Read Online The Astronaut's Wife by Robert Tine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Tine
Ads: Link
think it’s time to bail.
He’d never let down a friend. Not a friend from the old days...
7
The Director himself stood at the podium in the press room. He shuffled some papers for a moment then leaned into the microphone to speak to the assembled crowd of press people. His voice was deep and solemn.
“I have a very brief prepared statement and then there will be time for some prepared questions.”
Sherman Reese stood behind the Director scanning the faces of the cadre of reporters.
The Director got right to the point. “Captain Alex Streck died last night at 8:55.” He paused a moment to let the words sink in. Most of the reporters in the room worked the science beat or were local Florida reporters. Most of them were on first-name terms with many of the astronauts. The loss of just one of them was like a death in a tight-knit family.
The Director continued. “The cause of death has been determined to have been a massive stroke. Something that the surgeons are calling a severe
insult to the brain. As many of you know, Alex was an asset to this program in ways well beyond his professional expertise. There is no doubt that his loss is a setback for the program itself and an agonizing loss for those of us who knew him and valued him as a friend. There will be a private ceremony—”
Sherman Reese was surprised to see tears well in the Director’s eyes and hear his voice falter. He had never imagined that his boss would be an emotional man.
An eager reporter took advantage of the pause and pounced with a question. “Was Captain Streck’s stroke brought on by an injury he sustained in space during the last mission of the space shuttle Victory?” he asked.
The Director seemed to welcome the fact that he could get off the hot seat with some grace.
“I don’t know. I’ll let Dr. Conlin answer. Doctor?” he said, gesturing toward a man in his fifties. “Would you come up here please?”
Dr. Conlin stepped to the podium microphone. “The, uh, post mortem had determined that Captain Streck had an undiagnosable congenital predisposition for stroke,” he said, looking grave. His glasses flashed in the bright television flood lights. “We had no way of knowing that the micro arteries in his brain were weak to begin with. It is a condition almost impossible to detect until there is problem with the patient...”
In the moment of hesitation all of the reporters shouted a dozen variations on the same question.
“What about the injury on the Victory? Did that kill him?”
Dr. Conlin nodded. “The injury he sustained outside the space shuttle caused an onset of undetectable bleeding which led to his death by cerebrovascular accident.”
“That a stroke?” someone shouted.
“That is correct,” said the Doctor.
“Is Commander Armacost in any danger?” someone shouted from the crowd.
It was a surprise to hear Spencer’s name mentioned on TV. Both Jillian and Spencer stopped what they were doing and looked at the television set. Both were getting ready to go to Alex Streck’s memorial and were listening to the televised news conference as they got dressed. Jillian was well ahead of her husband. She was wearing a black two-piece linen suit, a skirt topped by a short double-breasted jacket. There was a simple strand of pearls at her throat.
Spencer, by contrast, had just stepped out of the shower, was wearing a terrycloth bathrobe and was facing the mirror in the bathroom. Both taps ran in the sink but they could hear the TV over the sound of the rushing water.
“Commander Armacost has been through an intensive array of examinations and tests,” Dr. Conklin answered. “It is the opinion of myself and my colleagues that the commander is no more danger than any one of us.”
“Couldn’t you have said the same thing about
Captain Streck?” yelled one of the journalists. “After all, he underwent a series of tests after the explosion in space, too. Maybe you could have missed something in him, too.”
Spencer
He’d never let down a friend. Not a friend from the old days...
7
The Director himself stood at the podium in the press room. He shuffled some papers for a moment then leaned into the microphone to speak to the assembled crowd of press people. His voice was deep and solemn.
“I have a very brief prepared statement and then there will be time for some prepared questions.”
Sherman Reese stood behind the Director scanning the faces of the cadre of reporters.
The Director got right to the point. “Captain Alex Streck died last night at 8:55.” He paused a moment to let the words sink in. Most of the reporters in the room worked the science beat or were local Florida reporters. Most of them were on first-name terms with many of the astronauts. The loss of just one of them was like a death in a tight-knit family.
The Director continued. “The cause of death has been determined to have been a massive stroke. Something that the surgeons are calling a severe
insult to the brain. As many of you know, Alex was an asset to this program in ways well beyond his professional expertise. There is no doubt that his loss is a setback for the program itself and an agonizing loss for those of us who knew him and valued him as a friend. There will be a private ceremony—”
Sherman Reese was surprised to see tears well in the Director’s eyes and hear his voice falter. He had never imagined that his boss would be an emotional man.
An eager reporter took advantage of the pause and pounced with a question. “Was Captain Streck’s stroke brought on by an injury he sustained in space during the last mission of the space shuttle Victory?” he asked.
The Director seemed to welcome the fact that he could get off the hot seat with some grace.
“I don’t know. I’ll let Dr. Conlin answer. Doctor?” he said, gesturing toward a man in his fifties. “Would you come up here please?”
Dr. Conlin stepped to the podium microphone. “The, uh, post mortem had determined that Captain Streck had an undiagnosable congenital predisposition for stroke,” he said, looking grave. His glasses flashed in the bright television flood lights. “We had no way of knowing that the micro arteries in his brain were weak to begin with. It is a condition almost impossible to detect until there is problem with the patient...”
In the moment of hesitation all of the reporters shouted a dozen variations on the same question.
“What about the injury on the Victory? Did that kill him?”
Dr. Conlin nodded. “The injury he sustained outside the space shuttle caused an onset of undetectable bleeding which led to his death by cerebrovascular accident.”
“That a stroke?” someone shouted.
“That is correct,” said the Doctor.
“Is Commander Armacost in any danger?” someone shouted from the crowd.
It was a surprise to hear Spencer’s name mentioned on TV. Both Jillian and Spencer stopped what they were doing and looked at the television set. Both were getting ready to go to Alex Streck’s memorial and were listening to the televised news conference as they got dressed. Jillian was well ahead of her husband. She was wearing a black two-piece linen suit, a skirt topped by a short double-breasted jacket. There was a simple strand of pearls at her throat.
Spencer, by contrast, had just stepped out of the shower, was wearing a terrycloth bathrobe and was facing the mirror in the bathroom. Both taps ran in the sink but they could hear the TV over the sound of the rushing water.
“Commander Armacost has been through an intensive array of examinations and tests,” Dr. Conklin answered. “It is the opinion of myself and my colleagues that the commander is no more danger than any one of us.”
“Couldn’t you have said the same thing about
Captain Streck?” yelled one of the journalists. “After all, he underwent a series of tests after the explosion in space, too. Maybe you could have missed something in him, too.”
Spencer
Similar Books
