Oxygen Series Box Set: A Science Fiction Suspense Box Set

by John Olson

  “If it made sense,” Nate said, “we wouldn’t have flown you out here to get your opinion.”

  Josh had a visible sheen of sweat on his forehead. “So you’re saying it’s at least 90 percent that this is of Earth origin.”

  “And 10 percent that we’ve got a major disaster on our hands.” Nate felt horror rising in his gut. This was not how the mission was supposed to go. They were supposed to zoom in to Mars, do their research, and zoom home.

  Steven Perez held up a copy of the latest New York Times. “Major disaster is right. That Bactamination woman has gone from the Enquirer to a serious editorial in the Times in less than a week. And that’s just on the strength of a halobacteria that’s been dead for millions of years. The president has called me three times this week to make sure I’m sure that we’re sure that we have things under control. It sounds like ... we don’t.”

  Dr. Frazier shook his head. “If they’re sick with an alien bug, we can’t bring them back.”

  “What?” Josh jumped to his feet and took a step toward Frazier.

  Nate waved him back to his seat. “Is that a scientific opinion or a political one?”

  The man from the CDC stood up. “From where I sit—both. The press would crucify you if you told them what you just told me. And scientifically, I would have to agree. If Dr. Jansen’s fever is due to a bacterium of non‑Earth origin, then it would be irresponsible to bring your crew back. Pending more information on the nature of the infection, of course.”

  “That’s a big if,” Josh said. “We don’t know—”

  “Josh.” Cathe put a hand on Josh’s arm. “It’s a 10‑percent sized if. We need to think about what to do—”

  Josh flung her hand away. “That’s my crew up there! Four people. My friends. What is it you people are planning to do if you don’t bring them home?”

  Nate put his marker down on the tray. Oh good, a family squabble. Just what I was hoping for. “Listen, Josh, they’re my friends too. Let’s hope that what Valkerie’s got is just some bug they took with them. A good old Earth bacteria. Food poisoning. Or something that hid out in the soles of their shoes for fifteen months. But if it isn’t ... we need to plan for that contingency.”

  Perez cleared his throat. “Nate. Dr. Frazier. What about a quarantine when we bring them back?”

  Nate sighed. “That’s gonna be really hard. Really expensive. You’re talking total quarantine, possibly for the lifetime of the crew, maintaining a sterile interface. It’s never been done. The National Research Council recommended years ago that we build one. It even got funded. Then it got de‑funded, like the second rover we were gonna send. And the backup nuclear reactor. And the—”

  “We lost those battles, Nate.” Perez sounded tired—really tired. “Let’s focus on winning the war. Can we get a quarantine facility built before the crew returns?” He turned to his left. “You’re the expert, Cathe—when exactly are they getting back?”

  “August 5, next year,” she said. “Plus or minus a few weeks, depending—”

  “Sixteen months from now,” Frazier said. “The NRC’s proposal was for seven years.”

  “We need a crash program,” Nate said. “Need to get a lot of people working on it.”

  “You can get nine women pregnant if you want,” Frazier said, “but you won’t get a baby in a month.”

  Josh shook his head. “Don’t give me that Wernher von Braun claptrap. We’re not talking about a baby, we’re talking about a quarantine facility! And we agree we have a ninety‑percent chance that we won’t even need it.”

  “What about—” Cathe Willison stopped.

  Everybody turned to look at her.

  “What about a resupply mission? If they just stay on Mars, the energetics would be favorable for a rocket to reach them in July of next year. They’ve got supplies to last that long at base camp. Mars is the second safest place in the universe for them.”

  Nobody said anything for a full minute.

  Finally Nate grabbed his coffee cup. “That’s not a bad idea.” In fact, it was a really good idea. That was the one thing he really liked about Cathe—she had a lot of great ideas. “We need two Tiger Teams to evaluate those two options. Dr. Frazier, you’re in charge of the quarantine team. Josh, you look at the resupply question. Keep your teams small, and give them whatever resources they need.”

  “And keep them secure,” Perez said. “We don’t need the press running articles on this.”

  “We’ll also need a support team to help our crew on Mars characterize that halobacteria,” Nate said. “Just so we can rule it out. Valkerie’s sick, so she can’t work on it. That means we’ll need to hold the hands of the other three, walk them through the procedures. Hunter, you coordinate that.”

  The man from the CDC stood up. “My understanding is that Dr. Jansen has responded favorably to antibiotics, and so far we have no evidence the disease in question is infectious. That, coupled with the relatively low probability that the disease is extraterrestrial, means that there may not be an immediate cause for alarm. But”—his gaze hardened and he pinned Nate with a warning look—“if any of the others get sick, or if they show any signs of Legionnaires’‑style hallucination or dementia, I’m going to have to take this to the president. Bringing back a Mars fever is one thing—we might be able to live with that. Bringing back Martian mad cow disease is an entirely different one.”

  Nate nodded. “You heard the man. You’ve all got your tasks. Dismissed.”

  The group quickly left the room, chattering tech‑speak. Nate slouched into a chair and covered his head with his hands.

  No. Not back‑contamination. Not on this mission.

  Please.

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday, March 22, 9:30 a.m., Mars Local Time

  Bob

  BOB REACHED OUT A GLOVED hand. Valkerie’s head lay on her pillow, afloat in a sea of wild curls. He ached to take off his gloves, to run his fingers through the tumble of amber waves. She was resting comfortably now, her face placid, serene, as though she were frozen in time like some enchanted sleeping beauty. If only he were a prince ...

  No.

  He pulled back his hand and hugged it to his chest. He had promised to back off—all the way off—and that meant even when she was asleep.

  Valkerie shifted in her sleep and turned toward him, her lips parted in a half smile. They tugged at his heart like a siren’s song. His thoughts plunged and surged, tossed to and fro on the storm of battling emotions.

  He lifted the surgical mask from his face. So what if he got sick? He leaned in closer ... closer ...

  No.

  He stopped. Closed his eyes. Something was wrong. He didn’t understand it, but somehow, deep inside he knew that he’d be breaking her trust. Shattering her one moment of peace.

  Valkerie’s eyes fluttered open. Her face melted into a placid smile, and Bob waited breathlessly. He could kiss her if he wanted. Her eyes were warm and open, an unspoken invitation. Except he had promised.

  “Have you been with me all night?” Her voice fluttered soft and weak. The voice of a little girl.

  Bob nodded slowly. “All morning too. It’s 9:30 a.m.” He placed the mask back over his face and drew away.

  “Thank you.” She smiled again, a tired smile, but it lit up the room like a floodlight. “I knew you were here. I could feel it in my sleep.”

  “You seemed to be troubled. Like you were having a bad dream.”

  Valkerie’s face clouded. “I keep hearing things. Noises on the outside of the Hab. And ... Have you ever felt like you were being watched?”

  Bob lowered his eyes. “You mean like while you were asleep?”

  “No, when I’m awake too. Ever since I caught a glimpse of ... of something looking in at the porthole. Sometimes it’s a sound. Sometimes just a feeling. Like I’m being watched. Like we’re all being watched.”

  “Well, you’ve been very sick. Maybe that’s why—”

  She shook her he
ad. “No, I felt it before I got sick. I know it doesn’t make sense, but something’s not right. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  How could he say no? Especially when she looked up at him with those large, pleading eyes. “Of course I do. I mean, I ...” Bob hesitated. Did he really believe her? Sure, he believed she believed what she was saying was true. She wasn’t making it up. You could believe someone was honest without necessarily believing they were right. Right?

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “Of course I do. I know you’d never deceive me, but you’ve been sick. You were hallucinating when your fever was higher. How do you know you haven’t been hallucinating all along?”

  “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, it’s impossible, but ...” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Maybe you’re right. I can’t know for sure.” She turned her head to look away, but Bob could see the disappointment in her eyes.

  “I can’t know for sure either. I tell you what, though. How about I do another EVA to check things out? Now that I think about it, I never did inspect the Hab walls outside this cabin. If you’re hearing noises, maybe a loose cable is tapping against the Hab when the wind blows.”

  Her face brightened. “Thanks.”

  “You’ll be okay without me?”

  She nodded.

  Bob turned and hurried for the door, glad that he could do something concrete to ease Valkerie’s mind. But why hadn’t he just told her that he believed her? What kind of an unfeeling beast was he? One nod and she would have been fine.

  And he would have been a liar. Nice to know this integrity thing was so easy.

  Bob pounded on the door to Kennedy’s quarters. “Hey, Hampster. Come on out.”

  No answer.

  “Rise and shine. We’ve got an EVA to do.” Bob tried the door latch. It was locked. “Hey, Lex. Do you know what time the Hampster turned in?”

  Silence. Lex wasn’t answering either.

  “Kennedy!” Bob went to the computer in the commons and activated the emergency door release. “Kennedy?” He swung the door open. A foul stench slugged him in the gut. Bob flipped on the lights. Kennedy lay huddled on the floor just inside the door, encrusted in his own vomit.

  “Lex! Get in here!” Bob rolled Kennedy onto his back and felt for his pulse.

  Kennedy’s skin was hot to the touch—even through the latex gloves. His pulse throbbed shallow and weak.

  “Lex!” Bob lifted Kennedy onto his cot and ripped open his favorite shirt. “Sorry about that, Hampster. I’ll sew it back. I promise.”

  Bob raced from the room and flung open Lex’s door. Good, she wasn’t there. The last thing he needed was another patient. “Lex!” Bob ran into the kitchen and pulled Valkerie’s ice bag from the freezer. He ran back and packed Kennedy in the ice and wet him down with a bag of cold water.

  Okay, what was next? The IV? The antibiotics? He was terrible with needles. Lex had done Valkerie while he averted his eyes and prayed like a church mouse. Bob ran down the spiral staircase and circled the lower level. Laboratory. Shop. Suit room. Airlock. Greenhouse. He couldn’t find her anywhere. “Lex!”

  A sinking feeling hit Bob in the gut. What if Lex was sick too? They’d all be counting on him. And if he got sick? Valkerie wasn’t even strong enough to get out of bed. They’d all die. Nobody back home would even know what happened.

  Bob changed his gloves and threw the old ones in the biohazard waste. A chill washed over him. He’d been that close to kissing her. Three more seconds and he might have killed them all. What had stopped him?

  Bob walked carefully up the stairs. They were all counting on him. One stumble, one false move, and the mission could be over. He strode to the radio and flipped it on. “Houston, this is Ares 7. We have an emergency. Repeat. We have an emergency. Kennedy Hampton is sick and in critical condition. He seems to have the same bug as Valkerie. I’m still trying to find Lex. I need complete instructions for administering the IV and antibiotics and everything else you can think of. Over.” Bob shut off the transmitter, and the receiver crackled with high‑pitched thrumming static. Great.

  “Lex!” Bob screamed at the top of his lungs, letting his frustration fly.

  A dull clank sounded behind him. A soft flutter—like the rustling of dry leaves.

  “Lex, where—” Bob spun around but the commons was empty. The noise sounded like it had come from ...

  His eyes widened. It sounded like it had come from the outside wall.

  * * *

  Sunday, March 22, 1:00 p.m., CST

  Josh

  Josh paused while the waitress placed a banana cheesecake in front of him. “Sure you don’t want any?” he asked Cathe.

  She shook her head. “I’m running a 10K next Sunday, and cheesecake makes me sluggish.” She sipped her iced tea, which was, like the cheesecake, an Enzo’s specialty.

  “So what did you want to be when you were a kid?” Josh was still trying to figure Cathe out. She was ... different from most NASA women. If she was going to be working for him, he needed to understand how she thought.

  Cathe grinned. “Let’s see, when I was four, I wanted to be a bus driver. Then when I got to be six, it was a pole vaulter. Then in fifth grade, I wanted to be Hillary Clinton.”

  “First Lady?”

  “New York senator.”

  “I thought you were from Texas?”

  Cathe shrugged. “Hillary’s not from New York either. I’m adaptable. Then in high school, I wanted to be Jenny Mitford.”

  Josh gave her a blank look.

  “The marathoner.” Cathe smiled. “Turned out I’m talented, but not in Jenny’s league. But running paid the bills through university.”

  Which explained her legs.

  “And what did you want to be?” Cathe’s eyes—big and blue and liquid—hadn’t left Josh the entire meal.

  “You’ll laugh.” Josh attacked his cheesecake.

  “So? Make me laugh. We could all use a good laugh about now.”

  “You remember Gene Kranz in Apollo 13?” Josh angled a look at her. “The flight director—the guy with the vest?”

  “Mr. Failure‑Is‑Not‑An‑Option? Mr. I‑Am‑Flight‑and‑Flight‑Is‑God? Who could forget?”

  “Gene was the failure‑is‑not‑an‑option guy. Chris Kraft put that flight‑is‑God shtick in his book, but you do know he was poking fun at himself, don’t you? My dad knew both of ‘em, and they were the real McCoy. Righteous dudes. I wanted so bad to be just like them.” Josh blinked rapidly several times. “And now ...” He turned his head so she wouldn’t see his eyes.

  “And now you are.”

  Wrong. I’m the guy who blew it up. They wouldn’t even be talking about quarantines if it weren’t for me. They’d be focusing all their attention on good old‑fashioned food poisoning and leaving the science fiction to Isaac Asimov.

  Cathe put a hand on Josh’s. “I understand. It’s hard.”

  He gripped her hand. “It’s different than in the movies.”

  “Apollo 13 wasn’t just a movie. It was real life. I’ll bet Gene felt a lot like you do now.”

  Except that Gene Kranz was the good guy. “Gene brought them back alive. I might not get that option. You heard the news. Kennedy’s sick too. If we decide to run that resupply mission, they’ll be stuck on Mars until the next launch opportunity, three years from now. And maybe forever.”

  “It depends on the nature of the disease they’ve got. If they get over it, if we can knock this thing, then they can come home. Otherwise ... the moral thing—the right thing—is to protect Earth.”

  “Moral? What’s moral about leaving them on Mars to die and rot? If we bring them back here, we could help them. We don’t even know for sure that it’s really a Martian disease. What if they took some weird bacteria with them somehow?”

  “We’ll figure that out, I guess. But it is moral,” Cathe said. “Renormalized morality.”

  “Renormal—what?” Josh stared a
t her.

  “Renormalized.” Cathe finished off her tea. “My uncle is a physicist. Used to talk all the time about renormalization. For elementary particles—their charge and mass and stuff like that. Yeah, sure, I want to bring back the crew as much as anyone else does. But the big picture is what’s right for the seven billion people on planet Earth. If it’s wrong for them, then you can’t do it.”

  “Just like that?” Josh put down his fork. “Four human lives on Mars don’t count? You cut them off just for getting sick?”

  “First you do everything you can,” Cathe said. “But sometimes you don’t have a choice. It’s only then that you renormalize your morality.”

  Josh picked up his napkin and looped it around his finger. The greatest good for the greatest number. Sorry about the ones we had to sacrifice, but life’s a bummer sometimes.

  There had to be a better way. There was a better way.

  “I have an idea that might tell us where the static is coming from .”

  Good, she was changing the subject. Josh didn’t want to get into an argument. He’d been round and round on this with Nate and the epidemiologists all morning. All of them were reasoning without one critical fact: They didn’t know that Josh had sent hitchhiker bacteria to Mars. A harmless strain—the one Valkerie had found on the flight out. There wasn’t any micrometeorite bacteria. But since Nate didn’t know that, he was actually considering sentencing the crew—his friends—to a permanent quarantine on Mars.

  “Spock to Josh, come in.”

  Spock. Good analogy. Josh met Cathe’s curious look. “Let’s hear your idea.”

  “We may never be able to decrypt that signal coming through the relay satellites,” she said. “The NSA box isn’t working. But maybe we can figure out where the originating transmitter is. We can at least rule out a few possibilities.”

  “Such as?”

  “What if it’s coming from our own Earth Return Vehicle?”

  “You think Kennedy is transmitting from the ERV?”