Read Online Deep Storm by Lincoln Child - Free Book Online

ago.”
    Very slowly, Asher leaned back in his chair.
“Six hundred years.”
    Once again, the tiny office fell into silence.
    â€œYou need to requisition one of the rovers,” Asher said at last. “Have it fitted with an electron-phasing magnetometer, do several passes over the burial site. You’ll take care of that?”
    â€œYes, Dr. Asher.”
    â€œVery good.”
    Asher watched as the young geologist stood up, nodded, made for the door.
    â€œAnd, Paul?” he said quietly.
    The man turned back.
    â€œDo it right away, please. And don’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”

9
    Crane looked up from the digital clipboard that he’d been scribbling notes on with a plastic stylus. “And that’s it? Just some pain in the legs?”
    The man in the hospital bed nodded. Even beneath the sheet it was clear he was tall and well built. He had good color, and his eyes were clear.
    â€œOn a scale of one to ten, how severe is the pain?”
    The man thought a moment. “Depends. I’d say around six. Sometimes a little more.”
    Nonfebrile myalgia,
Crane jotted on the clipboard. It seemed impossible—no, it
was
impossible—this man had suffered a ministroke two days ago. He was too young, and, besides, none of the tests indicated one had occurred. There were only the initial complaints: partial paralysis, slurred speech.
    â€œThank you,” Crane said, shutting the metal clipboard. “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions.” And he stepped back from the bed.
    Although termed a “suite,” the medical facility of the Deep Storm station boasted equipment that a moderate-sized hospital might envy. In addition to the ER, surgical bays, and two dozen patient rooms, there were numerous breakout areas for specialties from radiography to cardiology. There was a separate complex in which the staff had working areas and conference rooms. It was here that Crane had been given a small but well-equipped office with an attached lab.
    Of all the recent complaints Dr. Bishop had described, only three had been severe enough to warrant hospitalization. Crane had already interviewed two of the patients—a forty-two-year-old man suffering from nausea and diarrhea, and this supposed stroke victim—and the fact was, neither really needed to be hospitalized. No doubt Dr. Bishop was just keeping them under observation.
    Crane turned and nodded to Bishop, who was standing well back.
    â€œThere’s no indication of TIA,” he said as they stepped into the corridor.
    â€œExcept for the initial presentation.”
    â€œYou witnessed it yourself, you said?”
    â€œI did. And the man was clearly having a transient ischemic attack.”
    Crane hesitated. Bishop had said little during his examination of the two patients, but the hostility had been just below the surface. She wouldn’t like having her diagnosis called into question.
    â€œThere are numerous syndromes that can present in similar fashion—” he began as diplomatically as possible.
    â€œI did my internship in a vascular care unit. I’ve seen more than my share of patients stroke out. I know a TIA when I see one.”
    Crane sighed. Her defensiveness was starting to wear on him. True, nobody liked an interloper, and perhaps that’s what he seemed. But the fact was the medical team here had only done superficial tests, treating each case as a separate event. He was convinced that if they dug deeper, ran more extensive tests, some commonality would surface. And despite what Bishop had told him, he was still betting on caisson disease as the main differential.
    â€œYou never answered my question before,” he said. “There is a hyperbaric chamber here, right?”
    She nodded.
    â€œI’d like this man placed in the chamber. Let’s see if repressurization and pure oxygen ease the pains in his