowned, their arms drifting free of restraint bags. Kenichi’s station was empty.

Her anxiety turned to real fear.

She gave Nicolai a shake. He was slow to awaken, and even after he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand what she was telling him.

“I can’t find Kenichi,” she repeated. “We need to search every module.”

“Watson,” said Capcom over her headset. “Engineering reports intermittent anomaly in Node One air lock. Please check status.”

“What anomaly?”

“Off and on readings indicate the hatch between the equipment and crew locks may not be fully secure.” Kenichi. He’s in the air lock.

With Nicolai right behind her, she shot like a flying bird through the station and dove into Node 1. At her first frantic glance the open hatch, into the equipment lock, Emma caught a startling glimpse of what looked like three bodies. Two were only the pair of EVA suits, the hard-shelled torsos mounted on the air lock walls easy donning.

Hanging in midair, his body arched backward in a convulsive spasm, was Kenichi.

“Help me get him out of here!” said Emma. She maneuvered behind him and, bracing her feet against the outer hatch, shoved toward Nicolai, who pulled him out of the air lock. Together, propelled him toward the lab module, where the medical equipment had been set up.

“Capcom, we’ve located the patient,” said Emma. “He appears to be seizing—grand mal. I need Surgeon on the loop!”

“Stand by, Watson. Go ahead, Surgeon.” Emma heard a startlingly familiar voice over her headset. “Hey, Em. Hear you’ve got yourself a problem up there.”

“Jack? What are you doing—”

“How’s your patient?” Still in a state of shock, she focused her attention on Kenichi.

Even as she restarted the IV, attached EKG wires, she was wondering what Jack was doing in Mission Control. He had not sat at a flight surgeon’s console in a year, now here he was on the comm loop, his voice calm, even casual, as he asked about Kenichi’s status.

“Is he still seizing?”

“No. No, he’s making purposeful movements now—fighting…”

“Vital signs?”

“Pulse is rapid—one twenty, one thirty. He’s moving air.”

“Good. So he’s breathing.”

“We’re just getting the EKG hooked up now.” She glanced at the monitor, at the cardiac rhythm racing across the screen.

“Sinus tach, rate of one twenty-four. Occasional PVCS.”

“I see it on biotelemetry.”

“Taking BP now…” She whiffed up the cuff, listened to the brachial pulse as the pressure was slowly released. “Ninety-five over sixty. Not significantly—” The blow caught her by surprise. She gave a sharp cry of pain as Kenichi’s hand flailed out, striking her across the mouth. The impact spun her away, and she flew across the module, colliding with the opposite wall.

“Emma?” said Jack. “Emma?” Dazed, she reached up to touch her throbbing lip.

“You’re bleeding!” said Nicolai.

Over her headset, Jack’s frantic voice demanded, “What the hell is going on up there?”

“I’m okay,” she murmured. And repeated, irritably, “I’m okay, Jack. Don’t have a cow.” But her head was still buzzing from the blow. As Nicolai strapped Kenichi to the patient restraint board, she hung back, waiting for her dizziness to pass. At first she did not register Nicolai was saying.

Then she saw the look of disbelief in his eyes. “Look at his stomach,” Nicolai whispered. “Look!” Emma moved closer. “What the hell is that?” she whispered.

“Talk to me, Emma,” said Jack. “Tell me what’s going on.” She stared at Kenichi’s abdomen, where the skin seemed to ripple and boil. “There’s something moving—under his skin—”