Page 117 - Labelle Gramercy, Detective

Airtight

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I had already distributed a press release announcing the successful
conclusion of Cyborganics’ one-year experiment in the Ecodome
when a last-minute message from inside caused a very different kind
of attention to be drawn to the project. The crew was scheduled to
break the airlock seal and emerge into natural sunlight and the glare
of TV camera lights at two o’clock. At one-thirty Waldo Wahl, the
project leader, called us on the direct telephone line. Tragedy had
touched the human participants in our carefully-planned promotional
exercise precisely at the moment of their triumph: one of them had
died suddenly following a small celebration they had held in their
living quarters, a module called the Anthropod.
Ben Schmarker, the president of Cyborganics, was sitting with me
in the communications room when the call came through. I’ll never
forget that scene; the emotions I experienced etched every detail into
my mind. Ben, unfortunately, had been counting his chickens before
they hatched. The reports we had been getting from our people
inside the dome were extremely encouraging. The genetically-
engineered seeds developed by Cyborganics performed up to
expectations and beyond. Once the results were known, it would give
us a decided advantage in landing NASA contracts for the space
station. Our rival start-up company, Semotech, had nothing but
simulated trials produced by a computer to put up against our live
data obtained in a controlled environment as close as possible to the
artificial gardens astronauts would tend out in earth orbit.
And then Waldo’s strained Midwestern twang crackling through
the speakerphone: “Ben, something terrible has happened. Laurel
collapsed after we had lunch. Stopped breathing, and Dr. Kapil
couldn’t revive her. Better call an ambulance, the paramedics,
whatever. But it looks like she’s a goner. Is Kelly there?”
“I’m here, Waldo,” I said. “Are you sure of this? She was in good
shape just this morning when I talked to her.”

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