Oxygen Series Box Set: A Science Fiction Suspense Box Set

by John Olson

  “Bob, please ...” Valkerie’s pleading voice gnawed at his resolve.

  “What could have happened?” Uncertainty filled Lex’s voice. “He was fine when we left.”

  Valkerie spun and headed for the stairs. “I’m going over there.”

  Oh no you’re not! Bob jumped up. “Valkerie, wait. You know Kennedy. It could be a trap. Lex and I will go. We know how to handle him.”

  Her gaze came to meet his.

  Bob hesitated. She looked worried ... and something else. Guilty? About what? Locking the creep up?

  “But I’m the doctor.”

  Lex grabbed a radio handset. “Yeah, well, I’m the commander and I say you’re not going anywhere near that weasel. That’s an order. Watch him on the monitor, and let us know if he moves.”

  Bob shot Lex a grateful glance, then followed her into the airlock.

  “Be careful.” Valkerie’s eyes were wide.

  Bob recognized the apprehension he saw there. He felt the same thing himself. He held up a big roll of duct tape. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a little snack for Kennedy if he doesn’t behave.”

  * * *

  Bob hot‑docked the rover to Kennedy’s Hab and powered down. “Okay, expect an ambush. No way was the Hampster attacked by Valkerie’s little green man.” He grabbed his flashlight and a rubber hammer and followed Lex into the airlock.

  “I’m ready for him.” Lex stepped through the hot‑dock ramp and pulled open the Ares 10 hatch, holding a heavy wrench at the ready.

  Bob followed her in and secured the door behind him.

  Darkness. Dead silence.

  He keyed the Transmit switch on his local radio. “Valkerie, what do you see on the monitor?”

  “He’s still there on the floor of the commons.” Her voice sounded staticky and thin. “You’d better hurry.”

  He spun the airlock hatch‑wheel and pushed open the inner hatch. “Kennedy!” His voice seemed to bounce from wall to wall.

  No response. The interior was completely dark. A fan whirred somewhere in the silence.

  Bob reached around the corner and flicked on a row of LED lights.

  Shadows sprang out to fill up the room. Nothing moved.

  He peered around the corner, trying to remember how those guys on the SWAT teams in the movies moved. Of course, there was a major difference here. They had guns. He had a rubber hammer. Nice trade.

  “I’m right behind you.”

  He nodded at Lex’s whisper and stepped out, then spun a complete three‑sixty, looking for movement. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Hampster, come on down and be reasonable! We know you’re faking!”

  No answer.

  He turned to the airlock controls on the wall and punched a button.

  The pumps hissed as the airlock evacuated. Then he popped off a small panel next to the controls and unscrewed a wire. “Can’t be too cautious. Know what I mean?” He fitted the panel back on. “Okay, wait here. I’ll search downstairs, just in case.”

  Lex held up her wrench. “Got your hammer?”

  Bob’s pulse pounded in his neck. He grabbed the rubber mallet and flashlight. “Aye, aye, sir.” Bob checked each room around the central circular staircase. Nothing in the med lab. Nothing in the workshop. Nothing in the bioreactor area. He already knew the suit room was empty.

  Bob came back to the stairway hatch and shrugged at Lex. “It’s secure. No booby traps. Now for upstairs.”

  “I haven’t heard a thing. This is weird, Kaggo. Think he’s really hurt?”

  “Of course not. Kennedy’s a cockroach—the ultimate survivor. It’s a setup. He’ll try to jump us when we get close to him.”

  Lex whispered into her comm, “Hey, Val, is our little friend still playing possum?”

  “He hasn’t moved a muscle.”

  “We’re moving,” Lex said.

  Bob led the way to the stairwell. The metal hatch had a small rectangular hole cut out of it, and he shone the flashlight through. So far so good.

  He tugged the stairway hatch open and flicked on the lights. “Kennedy!” His voice echoed in the narrow cylinder.

  Silence.

  They climbed the metal steps carefully and pushed open the hatch at the top of the stairs. Bob flicked on more LED lights and the Hab lit up. “Good grief, what a mess.”

  A dark pool of liquid stained the floor of the commons. Kennedy was gone.

  Bob toggled his local transmit switch. “Valkerie, I thought you said he hadn’t moved.”

  “He hasn’t,” Valkerie said. “I’ve got him on the monitor. He’s lying right there in the middle of the commons. It’s pretty dark, but I can see him.”

  “What the ... ?” Bob looked around. “We’re in the commons now with the lights on, and he isn’t here.”

  “You’re ... Where are you, Bob?” The tension in Valkerie’s voice ratcheted higher. “I don’t see you on the monitor.”

  Lex swore and rushed to the videocam they’d installed earlier. A wire led down to a laptop. “He recorded a segment and set it to loop back over and over.”

  Bob’s heart leaped into turbo mode. “Kennedy!”

  Downstairs, the airlock pumps whooshed to life.

  Bob spun and raced for the stairwell. He just beat Lex to the hatch. They yanked it open and rushed down the stairs and out to the airlock. Bob reached for the hatch‑wheel, then froze.

  The airlock pressure read empty. The outer door hung open—onto vacuum.

  Lex peered through the window. “He’s undocked the rover!”

  Bob jerked his radio to his mouth. “Valkerie, Kennedy’s escaped. Do you read? Kennedy’s escaped. You’ve got to lock the door. Do you read? Lock the door now!”

  * * *

  Thursday, March 26, 3:15 p.m., Mars Local Time

  Valkerie

  Valkerie jumped to her feet, sending her lab stool skittering across the floor. She lunged toward the door, but her foot tangled in the stool, and she went down hard, smashing her right arm against the floor.

  “Valkerie, do you hear me? Kennedy took the rover and is heading your way. You’ve got to brace the hatch.”

  Valkerie scrambled to her feet.

  The Hab shook with a shuddering groan. The rover. Kennedy was trying to dock.

  Valkerie dashed out of the lab and swung herself around the corner into the suit room. Careening off the lockers, she flung herself at the airlock hatch and pressed her face to the glass window.

  Kennedy’s face suddenly appeared, burning eyes narrowed into a malevolent glare. Mouth open, nostrils flared, his face was a mask of rage.

  With a groan, the wheel of the hatch turned.

  Valkerie threw herself against it, pulling at it with all her weight.

  The wheel turned slowly—gradually opening the latches that held the door shut. She was too late. Kennedy was going to win.

  Valkerie scooped the steel pipe off the floor and jammed it into the spokes of the wheel. She threw her shoulder into the pipe and heaved.

  Slowly, the wheel began to turn back, locking down the hatch.

  The wheel spun suddenly free.

  Valkerie crashed to the floor. Climbing to her knees, she jammed the pipe again into the spokes of the turning wheel.

  The wheel spun a quarter turn and slammed the pipe into the wall.

  Valkerie pushed it back against the hatch, wedging it snugly in the corner between the floor and wall.

  The hatch shook with a bone‑crunching crash, but the battens held.

  Valkerie leaned back against the wall, panting and holding the pipe in place with a trembling shoulder.

  She pressed her face to the corner, not daring to look through the porthole.

  Another crash shook the door. Another. Snarls and raging oaths carried through the metal barrier.

  Cold sweat prickled Valkerie’s skin. What had happened to Kennedy? He was crazy.

  One final crash and then silence. Retreating footsteps.

  Valkerie backed cautiously a
way from the hatch. Dark red stains smudged the window. Blood. He was hurt. Maybe he would give up and leave her alone.

  A metal clang rattled through the airlock. Kennedy’s shadow darkened the glass, then a resounding crash jarred the room. A spider web of cracks split the pane.

  Valkerie turned and fled.

  Another crash rang out behind her. The sound of broken glass hitting the floor.

  Blind panic filled her senses like a piercing light. She ran, climbing stairs, crashing into walls, scrambling for a hiding place, blind to all else but the urge to get as far away from Kennedy as possible.

  Deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths. She had to regain control. To think. She ducked into Bob’s room and locked the door behind her. Slow breaths. Think. Listen and think. The Hab was too small. Bob’s door wouldn’t hold very long, and without the rover, without EVA suits, there was no way Bob and Lex could rescue her. She was on her own.

  A squeal below deck, followed by the sound of the hatch at the bottom of the stairs being sealed.

  Valkerie dropped and pressed her ear to the floor, straining to hear footsteps on the stairs.

  A thunk right below her. The clash of a locker door slamming shut.

  Kennedy was searching the suit room downstairs. But why? Probably he didn’t know if she was upstairs or down. If he came up while she was hiding downstairs, she’d be able to escape in the rover. That must be how he sneaked past Bob and Lex.

  She rose to her feet and flicked on the lights. An EVA suit lay on a sheet of plastic. The smell of bleach assaulted her. Bob had stayed up half the night cleaning her suit. She unlatched the door and tiptoed down the hallway.

  The sound of Kennedy’s search echoed up the stairs. He was still in the suit room. She had a little time, but time for what? Even if she bolted the hatch, he’d be able to cut through with a torch. All the tools were downstairs.

  She pulled a fire extinguisher from the wall and hefted it in her hands. The spray wouldn’t stop him, but the extinguisher was good and heavy. If she hit him in the head just as he opened the hatch ...

  She tiptoed to take up a position by the door, then took a practice swing. The metal cylinder swooshed through the air, throwing her off balance. A sickening feeling spread out from the back of her mind. She gripped the extinguisher tighter. Kennedy was evil. He was trying to kill her. Or worse. If she killed him, he’d be getting what he deserved. He was ...

  No, not evil—sick. Sick with a disease that she had given him.

  Valkerie shut her eyes, trying to calm the fear that raged like a demon inside her. Trying to generate the tiniest spark of compassion. He was sick. He was their friend … If she hit him too hard she could …

  No. There was a better way. Valkerie set the extinguisher on the floor and crept into Bob’s room, shucking her clothes off as she went. Her Liquid Cooled Garment was downstairs, but if things went fast, maybe it wouldn’t matter. She pulled on her EVA pants and lay back on the cot to struggle into the upper half of her suit. After wrestling with the stubborn suit for what seemed like hours, she finally climbed to her feet and clamped both halves together.

  A squeak sounded in the stairwell. A clank. Kennedy was opening the downstairs hatch.

  “Valkerie, it’s me.” His chilling, singsong voice echoed in the metal stairwell. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Bob and Lex want to hurt you, just like they want to hurt me. I’m your friend.”

  She joggled to the commons and scooped up the fire extinguisher from the floor.

  “That’s right. I hear you. You don’t have to hide. It’s just me—Kennedy.” A low laugh. “I escaped from Bob and Lex. They tried to kill me, but I was too smart for them.” Footsteps sounded hollow on the metal stairs.

  Valkerie backed away from the stairwell, holding the fire extinguisher between herself and that poison‑laced voice. She stumbled back against the wall of the Hab.

  The light from the porthole cast the shadow of her head on the floor.

  Kennedy ducked through the hatch, peering cautiously from side to side as he entered the room.

  “Stay back!” Valkerie kept her voice cool. “I’m warning you.” She held the fire extinguisher up to the porthole glass. “One more step, and I’m blowing out the window.”

  Kennedy’s face contorted into a sickening smile. “Not without a helmet you won’t.”

  She swung the extinguisher up hard, smashing the edge into the glass with a sharp crack. “Not a step closer. Next time it’s going all the way through.”

  He stared at the cracked porthole, eyes bulging, jaw sagging. His gaze came back to her, and he spoke softly, as though coaxing a frightened child from the dark. “Come on, Valkerie. It’s me. Come away from the window. I’ll be good to you. Now’s our chance to—”

  Valkerie swung the extinguisher at the porthole with all her might.

  The glass shattered, and the room filled with an ear‑splitting roar.

  * * *

  Thursday, March 26, 3:30 p.m., Mars Local Time

  Bob

  “Bob, come quick!”

  At Lex’s frantic yell, Bob dashed from the CommConsole to the porthole where she had her nose glued to the glass. “What—?”

  “The porthole on the Ares 7 just exploded!” Lex turned to him, her eyes wild. “Explosive decompression! How long before they reach vacuum? Half a minute?”

  It hit Bob like a hammer. There was no time to get an EVA suit on. “Maybe”—he could barely choke the word out—“they might have time to get downstairs to the rover.” He stared at the rover, still hot‑docked to the Ares 7, willing it to do something. A full minute passed in tense silence.

  “Bob? Lex?” The radio crackled and hissed. A sob choked off Kennedy’s voice. “I’m sorry. I begged her not to do it, but ... she broke the window.”

  Bob grabbed the mike and began shrieking at Kennedy.

  Lex wrestled it out of his hands. “Kennedy! Are you both in the rover?”

  Hysterical crying flowed over the radio.

  Bob couldn’t breathe.

  “Kennedy!” Lex shouted. “Where’s Valkerie? Is she there with you?”

  A long pause.

  Finally Kennedy answered. “N‑no.” Another pause. “I ... told her to come with me, but ... she wouldn’t. The Hab was decompressing so fast. I barely made it back myself. I’m sorry! She’s still in the Hab.”

  No! Bob closed his eyes, his breath coming in short gasps. No! How could you? She was so ... good. He grabbed the mike. “You killed her, Kennedy!” He slammed his fist on the table as pain knifed through him. He could feel his heart shredding within him. “You killed her!”

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Kennedy screamed. “She wouldn’t listen to reason. I tried to talk to her, and she just broke the window. She killed herself.”

  “And I’m gonna kill you, Kennedy.” The words came out low and cold. “I’m gonna kill you with—”

  Lex snatched the mike from him. “Bob, get a grip!” She pushed him away from the table. “Cool off. We’ve got a maniac out there in the rover, and he’ll be coming for us next. I need you thinking straight. Whatever you have to do to get there, do it!”

  He stared at her fierce eyes, then turned and staggered across the room to the far wall. He closed his eyes, forcing back the ragged sobs building deep inside of him.

  She was gone. Valkerie was gone. God ... why? Bob pressed a fist into the wall. Think straight. Cool off.

  Peace ... The word whispered through him, echoing off the steel walls of his mind.

  Be still.

  He closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall against the cool plastic of the wall. Valkerie ... I know I should, but I can’t ... I can’t. In this business, you couldn’t afford to rest, ever. Couldn’t trust anything, because you never knew when a life‑critical system might fail. Couldn’t trust anyone but yourself, because when it got right down to it, you were responsible for your own survival. Not your buddy, not Houston, nobody. You packed your own chute, and if it didn
’t open, then it was your own neck.

  Bob fought back the tears. On this mission, he was supposed to be the fix‑it man. The guy who kept every system A‑OK, protecting them from a hostile environment. And he’d been trying so desperately to protect Valkerie too, protect her from a hostile maniac, protect her from herself.

  He’d failed. He couldn’t be everywhere, know everything, fix every busted part. Sometimes horrible stuff happened to sweet, trusting people. Where was God in all that?

  Where is Valkerie?

  The question kicked him in the face. He didn’t want to think about that. Valkerie was in the Hab with all the air sucked out of her.

  Tears, finally. Bob put his face in his hands and wept. Valkerie was gone, gone back to her Maker. Safe at last. Safe at last.

  But if she was safe now, dead at the hands of a murderer, then ... hadn’t she been just as safe before, alive? Dead or alive, God had her in the palm of His hand.

  And me too. Whatever Kennedy does to me, I’m safe.

  A presence bent over Bob. Lex. He could feel her just above him, her warmth comforting him, her hands caressing his head with a feathery touch. Now it was just the two of them against Kennedy. But they were not alone.

  Bob straightened. Pushed back from the wall. Opened his eyes. “Thanks, Lex.” He turned to look.

  “What?” Lex stood across the room at the porthole, looking out.

  Bob’s heart did a little flip‑turn. How’d she get all the way across the room? Half a second ago, she’d been ...

  “I ...” He shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just ... I’m okay.”

  She turned from the porthole, and her narrowed gaze raked him. Finally she gave a curt nod. “I hope so, Bob. Because I need you.”

  “What do we do now?” He wobbled over to the table, grabbed a chair, and slumped into it.

  She sat down across from him and shook her head. “We’re stuck in this Hab. We’ve got no rover and no EVA suits. We have plenty of food and water, and all the electricity we want—until Kennedy decides to cut our wires or crash the rover through our walls. And we’ve got no comm with Houston. We disabled that pretty good yesterday.” Anguish twisted her face. “We’re on our own, Kaggo.”