Oxygen Series Box Set: A Science Fiction Suspense Box Set

by John Olson

  The circle of engineers stared at him as if he had ordered them all to eat broken glass. Which Nate might very well do—to whoever had tried to strand his crew.

  * * *

  Friday, March 27, 11:30 p.m., Mars Local Time

  Bob

  Bob sat in a hanging chair in the command center and tried to make sense of it all. The girls had gone to bed an hour ago, leaving him on guard duty for the first half of the night.

  Guard duty! It was ridiculous. There was nothing to guard against. Except maybe that big dust storm. Which wouldn’t get here for another day or two. Kennedy was stuck over at the Ares 10 without a suit. No way in the world could he just wander out in the frigid Martian night and cross two hundred meters of vacuum. And finally, the door downstairs was locked up tight. Bob had made sure of that.

  The Ares 7 was about the safest place in the solar system right now. Ought to be, anyway.

  Except for one tiny little question mark.

  Nate had called back pretty quickly this morning with a response to Lex’s question. The engineers in the FCR had checked the logs and double‑checked them and triple‑checked them. Nobody in Houston had sent any rover commands in the last week. Matter of fact, they’d checked every command that had gone through the Deep Space Network from any source, looking for any robotic commands at all.

  Zippo.

  So either the rover had grown brains and driven off under its own volition ... or there was somebody else on the planet—Valkerie’s fifth man.

  Bob got out of his chair and began pacing. This did not compute. You could prove mathematically that the life support on the outbound journey could not keep another living soul alive. Nothing bigger than a chihuahua, anyway. There hadn’t been any stowaways on the Ares 10. And of course none on the Ares 7, which made the transit without passengers and without an atmosphere.

  And there weren’t any other manned missions to Mars. Not even close. Not possible. The Russians, the Japanese, the Europeans—none of them had that kind of operational experience, that kind of technology, that kind of money. If they had, they’d have been in line to put one of their people on this mission.

  Which left ... what?

  A Mars monkey?

  Crazy. Mars was dead. Had been dead for a billion years, or three billion, or whatever. Tectonically dead, even—no geological carbon cycle to fuel life. An atmosphere way too thin to screen out cosmic rays and solar flares. No ozone to block UV light, no magnetic field to divert charged particles. Regolith full of sterilizing peroxides.

  Mars was dead. It was a miracle to find the bacterium that Valkerie and Lex had dug up—and even that was only thanks to a perfect little underground microclimate driven warm and humid by a thermal vent.

  It was not biologically possible to find even a Mars mouse, let alone a Mars monkey or a Mars man.

  Right. So who drove off with the rover?

  Bob clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his hands. The rover hadn’t just disappeared by itself. It drove away. Under the guidance of an intelligent agent. Kennedy hadn’t done it. The proof was that Bob couldn’t locate the rover visually. He’d made a quick sweep outside this afternoon, and it was nowhere in sight. The rover had to be at least a kilometer away.

  And there was no way Kennedy could have driven it that far off, hopped out, and come walking back to the Ares 7 in the time it took the girls to cross just two hundred meters of open plain with the airlock of the Ares 7 in clear view. They hadn’t seen him go in. Ergo, he had been inside the whole time. Which meant he had not driven the rover himself.

  Nor had he driven it out remotely. The command logs showed no activity. And anyway, Bob had changed the superuser password on the Ares 7 computers yesterday. So the Hampster wouldn’t have been able to access the computers.

  Lex had suggested that Kennedy must have reinstalled the operating system and set the password to his own choosing. That was a fine theory. The only problem with it was that the password was the same today as it was yesterday—crAmNi5ef00D. So if Lex was right, then Kennedy had randomly chosen a twelve‑character alphanumeric password that just happened to be the same as Bob’s. The odds against that were three billion trillion to one.

  Okay, Sherlock, who or what is left? When you’ve eliminated all the impossibilities, whatever’s left is the answer—however improbable.

  But there wasn’t anything left.

  Nothing but Valkerie’s fifth man, and of course, that was impossible too.

  Something creaked in the exterior walls. Bob froze for a second.

  The wind. It had to be. He wished he could look outside, but the porthole was covered over with a piece of sheet metal.

  Valkerie was scared. Even RoboLex was acting a little nervous, but something had really been bothering Valkerie. She’d been quiet all evening. Hadn’t let Bob out of her sight since supper. Something had softened up in her all of a sudden. She wasn’t so—

  “Bob! Is that you out there, Bob?”

  Bob turned to glare at the radio. Kennedy again. The paranoia act was getting old fast. According to Josh, Houston had evidence that Kennedy had some kind of mental disorder—the kind you could conceal under normal circumstances. The kind that leaked under heavy pressure. That was a fine explanation, but it didn’t help much in the way of solving the problem. What were they going to do with a wild Hampster for the next fifteen months?

  “Bob, I hear you out there,” Kennedy said, his voice hissing with static. “I’m warning you, I’ve got a crowbar here and I’m not afraid to use it! If you come in, I’m gonna bash you, boy. I’m gonna hit you so hard you’ll be pickin’ your teeth out of tomorrow. Face it, loser. No matter what you do, I’ll still come out on top. Poor Bob, always loses the girl. Face it, guy—she’s in love with me. You’re out in the cold—”

  Bob grabbed the mike, ready to ... No. That’s exactly what Kennedy wanted. He took a deep breath and set the mike back down.

  “I’m waiting for you, yellowbelly,” Kennedy said. “That’s right, run back home before I smash you.”

  A long static‑filled silence, then a muffled thumping noise.

  “I said, get away!” Kennedy shouted. “I kept you on this mission, did you know that? They wanted to get rid of you. They said you were afraid to come, that you’d chicken out. I kept you on the team and pushed out Josh, and what—”

  A loud thump sounded over the radio. Static. “Bob, please ...” Kennedy’s voice was a whimper. “Please, don’t. I didn’t mean it. Please ...” A resounding crash. “Bob, I’m sorry. I was just kidding ...”

  Bob rested a finger on the Transmit button but shook his head. “Fool me twice, shame on me.” He flicked off the radio and set down the mike.

  Blessed silence filled the Hab.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Saturday, March 28, 8:00 a.m., Mars Local Time

  Valkerie

  VALKERIE LAY ON HER BACK, floating above the terrors of the last couple of days. The whisper of blowing sand caressed her senses as it blew against the outer hull. A warm drowsiness stole over her. The tinkle of sleet and snow blowing against the windows of her family’s Upper Peninsula cabin. She and her dad had been snowed in for six days after her mother died. Reading aloud to each other, playing chess by firelight, drinking hot chocolate—those had been the best six days of her life. And the worst. She remembered the pain etched in her father’s face. The tears. The deep, burning void. But the snow kept falling. Silently. Blowing mounds of fluffy softness over the jagged fences and fallen limbs. White and pure, it coated everything with a blanket of peace.

  “Kind of nice, isn’t it?” Bob’s voice sounded at the doorway. Footsteps. The steamy smell of hot tea.

  Valkerie opened her eyes. “You’re up already? Weren’t you on watch pretty late last night?”

  Bob knelt by her cot, holding out a steaming cup. “Sorry if I woke you. I thought you were up when I started fixing tea.”

  “I wasn’t asleep. Just thinking.” Valkerie
sat up on the cot and took the offered cup.

  “Thinking about what?” Bob sat down beside her and took a sip of tea.

  Valkerie couldn’t help smiling. His hands were so big. The cup looked like it came from a child’s tea‑party set. He stared back at her for several seconds, then dropped his eyes and took another sip of tea.

  “Did I ever tell you that you remind me of my father?”

  “No ...”

  “He used to play tea party with me. Tea party, house, school ... but he drew the line at dress‑up.”

  Bob’s eyes took on a faraway look. “You miss him, don’t you?”

  Valkerie nodded. “How about you? Who do you miss the most?”

  “Josh ...” Bob closed his eyes and took a long sip of tea. “... and Kennedy.”

  Valkerie’s insides twisted into a familiar knot.

  “The way he used to be. Remember how it was before the mission? Remember wilderness survival training? The sim on Devon Island?” Bob leaned back against the wall. “Those were the best days of my life.”

  “But I was horrible to you then.”

  “And you aren’t now?” Bob laughed and looked at her with a faraway expression. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw you. The treadmill almost swallowed me alive. I’d never in my life seen a more—” Bob stopped and stared down at his teacup.

  “What?” Valkerie leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “What were you going to say?”

  Emotions rippled across Bob’s face like a fine mist. “I really ... shouldn’t.” He closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “It’s okay.” Valkerie reached out and took him by the hand. “Look at me. You can tell me anything.”

  Footsteps in the hallway. “Hey, Val? We’ve got a big—” Lex barged into the room, then skidded to a halt. “Whoa, um ... never mind. It can wait.”

  Bob pulled his hand away. “Lex, wait. What’s wrong?”

  Lex looked to Valkerie, her eyes two big, dotted question marks.

  Valkerie nodded. “It’s okay. We were just talking.”

  “Well ...” Lex shrugged. “Remember why we went over to the Ares 10 the other day?”

  Valkerie sighed. What was Kennedy up to now?

  “Remember?” Lex motioned to Bob. “We took the rover ...”

  “Oh no!” Bob jumped to his feet. “How much food do we have left?”

  “A couple of boxes,” Lex said. “And the dust storm’s going to hit us full force any hour now. It’s already pretty gusty.”

  “Hold on a second.” Valkerie set her tea on her desk and stood up next to Bob. “I thought you guys brought back a full load of supplies.”

  “We did, about two months’ worth, but remember?” Lex searched her eyes, waiting. “Remember when we got back you hit us with the big news—that something had broken into the lab?”

  “Not to mention the small matter of life on Mars,” Bob added. “We were so distracted we only unloaded—”

  “Two lousy boxes.” Lex shook her head. “We’ve got maybe four hours before the dust storm really starts blasting us. Once it hits, we may be socked in for weeks.”

  “We’ve got to talk to Kennedy.” Valkerie stepped over the corner of her cot and squeezed past Lex. “We can’t just barge in on him unannounced and expect him to greet us with hugs and kisses.”

  “That’ll just give him time to plan his attack.” Lex followed Valkerie to the transmitter and laid a restraining hand on the mike. “We’ve got to hit him fast and hard. Take him unawares and pin him to the wall.”

  “Bob ...” Valkerie waited for Bob to shuffle over to the transmitter. “Kennedy doesn’t need knives and duct tape, he needs someone to listen to him. If we’re ever going to reclaim him, we’ve got to start now. It’ll only get worse if he isolates.”

  Bob shifted uncomfortably.

  “We can’t keep him in jail forever. Remember, we all have to ride back on the same bus.”

  Bob spread his arms wide. “She’s got a point.”

  Lex didn’t look convinced.

  “We should at least talk to him. See what kind of a mood he’s in,” Valkerie said. “Maybe his fever’s broken, and he’s back to normal.”

  “Normal’s what worries me.” Lex pushed the mike toward Valkerie. “But go ahead and talk if it makes you happy. Just don’t let him con you.”

  Valkerie picked up the mike and keyed the Transmit button. “Hey, Kennedy? This is Valkerie. Are you awake?”

  She waited a long minute for a response. “Kennedy, this is Valkerie calling from the Ares 7. Do you read?”

  Nothing.

  “Kennedy, please. We’d like to talk. Before we can bring you back over here we’ve got to find out what your issues are. You know, talk things out as friends.”

  Valkerie set down the mike and turned to Bob. “Think he’s asleep?”

  “Maybe. He was up pretty late last night.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He called on the radio—you know, the usual. Things going bump in the night. Me outside his Hab trying to kill him.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Valkerie turned back to the transmitter. “What if there really was something out there?”

  “Of course there’s something. Something wrong in the Hampster’s head.” Bob made a circle at his temples.

  “I heard it too. Do you think there’s something wrong in my head?”

  “That’s different. You hear things and you investigate. Try to figure out what could have made the noise. Kennedy hears things and fills a rescue bubble with acetylene. That’s a big difference—the difference between sane and insane.”

  Valkerie held the mike to her lips again. “Kennedy, this is Valkerie. Please acknowledge. We want to help you. I want to help you.”

  Bob stood up and began pacing.

  Valkerie tried again. And again. Finally she set the mike down. “Let’s check the video monitors.”

  They went down to the lab and flicked on the video receiver. The monitor lit up with snow.

  “He’s unplugged the videocams.” Bob turned off the receiver. “Guess he just doesn’t want to talk to us.”

  Lex picked up the sharpened pipe‑knife. “He’s going to talk to us whether he wants to or not. We need that food and we need it now.”

  Bob sighed. “Lex, how about you and I go over there with the MuleBot? If Kennedy cooperates, fine. If he makes a ruckus, we feed him some duct tape. Either way, we load up the mule with as much food as we can lug back.”

  Valkerie grabbed his arm. “Bob, I think I should go—instead of Lex.”

  He stared at her as if she had just said she wanted to go to a strip club.

  “Bob, I’m serious. He won’t hurt me. Not while you’re around. Maybe I can talk to him. He needs someone to listen to him, and I’m not nearly as threatening as Lex.” Valkerie looked to Lex, hoping she hadn’t offended her.

  Bob shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. He tried to kill you Wednesday. He tried again Thursday. Yesterday he tried to kill you and himself.”

  “And Mama Lexie.” Lex pointed to the monitor for the sat‑pix. “Guys, that dust storm is looking pretty wicked. We don’t have long before it gets gnarly in this neighborhood. Bob and I need to go over there now.”

  “I won’t stay here alone.” Valkerie folded her arms across her chest and stared her defiance at Lex.

  Exasperation furrowed Lex’s forehead. “Val, there is no way Kennedy is going to come back over here.”

  “That’s what we thought on Thursday.” Valkerie took Bob’s hand and looked up into his eyes. “Please?”

  Bob turned to Lex with a shrug. “Listen, Lex, how about we try this. Valkerie and I will go over and talk to the Hampster. I’ll take the knife along and I’ll watch him real close. He tries anything, we back out of there and call you over. Then you and I go in and ... deal with him.”

  Lex gave a short, hard sigh to show her impatience. But it also meant she was going to agree.

/>   Valkerie squeezed Bob’s hand.

  “All right, all right.” Lex led Bob and Valkerie to the EVA‑suit room. “If anybody can sweet‑talk the Mad Hampster, it’s Val.” She turned and punched Bob in the arm. “She sure turned you into the Pillsbury Doughboy.”

  * * *

  Saturday, March 28, 9:30 a.m., Mars Local Time

  Bob

  The sun was brilliant, burning off the mental fog that had dampened Bob’s spirits all morning. It was good to get outside. He hadn’t realized until now what a difference having a window made. He stepped down out of the airlock and turned to help Valkerie down the stairs. She took his arm and they descended the stairs together. Bob felt for all the world like a schoolboy at his first formal dance. He patted her hand with an awkward glove and started for the back of the Hab, where the MuleBot was parked.

  A rusty cloud blew across his visor with the faint hiss of a million tiny particles. Two hundred meters away, the Ares 10 flashed in the sunlight.

  Something was wrong.

  Bob shielded his eyes against the glare. The right side of the Hab looked too dark, the roof line too uneven, like the upper‑right corner was missing.

  “Valkerie.” Bob held a hand up to block the glinting sun. “Tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

  The walls of the Hab had melted through, exposing its blackened interior.

  “Kennedy,” Valkerie gasped. “Our food. Our food till next January is in there.”

  “What’s going on?” Lex’s voice crackled over comm.

  “The Hab. It looks like there’s been some sort of fire.” Leaving the MuleBot behind, Bob started running toward the burned‑out Hab. Valkerie’s labored breath sounded in his ears. He turned back and waited for her to catch up and then set out hand in hand with her at a fast walk.