Between the Strokes of Night

“We know.” De Vries rubbed at his eyes with his fingers. “That message came in before anything else. We’re in a holding orbit until we’re sure it’s safe to approach Salter Station.”

“Jan, did you see any of it? It’s terrible, the world is exploding.” “I know.” De Vries spoke clearly, almost absently. Somehow Charlene had the impression that his mind was elsewhere.

“I have to talk to a doctor on Salter Station,” he went on. “I would have done it before launch, but there was just too much confusion. Can you find me one?” “There’s one here — Salter Wherry had a heart attack, and she’s looking after him.”

“Well, will you bring the doctor to the communicator? It is imperative that I talk with her about the medical facilities on Salter Station. There is an urgent need for certain drugs and surgical equipment — “ Jan de Vries suddenly paused, looked perplexed, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Charlene. I hear you, but I am having difficulty in concentrating on more than one thing just now. You said that Wherry had a heart attack. When?”

“When the war started.”

“A bad attack?”

“I think so. I don’t know.” Charlene couldn’t answer that question, not with Salter Wherry gazing mutely at her. “Dr. Ferranti, do you have time to talk for a few moments with Dr. de Vries?”

The other woman looked up from her position by Wherry. “No. I’ve got my hands more than full here. But tell me the question, and I’ll see if I can give you a quick answer.”

“Thank you,” said de Vries humbly. “I’ll be brief. Back on Earth there are — or were — four hospitals equipped to perform complete parietal resection, with partial removal and internal stitching of the anterior commissure. It needs special tools and a complicated pre- and post-operative drug protocol. I would like to know if such an operation could be performed with the medical facilities available at Salter Station’s Med Center.”

“What the hell is he going on about?” asked Hans in a gruff whisper over his shoulder to Wolfgang. “The world’s going up in flames, and he’s playing shop talk about hospitals.”

Wolfgang gestured to Hans to keep quiet. Jan de Vries had stated many times that he was unencumbered in the world, an orphan with no living relatives, and no close friends. His griefs should not be for lost family or loved ones. But Wolfgang could see the look on de Vries’ face, and something there spoke of personal tragedy more than general Armageddon. A strange suspicion whispered into Wolfgang’s mind.

Dr. Ferranti finally turned her head to stare at de Vries’ image. “We don’t have the equipment. And seeing that” — she jerked her head at the main display unit — “I guess we’ll never have it.”

Salter Station’s orbit had steadily taken it farther west, to the sunlit side of Earth. Now they looked directly down on the Atlantic Ocean. The tiny dark ulcers on the Earth’s face had spread and merged. Most of Europe was totally obscured by a smoky pall, lit from within by lightning flashes and surface fire-storms. The east coast of the United States should have been coming into view, but it was hidden by a continuous roiling mass of dust and cloud.

And the seeker missiles were still being launched. As enemy targets were hit and vanished from the displays, new bright specks rose like the Phoenix from the seething turmoil that had been the United States, setting their paths over the pole toward Asia. The guiding hands that controlled them might be dead, but their instructions had long since been established in the control computers. If no one lived to stop it, the nuclear rain would fall until all arsenals were empty.

“Can you put together a facility for the operation?” asked de Vries at last. Unable to see the displays himself, he did not realize that everyone in the central control room was paralyzed by the scene of a dying Earth. His question was an urgent one, but no one would reply. Since the beginning of the day everything had taken place in a slow dream, as though the world around de Vries was already running down toward its final end.

“Can you build one?” he repeated.

Ferranti shivered, and finally replied. “If we wanted to we might be able to build a makeshift system to do the job — but it would take us at least five years. We’d be bootstrapping all the way, making equipment to make equipment.” She looked down again at Salter Wherry, and at once lost interest in talking further to de Vries. Wherry’s breathing was shallower, and he was trembling. He appeared to be unconscious.

“Come on,” she said to her assistant. “I didn’t want to move him yet, but we have no choice. We have to take him back to the center. At once, or he’ll be gone.”

With Wolfgang’s help, Wherry was carefully lifted on to the lightweight carrier. He still wore the breathing mask over his lower face. As he was lowered into position, his eyes opened. The pupils were dilated, the irises rimmed with yellowish-white. The eyeballs were sunk back and dark-rimmed. Wolfgang looked down into them and saw death there.