Oxygen Series Box Set: A Science Fiction Suspense Box Set

by John Olson

  “Maybe … Or maybe it’s one of the other crew members. We can’t rule out any possibilities until we know for sure. Remember, we never did figure out who the bomber was on the outbound flight.”

  Because it was me. “Uh ... right.”

  “So maybe it was one of the crew, and he or she still has some plan to disrupt things.”

  Josh shook his head. “Kennedy, I can believe. But not the others. But if we can’t decrypt the messages, how are we going to prove it?”

  “All we need to do is put some detection software on the ERV. If it’s coming from there, we should be able to figure out who’s sending it.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  “Then we can eliminate it as a possibility and focus on ruling out the other options. I could reconfigure the relay satellites to detect whether the signal is originating from Mars or Earth or somewhere in between. I tried to explain it to CATO yesterday, but he didn’t get it.” She sighed. “It’s frustrating. I’d really like to solve this problem, but if nobody is willing to step out of their ignorance zone …”

  Josh leaned forward. “How long would it take you?”

  “A couple days or so to do the programming. After that, a few minutes a day to watch and see what develops. See, the Russian orbiter and anyone on Mars all pretty much look the same to the CommSats. The CommSats are both sitting out about a million klicks from Mars, so everything on the planet or in low orbit looks like a single point source.”

  “So how do you tell the difference between a fixed source on the planet and an orbiter?”

  “You can do a differential analysis of data rates coming in and get a time‑dependent estimate of relative velocity between the source and the CommSat. The Doppler effect, you know. Remember, anything on the surface looks like it’s first coming toward the CommSat, then moving away from it, as the planet rotates.”

  “Okay, I get the picture. You’re gonna put in a speed trap kind of thing.”

  “Exactly. The CommSats don’t have real Doppler measurements. If they did, this would be trivial. We’ll have to measure data rates over long periods of time. The signal is going to be horribly noisy, but it should have a sine‑wave pattern with the rotational period of the source. That’s different for a source on the ground and one in orbit. So we collect data for long enough and run a fast Fourier transform, and boom! Out comes the answer.”

  “Oh right, I bet you do fast whatever‑they‑are in your head.”

  “No, but MATLAB does. Faster than you can think it.”

  Josh grinned. This just might work! “Okay, you’ve sold me. What do you need to get it done?”

  “CATO could do it. He’s got the access code to the CommSats. Once I finish the software, all he has to do is blip up my new program, and then we let it analyze. Every couple hours, we blip down the running results and run it through MATLAB to see if there’s an answer yet.”

  “You said CATO doesn’t understand the method.”

  “He gets the main idea, but he doesn’t think it’ll work.” Cathe shrugged. “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “How about if I just promote you to be a backup CATO and get you the access codes yourself?”

  Cathe hesitated. “That would work, but ... I’m awfully young to be a Communications and Tracking Officer. Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “You don’t seem too eager.”

  “I just don’t like horning in if I’m not wanted.”

  “I want you. I’ll talk to CATO and get you the access codes. How long to get your software written?”

  “I started prototyping it last night—worked on it till 2:00 a.m. It should be ready in a day or two. Then I’ll be testing it in a Monte Carlo simulation to characterize the signal‑to‑noise ratio of the technique. That’ll give us a back‑of‑the‑envelope estimate of how long we’ll need to get an answer.”

  “Just one more question,” Josh said.

  Those big blue eyes opened a little wider. “Shoot.”

  “Is there any magic you can’t do?”

  “On a computer? No.”

  “What about in real life?”

  Cathe blushed. “Well ... I still can’t break thirty‑six minutes for a 10K.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sunday, March 22, 10:00 a.m., Mars Local Time

  Valkerie

  VALKERIE SQUINTED AT BOB, TRYING to bring him into focus.

  His words tumbled out in a jumble of exclamations and incoherent shouts.

  “Bob ... slow down. Tell me what you saw.” She had to force her thick, unresponsive tongue to form the words. “Was it something outside?”

  Bob looked down at her. Was he angry? “Kennedy ... is ... sick.” He emphasized each word as if he thought she was too dull to take them in. “Lex ... is ... missing. Valkerie, I need your help. Do you understand? I can’t get in touch with Houston. I need to know what antibiotics to give Kennedy.”

  The meaning of the words sank in slowly. Kennedy was sick and Bob needed her. She nodded and tried to sit up.

  Bob put out a hand to stop her.

  She shook her head. “He’ll need fluids. I have to start him on an IV.”

  “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

  “I need to see him.”

  The room tilted around her and she felt herself lifted off the bed.

  A wave of dizziness made Valkerie gasp. “Wait. Slow down.” She closed her eyes and waited as the nausea gradually subsided. Slowly, she relaxed into Bob’s arms, laying her head against his chest. She slid a hand to his neck and tried to hold on. His heart beat madly beneath her ear. Strong and rapid, it pounded out the urgency of their situation. Kennedy was sick. What if Lex and Bob got sick too? Or was Lex already sick? What had Bob said about Lex? “I’m okay now. You can take me to Kennedy.”

  Valkerie felt herself lifted in his arms, and she nestled against him as he carried her to Kennedy’s room. He set her down on the floor, her back against the wall. She felt a flash of loss and almost reached for him, drew him close again, but she ... couldn’t. Now was not the time.

  She turned to touch Kennedy’s face. His skin was hot and dry. His breath came in quick, shallow pants.

  “Okay. I’ll need a ...” Valkerie stared at the wall, trying desperately to bring her thoughts into focus. “I’ll need an IV kit. And antibiotics. Bring me the whole antibiotics tray. Second bin from the floor—in the med bay.”

  The sound of footsteps faded into distant rattles and muffled whumps. The room grew darker. A warm, comfortable silence washed gently over her....

  “Valkerie, wake up! Please. I need your help!”

  She opened her eyes and stared at Bob. He wanted her to do something, but what? Why didn’t he ever tell her what he wanted her to do?

  “What’s going on?” Lex’s face appeared over Bob’s shoulder. A pair of earbuds hung around her neck. She was wearing her red exercise sweats.

  Valkerie blinked her eyes and tried to focus. Lex looked so good in red. It wasn’t fair.

  Bob and Lex were arguing now. Something about going to the bathroom. They stopped arguing, and Lex bent low over Valkerie.

  “It’s okay, Val. I’ll take care of Kennedy. You go back to bed.”

  Bob reached down and scooped her into his arms. Valkerie shut her eyes and snuggled into his chest, wondering if she shouldn’t pretend to be asleep.

  No, wait. Bob wasn’t her daddy. He’d carry her whether she was asleep or not. She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck as he maneuvered into her bedroom. Bracing herself for the chill of her pillow and cold sheets, she clung tighter. She felt herself rocking gently back and forth. She sighed and relaxed into Bob’s arms. Ever so gradually, she drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  Valkerie woke with a start. Her ears echoed with the ring of false silence. She lay motionless in her bed—trying to hear above the din of her pounding heart. Something was wrong. The darkness pressed down on her, black and foreboding. Something had awakened her
. Had she heard the scratching sounds in her sleep?

  A gentle voice murmured through her open doorway. Lex talking to someone—down the hall in Kennedy’s room. Another sound. The faint rush of a welding torch. She’d heard it a hundred times. Bob was working in the shop right below her. He’d probably knocked something over. Accidentally rapped the ceiling.

  Valkerie shut her eyes and relaxed back into her pillow. She felt better. Her fever must have broken sometime during the night. Maybe later she’d be able to—

  A metallic clang broke the silence. It sounded like it had come from the commons.

  Kennedy? Wasn’t he supposed to be sick? Hadn’t Bob woken her up to help tend Kennedy—or had she just dreamed it? She slid out of bed and stood, bracing herself against the wall. Not too bad. She felt a little dizzy, but at least she could stand.

  She felt her way out into the corridor and pushed herself along the wall.

  A faint chirruping noise sounded in front of her. She could just make it out above the whir of the air handlers.

  “Kennedy?”

  Movement in the darkness. Something low and close to the floor.

  Panic crawled up Valkerie’s spine. She swatted at the wall, her fingers fumbling for the light switch.

  A dark shadow darted across the room.

  Valkerie stumbled backward. Her shoulder slammed into the wall and spun her reeling onto the floor.

  “Bob!” Her scream pierced the blackness. She rolled onto to her hands and knees and tottered forward.

  A metal chair clattered to the floor behind her. A low, rumbling moan. It was getting closer.

  She scrambled to her feet and started to run, feeling her way with outstretched hands.

  The moan rose in pitch to an angry growl.

  “Valkerie?” Bob’s voice rang out from the stairwell.

  A powerful blow cut her legs out from under her.

  For a heart‑wrenching second she flailed through the air in a dizzying arc. Pain exploded in her skull, followed by halos of red‑and‑white light that faded slowly to darkness.

  * * *

  Monday, March 23, 8:15 a.m., CST

  Nate

  Nate looked around the war room at two dozen tense faces. “Okay, I guess you all know Kennedy is sick now with the same thing Valkerie had. High fever. Chucking up.”

  “What about hallucinations?” Dr. Frazier turned to look at Josh. “That seems to be the key issue. A fever, we can live with.”

  “I haven’t heard anything. Anybody know otherwise?” Nate scanned the circle. “This is critical, people. If you know something, speak now or forever hold your breath.”

  Silence.

  Josh coughed.

  Nate looked at him. “You know something I don’t know?”

  “Um ...” Josh looked stricken. “Something was told to me in confidence.”

  Meaning Kaggo told you. Nate drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay, you don’t need to give the name of your source, but if there’s something life‑threatening going on here, we need to know about it. That’s the moral and right thing to do.”

  Josh didn’t say anything.

  Dr. Perez leaned forward. “Josh? We really need to know.”

  Josh closed his eyes. Folded his arms across his chest. Sighed deeply. “Bob and Kennedy were out on an EVA last week—the day Lex and Valkerie found the halobacteria. Lex called them in a panic. Remember, Valkerie got herself in a jam, and Lex needed help? So Bob went running back to the Hab. He assumed Kennedy was going to follow. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes later, Kennedy showed up at the Hab and his faceplate was scratched pretty bad. And he said ... Bob pushed him from behind and then ran off. He was really angry. Almost started a fight, and you all know who’d win if Bob got mad.”

  “So did Bob push him?” Dr. Frazier asked.

  “Of course not!” Josh glared at Frazier. “I know Kaggo. He wouldn’t do that. Anyway, he was in a hurry. This is Valkerie we’re talking about here. No way in the world would Bob waste five milliseconds to push Kennedy.”

  “So what are you saying?” Nate did not want to hear this. He had to hear this. “That Kennedy imagined it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nate frowned at the tortured look on Josh’s face. What was going on?

  “But he never said anything about Valkerie seeing things.”

  Nate stared into Josh’s eyes. He knew something. Something he wasn’t telling.

  EECOM had been doodling on a pad with a green pen. She raised her head. “If Kennedy was hallucinating last Monday, before the girls brought back the halobacteria, then it follows that the halobacteria isn’t causing his hallucinations.”

  “We knew that anyway.” Dr. Frazier tugged on his white goatee. “It’s absurd to think the halobacteria could cause any kind of symptoms at all in a human host—even if it were alive. Which, I should remind you, it isn’t.”

  “Well, it is nice to have a bit of logic to back up your theory.” EECOM’s smile was cool.

  Roger Abrams, the mousy chief shrink, raised his hand.

  Nate jabbed a finger at him. “Go, Dr. Abrams.”

  “We have no evidence at all that would indicate that either Kennedy or Valkerie is, in fact, experiencing hallucinations. Neither of them have been examined by competent, trained psychology professionals—”

  “Yeah, well, the timing seems kind of suspicious, wouldn’t you agree?” Abrams, with his prissy, overeducated mumbo jumbo, had always given Nate the creeps.

  “It could all be coincidence,” Abrams said. “My point is that we lack sufficient data to reach a conclusion. But should we begin to see a whole pattern of hallucinatory phenomena, we would rapidly reach the stage where we could with confidence reject the null hypothesis that—”

  “All right, all right!” Nate clenched his hand into a fist. “I get your drift. We’ll wait and see if they keep hallucinating. But we’re getting off track here, people. Tiger Teams, I need reports. Tiger 1, what have you got?”

  Dr. Frazier tugged on his white beard and shoved his black plastic glasses up on his nose. “We have investigated the possibility of a long‑term‑to‑permanent quarantine here on Earth. There are two problems to be faced, both probably insurmountable.”

  “If it’s only two impossibilities, that’s not so bad.” Nate played with a roll of antacid tablets.

  “First is the issue of microbial contamination of the Earth Return Vehicle.”

  “They’re going to abandon that before they capture into Earth orbit,” Josh said. “Not a problem.”

  “I misspoke.” Frazier consulted his report. “Not the ERV, the Earth Landing Capsule. The mission plan calls for the crew to transfer to the ELC about twelve hours before Earth Orbit Insertion and aerobrake in and deploy a steerable parafoil to a dry‑land touchdown. Assuming they are still infected at that time, they will contaminate the ELC.”

  “But only the inside,” Josh said.

  “No, the outside cannot be presumed to be sterile. We know for a fact that the Pathfinder mission in 1997 had spores attached to the exterior of the ship that landed on Mars. If we can’t even send a sterile ship, which we packed ourselves in a clean room, then we most certainly can’t bring one back sterile. The ELC will be contaminated. The second problem is the long‑term quarantine of the crew. There is just no way to guarantee zero transfer of pathogens from the crew’s environment. We can make the probability small, but not zero.”

  “That’s an acceptable risk,” Josh said.

  “Not if it endangers the lives of seven billion people!” Cathe Willison said.

  Josh scowled at her. “You can never eliminate all risk—”

  Nate held up his hand. “We do have another option that would do exactly that. Tiger 2, your turn.”

  Josh played for a moment with the sheaf of papers on the table in front of him. “It’s not difficult to resupply the crew every two years or so with a cargo vehicle. They’ve got about a fifteen‑year supply of energy in their nuclea
r reactor, so that won’t be a problem for a while. All they need is food and other supplies. We can’t land an unmanned cargo vessel on a dime like we did with the crew, but we can bring it in to a landing ellipse of about fifty by a hundred kilometers, almost every time. That’s well within the rover range. But if we do one of those feet‑meter bungles, they all die.”

  Cathe Willison rolled her sheaf of papers into a tube and tapped the table. “It’s not a big risk, and it’s only four people—”

  “Four people we committed to bring home!” Josh’s voice had that mama‑bear‑protecting‑her‑cubs ferocity to it. Which was what Nate liked about him.

  Dr. Frazier inspected his fingernails. “It’s a calculated risk.”

  “Right. We calculate. They risk.” Josh pushed back from the table and stood. “What is it with you people? These are our friends we’re talking about here, not some ... lab rats in an experiment. They’re human beings. Kennedy Hampton. Lex Ohta. Valkerie Jansen. Bob Kaganovski. They have names. Brothers and sisters. Moms and dads. Not too long ago, we cried our eyes out because we thought they were dead. Now you’re telling me we’re thinking of letting them rot on Mars? You can’t be serious. If the odds of a cargo mission failure are 10 percent, then after ten missions, they’re dead.”

  “No, their odds of survival at that point are roughly one over e,” EECOM said. “Thirty‑seven percent. That’s basic calculus—”

  “Oh, sorry I did the numbers wrong!” Josh was shouting now. “Well, let me clue you in, people, those are not numbers up there on Mars, they’re our crew, and we’re obligated—”

  Nate had heard enough. He stood. “Josh, calm down. We haven’t decided anything yet. We’re going to watch Valkerie and Kennedy, see how they respond to antibiotics. And we’re going to make sure they’re not having any hallucinations. That’s our big concern. If we see a problem, then we’re just suggesting that we leave them there for another two years so we can reevaluate.”

  Josh glared at him. “Right, then another two, and another. When does it end? Do we just wait for them to die? Who thinks we ought to bring them home on the next launch opportunity, no questions asked? I want a show of hands.”