Oxygen Series Box Set: A Science Fiction Suspense Box Set
Page 72
“Oh no!” Valkerie stopped.
A long, horizontal slash ran along the polyethylene wall of the greenhouse. Bob stared at it, his heart pounding. The shredded plastic flapped in the Martian wind. The far side was ripped up just as badly. He stepped inside through what should have been the wall. A few sandblasted stems poked up through a rippled drift of sand. Bob dropped to his knees and started digging frantically. Where was all the equipment? The water tanks? Bob spun around to search the greenhouse shell.
Valkerie was walking around the edges, probing the drifts with her feet. “Bob?” The terror in her voice tingled up his spine.
Bob helped her search, digging like a dog in the sand.
“They were too big to just ... blow away.” Valkerie’s whisper was barely audible above the ringing in his ears. “Somebody took the water barrels.”
“Uh‑huh.” Fifty‑five gallons each. Both of them three‑quarters full. No way could the wind have done this. For an agonizing minute, he couldn’t breathe. Finally he sucked some air into his lungs. Enough to hiss out a few words. “Bad news, Lex. Real bad.”
Part 4: The Fifth Man
... it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one more member than could actually be counted.
T. S. Eliot
comments on the Shackleton Antarctica Expedition
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tuesday, April 28, 3:00 a.m., Mars Local Time
Valkerie
VALKERIE LAY IN HER BED. The dust storm had blown over in the night. She stared up at the ceiling. Light from the corridor crisscrossed the ceiling with overlapping fans of gray and black. Her eyes traced the patterns, following them back to their sources. An alligator‑shaped crack at the top of the doorway. Headlight pinpricks where the wall didn’t quite meet the ceiling. A missile‑shaped gap above the duct tape bandage that covered the knife wound at the heart of her plastic door.
She pushed herself up in bed, drinking in the dim outlines of her room and furnishings. The four walls, now solid and familiar even in darkness, were once cold and menacing, the steel bars of a dark and dreary prison. Now they were life. She knew she would be leaving them soon, but she was at peace with that. With acceptance had come freedom. Freedom and clarity.
A pang stabbed through her. Not hunger—that had long since faded. It hovered just out of reach like the half memory of a long‑forgotten friend. This feeling was sharper, more invasive. The look of hurt in her father’s eyes. The cry of a hurt child.
Valkerie hugged her knees to her chest. She was going to die. For the first time in her life she saw it for the inevitability it had always been. But it wasn’t death that bothered her. It was life. Her life. All her hopes and dreams. Her ambitions. Her drive. She had worked so hard to make something of herself. She had wanted to be able to look back on her life without regret, knowing that she’d tried.
And tried and tried and tried. Deferring happiness for accomplishment. Peace for recognition. Working so hard to satisfy the demands of so many different people. Conflicting demands that could never all be satisfied. She saw it so clearly now. She had thought she’d been working for others, but it had all been for herself. For her security. For her glory. So that others would like her—not the other way around. If only her efforts had been better directed. If she’d focused on the One instead of the many. The One who didn’t make demands—only sacrifices.
A clang sounded below. Bob working in the shop. Valkerie looked at her watch. 3:02 a.m. local time. Maybe there was still time to make things right. She should have said yes months ago. If only he’d give her another chance. Another clang downstairs. Valkerie wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and pushed her way through her bedroom door out into the glaring light of the circular corridor. Picking her way through the rows of pots that lined both walls, she made her way into the commons and across it to the stairwell.
She crept down the stairs, counting out three‑Mississippi for each breath so she wouldn’t hyperventilate. She’d have to readjust the scrubbers. Bob had set them to leave more CO2 for the plants, but there was only so far they could go before it got dangerous. She tiptoed through the pallets of red regolith that circled the stairwell and poked her head into the shop. “Bob?”
The room was empty.
“Bob?” She circled the corridor and checked each room.
No Bob.
That’s funny. Bob couldn’t have gone upstairs. She would have heard him. Valkerie stepped over a large pallet and made her way to the lab. Probably a thermal ping. Uneven expansion of the wall panels. Either that or she was imagining things again.
She slid onto a lab stool and started checking the soil in a long, makeshift pallet. It was a new batch and still smelled slightly of human waste, but its pH was good and it seemed to have enough nitrogen. Still, no matter how she doctored it up, the germination rate in the porous Martian soil so far had been abysmal. If only they had brought more potting soil with them from Earth.
Valkerie stood up and walked over to the microscope. Kennedy’s pansy had grown two more tiny little blossoms. Purple with delicate yellow beards, they stabbed her to the heart with their impossible beauty. Valkerie picked up the pot and carried it carefully over to the bench where she was working. Setting the pot under the light, she crossed to the seed cabinet and pulled out one last envelope. Zucchini seeds. She shook them out onto the bench. Only five of them. She dug five little holes in the freshly made soil and started to plant them. A healthy zucchini plant could feed them for weeks. One of them had to take. It just had to.
Mmmmmm. Zucchini. Valkerie broke into a giggle. If only her mother had lived to see this. Her daughter praying for zucchini. She’d come a long way since the summer of the zucchini wars. Every family in their church must have planted zucchini that year. Valkerie and her father were meticulous about locking the car doors, but even that was no protection. Often as not, they’d get back to the parking lot and find a bag of zucchini on their hood or in a basket sitting next to the driver’s door. Her mom would make such a fuss—as if she’d been given something that was actually edible. She would bustle about trying to identify and thank their dubious benefactor—while Valkerie and her dad crept through the parking lot like commandos, seeking out pickups with open beds or cars with unlocked doors. Car bombs, they called them. Long green car bombs. It truly was more blessed to give than to receive.
Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, Valkerie reached out a trembling hand for Kennedy’s pansy. Planted in good, Earth‑origin earth. “Kennedy, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never forget.” She pulled up the pansy by its delicate roots, replanted it in the Martian soil, and planted the last zucchini seed in Kennedy’s pot.
* * *
Tuesday, April 28, 2:00 p.m., CST
Josh
Josh lay on the cot in his room, wondering what had gone wrong with his life. In the past week, he’d had no news from the outside. And no visitors. No Nate. No Jake.
And no Cathe.
Why?
Nate, he could understand. Nate had made it clear he thought Josh was guilty. Nate didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
And Jake ... Cathe obviously hadn’t gotten around to talking to him. Or maybe he did have a vested interest in staying away. He knew good and well Josh had dirt on him and would use it to make him cooperate with Cathe’s investigation. Yeah, that was probably it. Jake would stay away as long as he could.
But Cathe. Josh hadn’t seen her in a week and the obvious conclusion was that she’d decided to bail. She was on the way up, and he was on the way down. Smart girl. She deserved better—
A tap at the door.
Josh bolted upright on his cot. “Who is it?”
“Can I come in?” Jake Hunter’s voice.
Josh flopped back down and covered his eyes.
The door creaked open. “Josh?”
“Yeah, I’m Josh.”
“Can we talk
?”
“We’re doing it.”
Footsteps. The sound of a chair sliding on the tiled floor. “You wanted to see me?”
Josh opened his eyes.
Jake tossed a small stuffed penguin at him. “EECOM sends her regards.”
And Cathe doesn’t. She had abandoned him. Which meant it would do no good to try to make Jake cooperate with her. “How’s the investigation going?”
“Not good.” Jake shook his head. “Josh, I just got back from D.C. Spent days going over the data with a guy from Star City and a couple of cream puffs from the FBI. And they think you did it. I don’t like it, but what can I do? The FBI has had people sitting on our network for a month, and no joy. They’re packing out of here Friday.”
“Friday? But I didn’t do it. That’s just going to open it up for the real hacker to take another swing.”
“We’ll continue to monitor. I’m putting EECOM on it. She’ll keep our crew safe—but they can’t lift off from Mars until we can figure out how to make them a little more methane.”
A bolt of adrenaline. Josh sat up. Leaned toward Jake. “What do you mean make more—”
Perfume. A woman’s perfume.
Cathe’s perfume.
Josh’s ego felt a Schwarzenegger‑sized kick in the face. Cathe’s perfume was all over Jake.
“You okay, Josh?”
“You smell like Cathe Willison.”
Jake gave a short laugh. “Oh yeah, that. Crazy thing. I was down in the FCR just now. When I walked out—I was on the way over here to see you—Cathe rushed me and gave this big, weepy hug. Said she’s quitting as of this next Friday. And she was just slathered in that perfume of hers.”
“She’s ... quitting?”
“Yeah. Said she’s moving back home to New York. Bummer too—she’s one of our best. I think she’s still carrying the torch for you, Josh.”
Josh felt his head spinning. This did not compute. “Not anymore.”
“Oh yeah?” Hunter looked uncomfortable. “Well, probably just as well.” An awkward silence.
Josh stared hard at Jake until he began to squirm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but since you’re asking ...” The corner of Jake’s mouth turned up with the flicker of a smile. “Cathe’s been flirting with me on and off for a while. Remember the day we caught that de‑orbit burn on ERV? Well, Cathe sent me a note asking me out to lunch that day, practically threw herself at me. But when I showed up, well ... you know how she is. Hot and cold. Hot and cold. She downplayed the whole thing. Acted like it was all my idea. Like all she wanted was to talk about the CommSats.”
Josh’s heartbeat hammered in his ears. “She asked you out to lunch? Where?”
“Well, not lunch, exactly. Wanted to meet me in the cafeteria. I—What?”
Josh jumped to his feet. “Jake, you’ve got to get me out of here. I’ve got to talk to Cathe.”
“I wish I could, but I can’t. Besides, Cathe’s no good for you. She’ll just yo‑yo you more. Plus, she’s moving to New York. Her dad found her a job.”
Josh grabbed Jake by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Jake, I’m serious. I need to see Cathe right away. Tell Nate. It’s important. Life‑or‑death.”
“Okay, calm down.” Jake looked at his watch. “I’ll try to talk to Nate, but no promises. He’s a busy man, you know?” He started for the door.
Josh followed him out. “I think I may have a clue, but I need to talk to Cathe. In person.”
“You know, I’m coordinating the investigation.” Jake stepped into the airlock. “If you know anything that might help, I’m the one you should be talking to.”
“I need to check with Cathe first. Please. Just tell Nate.”
The hatch slammed shut.
He stared at the hatch, trying to figure things out. Cathe had asked Jake out? She’d asked him to meet her at the cafeteria? It had to mean something. It was too big a coincidence.
And the perfume ... It was a message somehow.
Cathe Willison never slathered on her perfume. Never. She belonged to the less‑is‑more school. And she was a fighter, not a quitter. There was no way she’d leave NASA.
Besides all that, she couldn’t move “back home to New York” because she was a Texas girl. A Texas girl whose father was dead.
It was a message, and all Josh had to do was figure out what it meant.
* * *
Tuesday, April 28, 9:00 p.m., Mars Local Time
Valkerie
Valkerie slumped in her chair and looked across the table at Bob.
He returned her smile with a bewildered shrug.
Lex just stared off into space. Her bony shoulders seemed to sag under the weight of her head. Glassy eyes stared unblinking from a gaunt, lined face.
They had to do something soon. Moping around and waiting for their food to run out wasn’t accomplishing anything. “I think we should go back to the vent,” Valkerie said. “It has to have water somewhere. Ice, probably. Didn’t you say you spotted underground pockets, Lex?”
Lex blinked her eyes. “Yes, but—”
“Hold on.” Bob raised a hand. “We don’t have the rover anymore, remember? We can’t carry eight hundred kilograms of ice in our pockets.”
“But we’ve got the MuleBot to carry our stuff,” Valkerie said. “Eight hundred kilograms of water feels like three hundred in Mars gravity. We could walk four kilometers out, load the ice on the mule, and walk back.”
“Not in one day, we couldn’t,” Bob said. “And not on one bottle of oxygen.”
Lex sat up straighter. “You can do amazing things when you’ve got to. How many of our oxygen bottles are still usable? Ten?”
“Nine,” Bob said. “And eight battery packs. But you can’t run a marathon in an hour, no matter how bad you have to. Eight kilometers of walking is at least eight hours, probably more since we haven’t been eating. Plus, we’d have to dig out the ice and haul it up. There is no way to do that in one day. And staying outside for a Martian night is suicide, plain and simple.”
“So we camp out overnight in that cave near the thermal vent,” Valkerie said. “It’s got a microclimate that’s a lot warmer than the open plain. We could bring the inflatable decompression chamber to sleep in. It would be cramped, but it would help protect us from the cold. And we’ll still have our suits to keep us warm.”
Bob shook his head. “Do you really think we could find eight hundred kilos of ice? What kind of odds are we talking about?”
“Oh, the ice is there, all right,” Lex said. “That’s not the question. The problem is surviving a night outside on Mars. Our suits aren’t made for that. That hyperbaric chamber isn’t made for it. We opened up that cave quite a bit, so the microclimate’s destroyed. Who knows how much energy that thermal vent is pumping out? Even if we seal it up, it might take weeks to warm up to the freezing point. It’s a gamble. So you want odds, I’ll give you odds—slim to none ....” Lex looked back down at the table.
Valkerie started to object but gave it up. Even if they survived the night, how would they be able to get almost a ton of ice up the cliff and back to the Hab? The whole idea was crazy.
“But what other option do we have?” Lex finally broke the silence. “If we don’t get off the planet soon, we starve to death. And that’s a probability of one.”
“At least we’d be doing something. What do you think?” Valkerie looked at Bob. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick to death of sitting around.”
“If we can figure out how to camp out overnight, I vote go,” Bob said. “Trying is better than not trying.”
“Good, it’s settled.” Lex smacked her palms on the table. “We’re all taking one last big trip. In the morning.” The room hung with a heavy silence. Valkerie looked at Bob. He was thinking the same thing she was. She could see it in his eyes. Lex wasn’t strong enough to go. But she was the commander. How could they make her stay?
“I don’t think we have enough oxygen tanks for all three of us,” Bob said.
“Um, Val? Bob?” Lex’s voice sounded apologetic. “Listen, if the tent idea doesn’t work, whoever goes isn’t coming back. You know that, right?”
“Sure, Lex.” Bob’s voice sounded tight.
“And furthermore, two of us have to go,” Lex said. “It’s a two‑person operation.”
Valkerie nodded. She could see where this was going.
“I ...” Lex’s voice cracked. “I think it should be you two. If anything goes wrong, we’re all doomed anyway. And you two ought to be together at the end.” She grabbed Valkerie’s hand and moved it across the table. Into a large, calloused hand.
Bob squeezed. “Are you sure?”
Valkerie squeezed back. “Lex, it’ll be harder on you if we don’t make it. We’ll freeze in a few hours. You’ll starve slowly.”
“Ever since I was eight years old, I wanted to come to Mars,” Lex said. “I knew it was dangerous. Is dangerous. It’s the last frontier. But I love Mars. I don’t know how to say this, but there’s just a bigness, a wildness, about this place. I love it here. I wish I could stay.”