A Suspicious Illness

[John Randall 0]

OFFICIAL LOG

LIEUTENANT JOHN RANDALL

USS CHALLENGER

 

(Personal Log Stardate 13004.21

11 July 1969 O.E.)

 

 

The alarm clock sounded next to John's bed far too early for his liking; he

was in the middle of a pleasant dream. He groaned, rubbed his eyes, and

wearily sat up on the side of his bed. Last night had been a particularly

humid one, and John didn't feel all that rested or refreshed. Even the

air conditioner, which had run all night, didn't help that much, or so it

seemed to him.

 

He grabbed a couple of towels, and left his room, heading for the main

bathroom to take a shower. Some 15 minutes later, a cool shower having

revitalized him to a certain degree, he toweled off, and went back to his

room to get dressed for the day at work. He put on his clothes, and went to

the kitchen to grab a bite of breakfast. He toasted a couple of Pop Tarts (at

least that's what they were called on the box that contained them), got a

glass of orange juice, and went to the dining room to eat.

 

He finished breakfast, washed out his glass, glanced at the clock, and saw

it was about time for his taxi. He went out to the driveway as the taxicab

pulled up; he got in, and told the driver to take him to Kennedy. That's all

you had to say, he had learned after a couple of days into the mission. A

little while later, the cab pulled into the parking lot of the VAB (Vehicle

Assembly Building), and he got out, paid the cab driver, and walked into

the complex, heading for the time clock. A sleepy guard peered briefly at

his ID badge, and nodded at him, knowing John by sight now.

 

The Challenger engineer went down the hallway to an office that had been

assigned to him by Chris Barber, John's boss at the VAB. Randall was in

information gathering mode today; Barber had told him he wanted a little

more background on a couple of the engines before the assembly began

in earnest tomorrow, the 12th of July. John had mentally groaned at that;

he would actually have to read paper documents to do his research, as he

had no access to a computer. He sat down at the desk, looked at the pile of

documents left on it by Barber, and sighed heavily. 'This would take about

5 minutes on the ship,' he thought ruefully, took the first document off the

pile, and began to read.

 

A couple of breaks later, it was time for lunch. John abandoned the pile of

papers, stood up, stretched, and left the office, heading for the cafeteria. He

arrived with a host of others, grabbed a tray, and made his way through the

line at the counter. He noticed there was a new face amongst the cooks today;

a tall, slim man with a nondescript face. He didn't think anything more about

it as he paid for his lunch, took his tray over to an empty table, and sat down

to eat. He finished his lunch, took his tray over to the garbage can and

deposited the remains of his meal.

 

He made his way back to the main complex and climbed the stairs to the

second floor. He was making his way down the hallway to his office when a

sharp pain ripped through his stomach. He groaned, and clutched at his

midsection as another pain shot through him. He began to sweat profusely,

and knew something was wrong. He stumbled down the hallway, hugging the

wall for support, until he arrived at Barber's office. The NASA technician

looked up as he entered. "Hello, John, what's up?" he smiled, then quickly

his look changed to concern as Randall turned his pain-filled face to him.

 

"I think I'm going to knock off early, sir," gasped the engineer. "Something's

wrong with my stomach, it's killing me." Barber regarded him with concern

as John held his midsection tightly. "We have doctors here, John, would you

like me to call one for you?" Randall groaned, then nodded. "I-I guess so, if

you want to, sir," he said. Barber nodded, and quickly picked up the phone.

"This is Chris Barber in the VAB. I need a doctor here fast." He hung up, and

looked at Randall. "A doctor will be here in about 5 minutes, John. Sit down

in that chair there, and I'll get you some water." The NASA technician went

into the small bathroom to do just that as John sat down in the overstuffed

chair in front of Barber's desk.

 

Barber came back out with a cup of water, and handed it to Randall, who

smiled his thanks, and drank it down. A few minutes later, a doctor arrived.

Barber filled him in on the situation, and the doctor bent over John to take a

look at him. A short time later, the doctor straightened, and looked at Barber.

"Well, this man has all the symptoms of an intestinal bug," he said. "I would

advise you to send him home, tell him to rest, cool off, and drink plenty of

fluids. I will write him a prescription for some medicine."

 

Barber smiled at Randall. "Ok, John, you heard the man," he said. "You're

going home." The engineer smiled weakly back at him. "Ok, boss," he said

as the doctor handed him a note. Barber picked up the phone, and dialed a

number. A second later, he said, "Hello, Eddie, this is Barber, I have a mission

for you. Your friend John Randall has been taken ill. Would you see that he

gets to his home, please?" There was a reply, then Barber said, "He is in my

office. The doctor has looked at him, and wrote a prescription. Please fill it

for him."

 

There was another reply, and Barber hung up the phone, turning to Randall.

"John, your friend Eddie Freeman is going to take you home, all right?" The

engineer nodded wearily, and whispered, "All right." A few minutes later,

Freeman arrived at the office, entered, and went straight to John. As Eddie

asked if he were all right, Randall suddenly gulped, jacknifed his body out

of the chair, and made a beeline for the small bathroom, yanking the door shut

behind him. Freeman blinked, and smiled ruefully at Barber. "Guess not," he

said. The sounds of retching drifted through the walls, and both men winced

slightly, sympathetic feelings going out to the engineer.

 

Silence descended for a moment, then John came back out into the office. He

smiled apologetically at Freeman, and whispered, "Sorry about that." Eddie

brushed it aside, and said, "Man, we need to get you back to your house so you

can rest." He took Randall by the arm, and turned to Barber. "Thanks for letting

me know," he said. "I'll get him back to his place." The NASA technician smiled.

"Take care of him, Eddie. I'll see you two later." Freeman said, "I may not be back

today; the Director's still too suspicious of me to let me do any actual work, so

I might just look after Randall for a while." Barber nodded and said, "That will

be fine, just make sure he gets home, will you?" "You got it," affirmed Freeman.

 

The chief engineer of the Challenger steadied Randall as they left the office, went

down the stairs, and exited the building. As they made their way to the parking

lot, John whispered, "Chief, something's wrong. I was fine before lunch. There

was a new cook in the cafeteria today, and he may have slipped me something."

Freeman didn't answer, just nodded that he had heard Randall, then, as they

arrived at a vehicle, tapped his ear bud, and spoke softly. "Got a situation," he

reported tersely. "Randall's suddenly sick, vomiting. Suspects poisoning. En

route with him to safe house." John again doubled over in pain, and leaned

heavily against the vehicle for support, uttering a loud moan.

 

Freeman knelt beside him, swearing softly under his breath. "Talk to me, John.

What's wrong?" He grabbed his friend as Randall suddenly swayed sideways.

John whispered loudly, "I-I feel like my stomach's being ripped out!" Freeman

nodded, helped move Randall away from the door of the vehicle, and said, "To

hell with this. Get in." He held the door open, and John climbed in, his arms

wrapped tightly around his midsection. As Freeman closed the door, Randall

slumped against it, moaning softly.

 

Eddie walked around, and climbed in the driver's side, tapping his ear bud. "In

the car now," he said. "Is site-to-site transport available?" He started the vehicle,

and drove out of the parking lot, pulling over to the side of the road once they

were out of sight of the complex. John suddenly shivered, and whispered,

"Eddie, the air conditioner's too cold." As Freeman began to reach for the knob

to turn down the intensity of the refrigerated air, a familiar chiming sound came

to their ears, and seconds later, they materialized in the living room of the

safe house. He immediately called out, "We're in here!" He helped John over

to the couch, and assisted him to lay down.

 

Dr. Gretchen Hanson, the chief medical officer of the Challenger, moved over to

John's side, and began to scan him with her medical tricorder. Randall, by this

time, was shivering noticeably, and his skin was turning pale. He heard the

voices of Freeman and Marine Major Kimiko Johnson talking to each other,

then the doctor finished her scan, and gave him a small smile. "Well," she

said. "The good news, John, is that you're not dying. No toxins that would be

life-threatening, but you've got some nasty stuff churning around in there."

 

John smiled weakly at her. "Just some good ol' indigestion, huh?" Then a

sharp pain ripped through his stomach, and he moaned loudly. Gretchen

quickly loaded a hypospray, and pressed it to his neck. "I'm going to put

you out so you can rest, John," she said. "I'll run a detailed scan while you're

out, and we'll have you up and around in no time." Randall nodded, and, as

the hypo took effect, closed his eyes, and dropped off into welcome oblivion.

 

 

 

END LOG