Oxygen Series Box Set: A Science Fiction Suspense Box Set

by John Olson

  A keening moan filled her ears. Heavy breathing.

  She’d hurt him badly, but probably not badly enough. She launched herself through the doorway and collapsed back onto the floor. Crawling through the corridor, she turned into the stairwell and scrambled up the stairs using her hands as well as her feet.

  The moans filled her ears, crescendoing with each breath she took.

  Gotta be quieter.

  Valkerie pressed her hand to her mouth. She had to be quiet. Had to get away ... to where? She reached the top, ran into the commons, grabbed the transmitter, and flipped it on. “Bob?” Hugging the microphone to her chest, she held the pipe in front of her like a talisman while she fought to control her breathing. “Bob, it’s Valkerie. Kennedy’s gone crazy. He tried to ...” Her voice was washed away by a wave of uncontrollable sobs. “Bob, he tried, he tried ... to kill me.” She held her breath and strained her ears to listen.

  A jumble of raging obscenities echoed up the stairwell. Footsteps. The clank of metal on metal.

  Valkerie dropped the microphone and ran for her room, clutching the pipe.

  Footsteps rang out in the commons behind her.

  She slammed her door and turned the lock. Then, backing slowly away from the door, she held her breath and listened.

  Silence. Nothing but the pounding of her heart.

  She sank slowly onto her cot. Had she imagined the footsteps? The swearing in the stairwell?

  Valkerie lifted a hand to her face. It was warm and sticky, but not feverish. She looked at her hand, and a rush of shocked disbelief jolted through her. So much blood! The room tilted and swayed beneath her. If Kennedy had been hallucinating, how did she know she wasn’t hallucinating too? They’d both had the same fever. That had to be it. Kennedy wouldn’t attack her. It didn’t make any sense. Could she have fallen and hit her head? Everything was such a jumble. Like a dream.

  She rose unsteadily to her feet and took a step toward the door. Bob. She had to find Bob.

  The lock rattled lightly. A moment of breathless silence.

  Something smashed into the plastic door. Out in the corridor, Kennedy swore. Another crash. Another.

  The door held.

  Footsteps clomped down the hall toward the kitchen.

  She reached for the radio at her desk and flicked it on. “Bob? Help me. Kennedy’s trying to—”

  Something heavy thudded against the door.

  The mike slipped from Valkerie’s grip. She felt for the pipe and tried to force her nerveless hands to grasp it like a baseball bat.

  Another thud at the door. Another. A knife blade, long and impossibly bright, burst through the plastic.

  “Kennedy. No!”

  Her only answer was the sound of the knife sawing back and forth, back and forth, ripping a slow path through the thin plastic door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wednesday, March 25, 1:40 p.m., Mars Local Time

  Bob

  “HEY, BOB, I’VE GOT THE entrance to the cave dug out good and wide with the MoleBot. I’m detaching from my winch line and going in to scout around.”

  “Sounds good, Lex. Don’t go in far, okay?”

  “Roger that. I bet there’s a steam vent near the entrance.”

  Bob watched Lex’s feet disappear into the side of the cliff. “Watch out for little green men.”

  “Ditto. I’ve bagged up some specimens from the ledge here for the lab. Go ahead and haul them up and stick ‘em in the rover.”

  Bob peered over the edge. Lex had attached two bags to the winch lines. He punched the button and winched them up on the slow setting, watching to ensure the bags didn’t snag on the way up. When they arrived, he detached them and lugged them to a storage bin on the right side of the rover.

  Then there was nothing to do but wait for Lex to come out. He hunched down and scanned the horizon, watching for the telltale distortions caused by rising water vapor. Somewhere around here, steam had to be coming out. Water plus energy equals life. Mars had supported life once. If there was any liquid water left, it was a good bet that the critters would still be hanging around. Bob switched his comm frequency to the CommSat band. “Ares 7, this is Bob, come in.” He repeated this message three times and waited. Because of the distance to the CommSats, there was a six‑second delay for the message to go up to the satellite and bounce back down to the Ares 7.

  Fifteen seconds passed. Nothing.

  Bob felt his pulse jump a notch. Chill, Kaggo. Kennedy was probably sleeping—the lout. Maybe Valkerie was down in the greenhouse, or in the head, or whatever. Yeah, in the greenhouse. He’d try again in a few minutes.

  Five minutes later, Bob felt the thin blade of worry slipping down his back. “Ares 7, this is Bob, come in!”

  Still nothing. Bob began pacing back and forth next to the rover. What was going on? He drummed his fingers on the top step of the rover. “Come on, Valkerie. Get your act—”

  “Bob?” Valkerie’s voice, breathless and hasty.

  Thank God. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, Valkerie, this is—”

  “Bob, it’s Valkerie. Kennedy’s gone crazy. He tried to—” Her voice broke off. She was crying!

  Bob leaped up the steps into the airlock of the rover. A roaring sound pounded in his ears, filling his head, vibrating his body. Valkerie was in trouble. He’d seen the signs and he had let himself get talked out of protecting her.

  He slammed shut the airlock door and punched the button to pressurize. Valkerie’s sobs echoed in his ears. “Bob, he tried ... he tried ... to kill me.”

  Then silence.

  About three centuries later, Bob opened the inner door of the airlock and raced to the cockpit. He punched the starter button. “Valkerie! Talk to me! What’s going on? Kennedy? Can you hear me? If you so much as lay a finger on her ...”

  He threw the transmission into reverse and punched the gas pedal. The rover jolted backward, tires spinning up clouds of reddish brown Martian dust.

  “I’m coming!” Bob spun the steering wheel, jammed on the brakes, and punched the gearshift into forward drive. “Hold tight, Valkerie. I’m coming!”

  The rover bounded forward, leaping over rocks. “Valkerie, what’s going on?”

  Silence.

  “Valkerie!” Bob pressed the gas pedal down as far as it would go. Why, why, why were NASA engineers so conservative? This stupid moose maxed out at fifteen kilometers per hour. He unlatched his helmet and yanked it off. Sweat ran down his face. He roared up a slope and crested the first ridge. Another three kilometers to base camp and he’d ... he’d wring Kennedy’s neck.

  The terrain crawled by.

  “Come on, come on!” Bob shouted at nothing. “Valkerie, can you hear me? Kennedy, keep your hands off her or you’re dead meat! You hear me?”

  He waited out the twelve‑second delay.

  Nothing. The Ares 7 was silent.

  Bob swore out loud, then caught himself. Bile rose in his throat. Please.

  Finally he backed up to the airlock of the Ares 7 and punched the hot‑dock button. Then he was up and standing in the rover airlock, waiting for pressure in the connecting tunnel to rise. Half a second early, he unlatched the hatch, and the pressure differential jerked the door from his hands. He raced through the tube and punched the button to pressurize the Hab’s airlock. “Valkerie, hang on!”

  Finally the needle quit moving.

  He ripped open the door and forced his way through. An instant later, he was fumbling at the inner door.

  Locked!

  Bob peered through the window.

  The legs of a metal folding chair were wedged in the wheel on the inside of the door.

  “Valkerie! Let me in! I’m locked out!”

  No answer.

  Bob threw his shoulder against the door.

  It shuddered but held.

  He looked inside again. Where was Valkerie? Bob backed up and rushed the door again.

  The chair slipped—just a hair.

  Bob sla
mmed into the door again. And again. And again.

  Each time, the chair dropped a few more millimeters.

  He grabbed the door and shook it. “Come on, open!” He shoved again.

  The chair slipped out and the door flew inward.

  Bob staggered forward, then tripped and fell flat on his face.

  Spots of blood splattered the suit‑room wall. A scream rang out. Upstairs.

  “Kennedy!” Bob lurched to his feet, dashed through the corridor and into the central stairway. He raced up the stairs three at a time, flew out into the commons, and swerved into the corridor—then jerked to a halt.

  Kennedy was kneeling in front of the door to Valkerie’s room, a thin, broken knife in his hands. He spun to look at Bob, then jumped up.

  Bob rushed him. “Valkerie! I’m here!”

  Kennedy raised the knife, pointing it at Bob’s heart.

  Bob barreled into him.

  The blade snapped on the DCM on Bob’s chest.

  He lunged for Kennedy’s throat, let his weight slam into Kennedy’s body. His momentum carried them both against the wall. They collapsed onto the floor. Bob twisted as he fell, and his left knee buckled beneath him. Pain shot up through his leg.

  Kennedy lay crushed beneath him, gasping. From inside the bedroom came the sound of Valkerie weeping.

  “What did you do to her?” Bob hissed. “If you touched her—”

  Fear lit up Kennedy’s eyes. His left arm snaked out, a jutting finger stabbing at Bob’s right eye.

  Bob twisted his head.

  Kennedy’s finger jammed into his temple, shooting fireworks into his skull.

  Bob batted at Kennedy’s arm. He couldn’t fight in close like this. Not in a clunky turtle shell of an EVA suit.

  Bob rolled onto Kennedy’s arm and took a swing at his face. Too awkward. He had to get up or he was dead. And Valkerie with him. He kept rolling over onto his backpack, forcing it into Kennedy’s face. He pitched his feet up and then rolled forward into a crouch. Now just stand up and—

  Something leaped onto his back, grappling for his face.

  Bob staggered, then let himself fall backward onto Kennedy.

  Kennedy lost his grip and stopped struggling.

  Bob heard him wheezing for air and flung both elbows back. They connected with some part of Kennedy’s body. Pain shot through both funny bones. Great—he’d disabled both his arms. Bob lunged forward and made it to his feet this time. His damaged knee buckled beneath him. He grabbed a doorframe to support himself, then turned, hopping on his good leg.

  Kennedy lay on the floor, gasping and clutching his abdomen.

  “Bob?” Valkerie’s voice floated through the door. “Bob, is that you?”

  “Valkerie, I’m here! Stay inside.” Bob limped forward, looking for his chance.

  “What are you doing out there?” The door cracked open.

  “No! Stay inside until I finish him off. How bad are you hurt, Valkerie?”

  The door slid all the way open. “I’m okay.” She stepped out into the hall. Blood smeared the left side of her face.

  Bob felt his chest constrict. A cyclone of fury gripped his mind. Kennedy had hurt her. That piece of trash had hurt—

  Kennedy’s hand shot out and grabbed Valkerie’s ankle. He rolled toward her, his other hand reaching for the broken knife. Valkerie screamed.

  “No!” Bob dove onto Kennedy, letting his full weight hammer him. Before Kennedy could react, Bob was on top of him, pounding his face, his chest, his arms. He was going to smash the life out of Kennedy or die—

  “Bob, stop it!” Valkerie threw her arms around Bob’s neck. “He can’t defend himself.”

  “That’s the way I want him.” Bob felt a trickle of liquid down his left temple.

  “Bob, stop it right now!”

  “And let him attack you again? Forget it.” Bob pinned Kennedy’s arms and stared into his battered face.

  “Bob, I’ll ... get something to tie him up. Just wait. Don’t hurt him any more. He’s ... sick.”

  “Sick in the head.” Bob glared down at the motionless man. “He’s crazy!”

  “That’s my point. Please. Just give me five seconds.”

  Bob looked up and met Valkerie’s pleading gaze. He looked back down at Kennedy. Okay. But if he moves ... He gave Valkerie a nod.

  Her footsteps pattered away down the hallway. Bob heard her rummaging through something. Kennedy lay still, his eyes puffed closed.

  “Found it!” Valkerie said. “Bob, don’t move, just wait.”

  “I’m waiting.” He felt his heart pounding, the acid rage in his stomach threatening to boil over.

  “Okay, just bring both of his hands together.” A ripping noise sounded in Bob’s ear. “I’ve got some duct tape. I’m going to tape his hands.”

  “Do his feet first.” First rule of street fighting—an immobile fighter is an ineffective fighter.

  “Scootch up a little.”

  Bob moved forward. “Kennedy, if you’re conscious, just listen to me. You’re going to keep your feet still or I’m going to start fighting really dirty.”

  “Bob, please.” Valkerie’s voice trembled. “You’re not helping.”

  He shook his head. “I just saved your life and I’m not helping?”

  She didn’t say anything. He felt her leaning against his back, heard the sound of tape hissing around Kennedy’s feet. “Okay, got it,” she said. “He’s not going anywhere like this.”

  Bob moved back a little, yanking Kennedy’s hands together hard.

  “Bob, go easy on him!”

  “I am.” He gritted the words out. “He’s still alive.”

  Valkerie ripped off another long strip of duct tape and wrapped it around Kennedy’s wrists. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Bob released Kennedy’s arms.

  They fell limp.

  “Help me up.” Bob put out his hands.

  Valkerie’s warm hands closed over them and she pulled him up.

  He winced and clutched his knee, then looked into her face. “What did he do to you?” He reached out to touch her temple. “You’re bleeding.”

  “So are you.”

  “I’m fine.” He looked down. The Hampster lay motionless, his puffy face bruised and bloody.

  Pitiful.

  Valkerie leaned into Bob’s side and pressed her face against his shoulder. He could feel her shaking.

  Heat flushed through his cheeks. “I’m sorry I took so long. I came as quick as I could, but ... that rover ...”

  “You were ... wonderful.”

  He swallowed hard, then dared to look at her shining eyes. “You’ve got a bump on your head. What did he do to you?”

  “He tried to ...” She dropped her gaze.

  Rage seared Bob again. That scum tried to ... to ... Stay calm or you’ll kill him. On the heels of his anger came a wave of guilt. He never should have left Valkerie alone with Kennedy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should have ...

  Valkerie glanced down at Kennedy’s immobile form. “I got away from him and locked myself in my room. He tried to cut through the door, but I broke his knife with a pipe. That slowed him down some, but he kept trying. He was a maniac. He kept shouting that he knew I was in love with him, that I should come out and ... Bob, I’ve been such an idiot.” She buried her face in his shoulder.

  He stroked her soft curls, smoothing them back into place. “It’s okay. He won’t touch you again. Never, ever, ever.”

  “Ares 7, this is Houston, come in!”

  The two of them turned to stare at the CommConsole. Bob closed his eyes—he didn’t think he could face talking to Houston right now.

  Valkerie slumped against him. “Have Lex answer that, okay?”

  Lex! Bob’s whole body jolted.

  Valkerie started back. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lex?”

  “B‑b‑back ...” What have I done? “Back at the canyon. I ... just forgot all about her when I heard your call.”

>   “Ares 7, this is Houston. We got part of your message, but were cut off. Please report.”

  “You’ve got to go get her.” Valkerie pushed Bob toward the stairway. “I’ll talk to Houston. If anything happens to her ...” She looked down at Kennedy.

  Bob shook his head. “What if he’s playacting? I can’t leave you alone here with that ... thing.”

  “Well, you can’t leave Lex where she is.”

  Bob met her gaze. She was right, but he was too. And he wasn’t going to give in this time. “I’m not leaving him here.”

  “Well, then take him with you.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Want me to get Lex?”

  Bob shook his head. He had to get Lex. Right away. He had seriously violated mission protocol by leaving her alone out there. “Help me carry the Hampster downstairs.”

  Together, they trundled Kennedy down the stairwell. In Martian gravity, he only weighed about fifty pounds, so lifting was easy. Carrying wasn’t, because he still had his normal inertial mass. It took five minutes to lug him into the rover and dump him on the floor.

  Bob wiped his brow and looked at Valkerie. “You’d better go talk to Houston. And tell them we’re all fine.”

  She looked up into his face, her eyes glistening. Suddenly she rose on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “See you in a few minutes, okay?” Before he could reply, she turned and hurried down the steps and back into the Hab’s airlock.

  Bob closed the rover’s airlock doors and hit the button to reverse the hot‑dock. He stumbled forward to the driver’s seat. Smiling.

  The rover roared to life, and Bob drove forward. Behind him, he heard a moan, then the sound of struggling. He looked back.

  Kennedy had raised his wrists to his face and was gnawing at the duct tape.

  Panic bolted through Bob’s chest. There was no way he was going to drive four klicks out, pick up Lex, and drive all the way back with that maniac biting through his handcuffs. He veered to the right and punched the gas. A minute later, he skidded to a halt in front of the Ares 10 Hab.

  The mission plan had called for them to link this Hab to the Ares 7 and use it as lab space and extra living quarters. The only problem was that its suspension system had broken down, and they’d been forced to park it two hundred meters from the Ares 7. The place had electrical power, but they didn’t use it much because it was just too inconvenient to get to. What a waste.