Oxygen Series Box Set: A Science Fiction Suspense Box Set

by John Olson

  “That’s ridiculous,” EECOM said. “One of our satellites photographed it on the pad. It was an Energia launch vehicle—”

  Nate held up his hands. “I know, I know. Heard all about it.”

  “—and the burn signature when they left orbit showed a payload mass of eighteen tonnes.”

  Now, that was news to Nate. He gawked at EECOM. “Eighteen? But ... that’s almost as big as our Hab. Where’d you hear that?”

  “Cathe Willison,” EECOM said. “She’s been in till midnight for the last eight months doing image analysis on the video clips. She developed a new method for calculating flame temperature and mass flux from images, and it proved that our first estimates were off by a factor of 2.4.”

  “Eighteen tonnes for one orbiter?” Nate shook his head. “Maybe it’s a multiple deployment?”

  “Nope,” Josh said. “It’s a single package, at least as of three weeks ago. We’d have detected multiple transmission sources otherwise.”

  Nate digested that. “What about landing capability? Maybe they’re running a scoop‑and‑fly mission, trying to trump us.”

  Josh didn’t say anything. EECOM just shrugged.

  Nate pushed back, slamming his open palm on the table. “What you’re telling me, bottom line, is that we don’t know diddly about their mission!”

  EECOM’s face flushed. “Sir, that’s not—”

  “I betcha dollars to dimes they lost comm and now they’re piggybacking through our CommSats.” Nate pointed at EECOM. “I need you to get to work decoding the transmissions they sent before their antenna bought the farm.”

  She shook her head, looking befuddled. “Sir, I deal with environmental systems. Cryptanalysis is not part of my job description and—”

  Nate slammed both of his hands on the table. “What do you mean, not part of your job description? You’re the best engineer I’ve got. Do you think putting out fires in D.C. is part of my job description? I kind of expect that you people are gonna step up to the plate and throw some blocks, whether it’s your job or not.”

  Josh raised a hand. “Nate—”

  “Don’t sweet‑talk me,” Nate said. “Just get it done. That’s all I’m asking.”

  EECOM leaned forward. “I don’t think you understand the situation, Mr. Harrington. I don’t have any training in cryptanalysis and I’m working fourteen‑hour shifts trying to keep the Hab from poisoning our crew. If you have a problem with that—”

  “I have a problem with the job not getting done. If you don’t have what it takes—”

  EECOM snapped to her feet. “This is the last straw, Mr. Harrington.” She threw her security badge on the table and stalked to the door.

  Nate stared at her. Oops. “Okay, let’s be reasonable. Josh, talk to her. Make her sit down.”

  Josh stood up. “Margaret, please.”

  EECOM opened the door and stepped out. “I’m so very sorry, Mr. Bennett. You might inform Mr. Harrington that he can’t make people do anything.” The door clicked shut behind her.

  Nate sighed and looked at Josh. “Go back and get her.” Women liked Josh. He was young. Good‑looking. Dark hair, rugged jaw—the works. All the female engineers were gaga over him, even the older ones, like EECOM, who ought to know better.

  Josh picked up the security badge and studied it in silence. Two of those coveted little Silver Snoopy awards were clipped to the badge below the picture ID. He pocketed it. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Crazy woman.”

  “Nate—”

  He stood up and began pacing again. Wasn’t it enough that he had congress-critters to deal with? Now he had to handle overly sensitive female engineers? “Listen, Josh, I need somebody to take charge of this issue, and I’m appointing you. I’d do it myself, but I’m filling in for Perez half the time now. And it’s only gonna get worse.”

  “Hope you get your promotion.”

  Nate spun around and glared at Josh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Josh studied his hands.

  “Okay, this is strictly between you and me, right?” So don’t tell a soul except your twelve best friends. “I don’t want Perez’s job. I don’t even want mine. I’ve given Perez written notice that I’m retiring when our boys and girls land on planet Earth. That gives me about ... seventeen months of eating fire and then I get to bail. But when I walk out of here, I want this place to be in one piece, and I want NASA to still have a mission. And I want somebody good in charge.”

  Nate stopped pacing right behind Josh and clapped a hand on his shoulder. That was the carrot. Now for the stick. “I want you to solve this comm problem fast. Our kids are going to be doing more exploration, and comm is mission‑critical. Fix it. Because if anything happens to them, you’re out of here, just as far and as fast as I can kick you. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Okay, go do it.” Nate walked out without waiting for a reply.

  * * *

  Wednesday, March 18, 4:15 p.m., CST

  Josh

  Josh caught up to EECOM at the north duck pond, just outside Building 30. As far as he knew, no ducks ever swam there, and he was probably the only person at JSC who called them duck ponds, but he liked to think that ducks would swim there if they had the chance. “Margaret, wait up!”

  She jerked to a stop as though she’d been shot. Her shoulders rose and fell, accompanied by a hoarse sigh.

  “Margaret, don’t worry about Nate. He’s not worth it.”

  EECOM spun to face him. “Mr. Bennett, I work very hard. I have taken on more responsibility than—”

  “I know. You’re the best of the best. This mission would have died a million deaths without you. Nate knows that.”

  “But he just said—”

  “He’s just being Nate, and we’re the only ones he can manipulate without having to act nice. He knows good and well it’s not our job to decode Russian transmissions. If he thought he could bully the NSA into doing it, he’d be in Washington right now.”

  “But cryptology is a very specialized field. And I don’t have time to—”

  “Nate doesn’t expect you to do it. That little tantrum back there was for my benefit, not yours. He threatened to fire me if I don’t fix it, but he didn’t mean that either. He’s just lashing out. Something’s bothering him, and it probably doesn’t have anything to do with the Russian transmissions.” Josh held out Margaret’s badge.

  She reached out a reluctant hand to take it. “So what are you going to do? He said he would fire you ...” EECOM straightened the Silver Snoopy pins on her badge and clipped it to her collar.

  Josh laughed. “How many times have I heard that one? Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.” They fell into step together as they headed back to Mission Control Center. “This place is crawling with whiz kids and wanna‑be hackers who’d love to take a shot at the problem. In fact”—he gave her a wide grin—”I think I know just the person.”

  * * *

  Josh paced back and forth in the empty conference room. 5:09. Where was she? She wasn’t in her office. He had asked Cathe Willison to meet him at 5:00. Could she have gone to the wrong building?

  Josh plopped down in the chair at the head of the table and drained his coffee. He should have gone with his first instinct and asked her out to dinner. She wouldn’t have stood him up then. He leaned heavily on his elbows and pressed his palms into his eyes. But then he would have been using her. Manipulating. Just like he’d done with—

  Josh jumped up from his chair and spun around to face the wall. Even now—twelve full months after the explosion—it still ripped through his mind, burning into his soul like a hot branding iron. Over and over. He couldn’t escape it. Sure, he did it because he wanted to save NASA. But even with that excuse, would the pain ever go away? He’d almost killed them. His best friends in the solar system.

  “Hugs to you, Josh Bennett. We know how desperately you wanted this mission to succeed, and the extraordinary steps you took to make
it so. Please don’t blame yourself if ... something happens to us. We know you did everything you could, and we love you.”

  The words seared into his brain. Valkerie and the others had forgiven him. She’d even said she loved him. How could he ever make it up to her—to them? Nothing he could do would make it go away. He had betrayed them all. And if—no, when—they got back home ... What then? How would he live with himself? The only thing holding him together now was the need to get them back. Now this thing with the static. Nate was barking up the wrong tree if he wanted to reopen the question about the saboteur. Josh had to fix this. Fast.

  The door burst open. “Sorry I’m late.” Cathe Willison’s low, sultry voice spun Josh around. “The ISS damage‑control meeting ran late, and my boss was there, so I couldn’t very well—” Her eyes met Josh’s and then went wide. “What’s wrong? The Ares 7 ... They didn’t ...”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Josh forced a smile. “I just had an assignment you might be interested in. Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the chair across from his and pushed a covered Styrofoam cup in front of her. “Sorry about the coffee—it used to be hot.”

  Cathe lifted the cover and took a cautious sip. “It’s fine.” She studied him over her cup, her eyes large and liquid.

  Josh stared back. Was she flirting with him? No, that wasn’t it. Just ... curious. Or maybe her eyes looked that way all the time.

  “Well.” Josh looked down at the table and tried to focus. “In the last few days, communication over the CommSats has been intermittently disrupted by static. Real regular static. Nate and I think it’s a coded transmission from Mars ... from Russia’s new orbiter.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “The one that dark‑launched?”

  “Right. Margaret says you’ve spent a lot of overtime studying the burn profile when they did Trans‑Mars Injection.”

  “Who’s Margaret?” Cathe’s voice sounded tight.

  “EECOM.”

  Cathe nodded. Smiled. She seemed relieved. “Are you sure the payload even reached Mars? I thought transmissions cut out on it weeks ago. From what I heard, it was DOA at Mars.”

  “We don’t know for sure, but we suspect.” Josh leaned over the table. “They were transmitting direct to Earth until three weeks ago, but the signal was definitely getting weak near the end—like their high‑gain antenna was having problems. Bob’s been picking up a lot of static on radio traffic through the CommSats. Encrypted transmissions would sound just like static—by definition. It looks like maybe the Russians lost their high‑gain antenna and decided to piggyback their telemetry through our comm satellites at Mars. If the Russians pick the wrong channel at the wrong time, their signal could drown out our crew. With disastrous results. Anyway, we think that’s what’s been happening, but we don’t have any proof, and RSA is not likely to give us an explanation.”

  “So you want me to crack the code for you.” Cathe’s expression intensified, but Josh couldn’t tell whether she was excited or displeased.

  “If you’re interested. I asked around, and all the managers tell me you’re one of the best analysts we’ve got.”

  Cathe gave an eager nod. “I’d love to take a shot at it, but I’m not making any promises. Just send me the data. All of it.” She reached a hand across the table.

  Josh stared at it for a long second. Why the big rush? He’d been hoping to ask her to dinner, but if she had another appointment ... “Thank you.” He folded her hand in his. “So ... how much do you know about cryptography?”

  “Nothing yet.” Cathe shook his hand, stood, and glided to the door. “But come tomorrow morning, I’ll know enough to talk to the people who do. That much I can promise.” She cracked open the door and slipped through it.

  Josh followed her out and watched her walk down the hallway. No, the meeting hadn’t gone at all as he’d expected, but she had taken the assignment. Wasn’t that what he had been hoping for?

  He shut the door and sank back down into the conference room chair. Cathe Willison. She wasn’t nearly as cold as he remembered. A year ago, her suggestion that two of the Ares crew members had to die to save the others had thrown him for a loop. But hadn’t everyone else said pretty much the same thing? For some reason, it had just been more shocking coming from a woman. Weren’t guys supposed to be the ones who made the hard, dispassionate decisions? The steely‑eyed missile men?

  But Cathe was the one who could talk about the calculus of suffering as if it really were an arithmetic problem. And in the end, she was the one who solved their problem.

  Josh closed his eyes and smiled. A lovely little paradox. A logical mind with a delicious voice. A brilliant engineer with dazzling blue eyes.

  Chapter Six

  Wednesday, March 18, 10:15 p.m., Mars Local Time

  Bob

  BOB STOOD IN THE GALLEY looking into the commons. A sickly chill tingled across the damp skin of his arms. Josh had sent him an e‑mail after their session was interrupted, and it was now official. Someone was jamming their communications system.

  Most of the message focused on the theory that it was the Russians—which all sounded reasonable enough—but if Josh was so convinced it was the Russions, then why all the questions about Kennedy at the end of the message? Did Josh think Kennedy was jamming them? It didn’t make sense. Even if he was half the psycho Josh said he was, what would he have to gain? And how would he raise the issue with the others without sounding even more paranoid than he already was?

  Valkerie and Lex were still talking about that stupid pink rock. You’d think they had discovered a real live Martian, not just a bit of petrified snot.

  “Look at this.” Valkerie’s voice practically vibrated with excitement. “Alan Crane from Stanford is telling reporters, and I quote: ‘We’ve known for years that Mars once had bacterial life—ever since the findings from the Allen Hills Mars meteorite.’” She stared at Lex. “How do you like that?”

  Laughter from Lex. “Remember his article on inorganic mechanisms for magnetite crystal formation? Next thing you know, the pope will be taking credit for discovering that the Earth isn’t the center of the universe.”

  “And I was worried nobody would believe us.”

  “I wasn’t,” Lex said. “I knew, once we had solid proof, they’d fall in line.”

  Bob stepped into the room and cleared his throat.

  “Hi, Bob.” Valkerie slipped out of her hammock mesh chair and unhooked it from the ceiling.

  “Don’t get up. Please.” He moved to head Valkerie off before she could escape. “I heard you girls taking a break and thought I’d join you.”

  “Actually, I’ve got to get back to the lab. I—”

  “But it’s after 10:00 p.m. You’ve been working all day.” Bob threw an imploring look at Lex.

  Lex responded with her commander voice. “Bob’s right. We’re at a good stopping point. We can finish the test tomorrow.”

  Valkerie turned slowly and perched on the edge of one of the computer tables lining the wall. She looked ready to bolt any second.

  “I ... uh ... wanted to talk to you about ...” Bob swallowed back the lump that was forming in his throat.

  “Well, I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” Lex jumped up and made for the hallway that circled the central stairwell. “You two stay up and chat, but I’ve got to get some sleep.”

  Valkerie stood to follow. “I should probably—”

  “Please, guys, both of you.” Bob met Lex’s questioning gaze and gave a slight nod. “It’s about the Hampster. I’m worried about him.”

  Valkerie stopped in mid‑stride. “About Kennedy? What now?” She leaned against the table and fixed him with a decidedly worried gaze.

  Bob turned to her, surprised at the concern in her voice. “Well, um ...” He felt the color creeping into his face. What could he say? He had promised Josh he wouldn’t tell.

  Lex took a step closer. “Bob, what’s wrong?”

  Safe ground. He needed to stay on safe
ground. “Haven’t you noticed how much time he spends in his room? And he’s been so edgy. Exploding at every little thing.”

  “This is Kennedy we’re talking about, right?” Lex shrugged. “I’d be worried if he wasn’t edgy. He’s not exactly a social butterfly.” She turned toward the hallway.

  “Well, I think he did this”—Bob indicated what was left of his hair—“to me on purpose.”

  Lex laughed. “Is that what this is all about? Your haircut? Don’t worry. Lexie will make it all better in the morning. Night‑night, widdle Bobby.” She pinched Bob’s cheek and disappeared around the bend in the hallway.

  Valkerie started to follow.

  “Valkerie, I’m serious. I think something’s really wrong. Something psychological. Like maybe Kennedy’s motherboard needs to be reseated. Couldn’t you run some tests?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Kennedy seems fine to me. I mean, he’s been through a lot, especially losing an eye. We all have, for that matter. If I were to pull out my syringes every time someone gets a bad haircut ...”

  Bob wished he could just tell her everything Josh had told him. But he’d promised. “It’s not that, it’s just ...”

  “What?” Valkerie’s voice rang with impatience.

  “Well, like this morning. He told me he actually liked gardening.”

  Valkerie sighed and turned to leave.

  “He said you liked gardening with him. A lot. He practically implied that you two ... that you were an ...”

  Valkerie pulled her shoulders back and took a step toward her room.

  “Valkerie, wait.” Bob placed a hand on her shoulder. “He acts totally different when you’re around. You don’t see the real Kennedy. It’s like Jekyll and Hyde.”

  Valkerie spun to face him. “Is that what this is all about? What do you want me to do? Stop being nice to Kennedy? Stop talking to him? Bob, we live in a twenty‑five‑foot tuna can.”