by John Olson
“Keep working the problem,” Nate said. “And maybe you shouldn’t be depending on luck. Now, what about those video cameras?”
“They’ve gone dark on us,” Josh said. “EECOM worked all night and finally got into the computers about three hours ago.”
“What do you mean, ‘gone dark’?” Nate said. “They’ve all failed at once?”
“No, we can’t access them remotely. They’re not responding to commands.”
“That’s ridiculous. How could that happen?”
EECOM twisted a strand of her bright red hair. “There’s only one way. The crew physically disconnected them.”
“Why would they do that?” Nate asked. “Is there any maintenance scheduled on those?”
“No way,” Josh said. “You don’t do maintenance on a camera. You run it till its warranty expires. Then it fails and you throw it away and buy a new one.”
“So they have some reason they don’t want us to know what’s going on up there,” Nate said. “And we have no firsthand evidence that either Kennedy or Valkerie is alive.”
“Just Bob and Lex’s say‑so Wednesday evening,” said Jake Hunter. “Since then, we don’t even have evidence that Bob and Lex are still alive. We haven’t heard a peep out of any of them.”
“What about life‑support queries?” Nate said. “Hasn’t it occurred to any of you to ask the Hab how it’s doing? Find out if it’s still supplying energy and producing oxygen?”
“It is,” EECOM said. “I’ve been following all that very closely, and the life‑support functions are normal in the Ares 7.”
“Did you check the Ares 10?” Cathe asked.
Nate turned on her with a scowl. “What’s the point of that? Nobody’s living in the Ares 10. They couldn’t move it close enough to connect to the Ares 7.”
“Last time he reported, Bob said Kennedy was working over in the Ares 10,” Cathe said. “Which doesn’t make a lot of sense. There isn’t any reason to go over there. The workshop in the Ares 7 is better equipped. The galley is better. Even the head is better. Why would they say that?”
“As an excuse,” Hunter said. “They didn’t want to admit Kennedy was missing in action.”
“It’s a lousy excuse,” Cathe said. “They could have said he was sleeping—anything. Instead, they give us a half‑baked excuse. If it’s a lie, it’s a stupid one, and Bob isn’t stupid. What if it’s true?”
“It would be extremely easy to check,” said EECOM. “I could run some life‑support queries on the Ares 10. The instantaneous oxygen production would tell me if and when somebody is visiting that Hab, and the integrated oxygen production would give me a lower bound on how many people are staying there continuously. In addition, I could activate the video cameras there remotely.”
“Why haven’t you done it already?” Nate said.
EECOM’s face turned red. “I’ll ... pursue that right away.”
Nate turned to the shrinks. “Any clues on the crew’s mental state?”
Abrams pursed his lips. “Sir, anything we could say would be a guess. If you’re unable to give us any data, there’s no point in speculating—”
“Fine, I’ll write that down as a no,” Nate said. He glared around the war room. “So basically, what you’re all trying to tell me is we don’t know anything.”
“We don’t even know that they’re on the planet,” Cathe said.
Nate tapped his fingers on the table. “You want to explain why that isn’t the most tomfool thing anyone’s said all day? Where else—”
“Mr. Harrington, do you have a problem with me?” Cathe glared at him with eyes of cold steel.
Yeah. You’re too smart for your own good. “Just answer the question,” Nate said. “Last time I checked, gravity still works. If they aren’t on Mars, where else would they be?”
Cathe stared at him as if he were a clueless moron. “They have a fully fueled Mars Ascent Vehicle. There is no reason they couldn’t have already lifted off and gone into orbit.”
Nate shook his head. “That’s crazy. What are they gonna do in orbit? That MAV has life support for what, about seventy‑two hours, max?”
“The Earth Return Vehicle has a two‑year supply, and all they’d have to do is dock with it.” She glared at him. “Sir, you give us that Dilbert‑speak all the time about thinking outside the box. Then when somebody does it, you just come down on us. Make up your mind—do you want us to think or not?”
A low murmur ran around the table.
“She’s right, Nate,” Josh said. “In principle, the crew could have launched and docked with the ERV. They’re autonomous for launch. They have to be.”
“Okay, fine,” Nate growled. “You’re telling me they could be sitting up there in a nice little tin can in Mars orbit, enjoying the hazards of zero gravity, exposed to cosmic rays and solar flares, instead of sitting safe on the ground in a much healthier environment. Why in the world would they do that?”
“To prevent us from locking them out,” Cathe said. “Isn’t it obvious? Once they get into the ERV, there’s nothing in the world we can do to prevent them from coming back home—anytime they want to.”
“The next window for a Hohmann transfer isn’t till next January,” Nate said. “They’re not going to sit in low Mars orbit for the next nine months. That’s absurd.”
“I would,” Josh said slowly. “If I thought somebody was going to lock my escape hatch, I’d make sure I came back through as soon as possible. Come to think of it, they don’t have to wait for the next Hohmann transit window. There are plenty of transits that would get them home. Who’s to say they haven’t left already?”
“Strictly speaking, they weren’t going to make a Hohmann transfer anyway,” Cathe said. “The plan is for them to leave in January because they have enough fuel to make a higher‑energy transit. That way they’ll only have to spend seven months in zero‑g. But if they were in orbit right now, having to deal with zero‑g, they’d probably leave in October. That would get them home on a Hohmann ellipse nine months later—a month earlier than if they leave in January. If I were them, that’s what I’d do. It’s the smart thing—minimize time in zero‑g.”
“We may be barking up the wrong tree,” Josh said. “Can’t we just query the ERV and see if it’s providing life support?”
“EECOM, run that query on the Hab and report back to us ASAP. Check on the Ares 10 too. We need that data. Then query the ERV, just in case they’ve flown the coop, which I doubt. Hunter, keep hailing the Ares 7 and try the Ares 10 for good measure. Miss Willison, I want a complete report by yesterday on all possible transits, including inner‑system trajectories using Venus for a velocity boost. I want it all and I want it now.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
Nate stood up. “Then the sooner you get started—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She stood up and stalked out of the room.
“Okay, get to it,” Nate said.
The rest of the team stood and made for the exits.
Nate caught Josh before he left and waited until they were alone. “You need to talk to Miss Willison about her attitude.”
Josh studied his hands. “Uh ... Nate?”
“Yeah?” Nate waited. “Come on. Out with it. My bite is no worse than my bark.”
Josh’s gaze rose until he was almost but not quite looking Nate in the eye. “Your bark’s no picnic, Nate. And you’re the one with the attitude. Cathe’s just trying to do her job. We all are. And you’re taking swipes at us. Just thought you’d like to know ... people are talking.” Josh turned and hurried out of the room.
Nate slumped down in his chair and put his head in his hands.
Great. My crew is sick, maybe dying. Maybe bringing a virus back to Mama Gaia—a gift that’ll keep on giving longer than that stupid Energizer bunny. My team is puking out on me. Congress is throwing another hissy. And now my boy Josh is going soft.
I love this job.
Chapter Twenty-Two
>
Friday, March 27, 6:30 a.m., Mars Local Time
Valkerie
WHEEZING SIGHS FILLED THE LAB, deep and nasal—like the snores of a drunken asthmatic.
Valkerie tugged on Lex’s arm, motioning her back to the airlock.
Lex shook her off and pulled a flashlight from her belt.
Valkerie snatched the flashlight away and pressed her face close to Lex’s ear. “Are you crazy? Let’s get out of here.”
“Why?” Lex whispered back. “He’s asleep.”
He? Valkerie turned back to the lab, confused. A wave of realization washed over her. The sound—she’d heard it a thousand times. It was Kennedy. Her face prickled with heat as she handed the flashlight back to Lex.
“Stay here.” Lex pressed the flashlight back into Valkerie’s hands. “If he wakes up, whack him. I’m going to get some tape.” Lex crept around the corridor and disappeared into the shop.
Whack him? With a crowbar? Valkerie stood awkwardly in the corridor, praying Kennedy wouldn’t wake up. Skritch! Skritch! The sound of unrolling duct tape rattled up Valkerie’s spine. What was Lex thinking? Why not just shout in Kennedy’s ear? She tightened her grip on the crowbar. If Kennedy woke up she would use it. She had to. He was dangerous—a monster. It wasn’t just the infection. He’d been like this ever since she’d known him. He couldn’t blame it on her. She’d never meant to lead him on. He was lying. And she’d certainly never been attracted to him.
Lex crept back with long strips of tape flowing from her arms like a superhero’s cape. She transferred the strips to Valkerie’s backpack and motioned toward the lab.
Valkerie followed quietly, pausing in the doorway to let her eyes adjust to the dim emergency lighting inside. She could just make out Kennedy’s form, sprawled on a pile of blankets on the floor. She stepped closer. He seemed to be holding something in his hand. A friction lighter? What was he doing with a—
Her foot caught on a gas line. Another line ran to a Bunsen burner near Kennedy’s head. A third to an acetylene tank.
Valkerie’s heart beat so loud she was afraid the noise would wake Kennedy. She pointed at the gas lines and lighter, but Lex was already crouching at Kennedy’s side.
His left leg was bent, so Lex wound a long strip of tape around Kennedy’s left foot and right knee, binding his legs together into a loose figure four.
Kennedy snorted and rolled onto his side, trying to kick with his left foot. He opened his eyes with a gasp.
For a second Valkerie froze, staring into Kennedy’s wide eyes.
Kennedy’s eyes narrowed to a crafty smile.
Valkerie dove for the hand that held the lighter.
Kennedy pulled away a split second before she smashed into the floor.
She struck out with flailing arms and rolled into him, slamming her backpack into his stomach. “Lex, he’s got a lighter!”
Kennedy pushed her roughly aside.
She rolled onto her hands and knees.
“Drop the knife or I blow us all off the planet.” Kennedy was kneeling with his back to the wall, pressing an inflated, man‑sized plastic bag to his chest—a NASA rescue bubble.
“Stand back!” Kennedy held the friction lighter to the bag. “This is a stoichiometric mixture of acetylene and oxygen.”
“Val?” Lex’s uncertain voice sounded behind her.
Valkerie nodded. “It might not blow us off the planet, but it would kill us for sure.”
Kennedy’s eyes blazed. “You heard her. Drop the knife.”
“Since when did you become a suicidal terrorist?” Lex asked. “Looks like it’s a stalemate to me.”
Valkerie turned to look at Lex.
She still held the knife, not out in front of her, but cocked back over her shoulder, like she was about to throw it.
Valkerie climbed to her feet and backed slowly away from Kennedy to stand next to Lex.
“Bob’s the terrorist.” Kennedy struggled to free his foot from the tape that bound it to his knee.
“Bob’s not the one threatening to blow us all up.” Valkerie tried to make her voice sound natural—conversational. If she could just get Kennedy talking. If she could make him see reason. “And Bob’s not here right now. I know you and Bob don’t get along, but this isn’t about Bob. This is about you, me, and Lex, right? I thought we were friends.”
“Where is Bob, anyway?” Kennedy’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do with the rover?”
“I was just going to ask you the same question.” Lex stepped forward. “Where’s the rover, Kennedy? What did you do with it?”
“I didn’t do anything. Bob’s got it. He stole it.” Kennedy’s eyes darted around the room.
“Bob was with us.” Lex turned to Valkerie for confirmation. “The three of us watched you drive off in it an hour ago.”
Kennedy pressed the lighter to the bag. “That’s a lie! Bob stole the rover and you two are in on it.”
“Honest, Kennedy,” Valkerie said. “Bob was with—”
“The Hampster knows good and well where the rover is.” Lex put a hand on Valkerie’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Hampster. But if you so much as dented a fender—”
“I see how things are.” Kennedy’s voice shook. “You three have been out to get me from the beginning. And Josh too.” Kennedy glared at Valkerie. “Don’t think I don’t know all about your little affair. What’d you do, Valkerie? How many people did you have to sleep with to get that bomb on board?”
Valkerie flushed. “I—”
“Don’t listen to him, Val. See how he keeps changing the subject? The question is, Hampster, what did you do with the rover?”
Kennedy sneered at Lex. “I already told you.”
“What if he’s telling the truth?” Valkerie asked. “What if Houston took the rover?”
“Not a chance.” Lex scowled at her. “Bob changed the password on the computer, remember? Kennedy drove the rover off and abandoned it. Then he came back here on foot.”
Kennedy shook his head. “It had to be Bob. I heard him bumping around outside right before the rover undocked.”
“How did he get in, then? The rover was docked to the Hab, wasn’t it?” Valkerie circled slowly around Kennedy to the wall.
Kennedy eyed her suspiciously. “All he had to do was cut a hole. If I hadn’t fixed the airlock hatch, the Hab would have decompressed.”
Valkerie leaned against the wall and faced Lex. There, that was better. Now instead of the body language dynamics of Kennedy against the world, it was Kennedy and Valkerie against Lex. She hoped the clinical psychology textbooks were right. Now if she could just get the conversation flowing in the same direction. “He’s got a point, Lex. Bob could have torched his way into the rover in less than a minute.”
“What are you talking about? Bob was with us. We watched the rover drive off.”
“But I was asleep, remember? What was Bob doing before you sent him to wake me up?”
Confusion wrinkled Lex’s forehead. “What do you mean, what was he doing? He was with me.”
Kennedy looked back and forth between Lex and Valkerie, still on the alert.
Valkerie gave him a warm smile. “Kennedy, remember when we planted the pansies in the greenhouse? What was Bob working on then?” She watched the lighter out of the corner of her eye. Kennedy’s hand was drooping.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Remember, we were talking about the seeds. About the fact that you could never tell what color a flower would be by looking at the seeds. You made that joke about the difference between Bob and a pansy seed ...”
Lex leaped across the lab and tackled Kennedy’s arm—the one that held the lighter. White sparks blazed, missing the rescue bubble by inches.
Valkerie spun along the wall and yanked the bag from Kennedy’s hands. Racing to the door, she tossed it down the corridor. When she turned around, Lex was grappling with Kennedy on the floor.
Kennedy lay on his bac
k, reaching for the knife that lay only inches from his outstretched fingertips.
Valkerie kicked the knife away and stomped hard on his hand. She dropped to the floor and pinned Kennedy’s arm to the ground, rolling onto her side to press her pack into his face.
Kennedy pitched back and forth, venting his rage with ragged shouts and screams.
“I’ve got one arm,” Valkerie shouted.
“And I’ve got the other. Hold on.”
Valkerie held on for what seemed like hours. Finally, when Kennedy’s swearing had faded to exhausted panting and when he was too spent to put up any resistance, they bound his hands together with duct tape and wrapped more tape between his foot and knee.
“Okay.” Valkerie leaned against a wall and tried to catch her breath. “What do we do now? I don’t want to stay here with Kennedy, and I don’t think I could carry Bob’s suit back by myself.”
“We can’t just leave him here. If he gets loose, we’re back to square one.” Lex crouched over Kennedy with the knife in her hand.
“Hampster, are you sure you don’t know where the rover is?” Lex asked.
Kennedy glared back at her.
Valkerie knew it wasn’t logical, but for some reason she almost believed his story.
“There’s only one way to go.” Lex leaned over Kennedy with the knife. “Kennedy, I’m going to cut your hands free, and you’re going to start doing push‑ups. Make it to five hundred, and I’ll let you live. But stop once or try to get away ... and I kill you.”
* * *
Friday, March 27, 12:15 p.m., CST
Josh
Josh shoved open his office door. 99.99 percent. That’s how sure Nate was that the crew was sick with an Earth bug. One more hundredth of a lousy percent and the resupply mission would get nipped in the bud.
Josh sat down at his computer and pulled up his e‑mail program. No, he couldn’t go to Jane Seyler again. That would backfire.