People of Mars (17 page)

Hassan turned a last
time toward her. It was impossible to see the expression on his
face because of the distance and the glares.

“Let her alone,
Brother.” Robert patted him on a shoulder. “She’ll come to terms
with it, sooner or later.” Then, with a click, he activated the
closing mechanism of the door.

Anna started running
to reach the other entrance right away. The thought that they could
lock her outside, to get rid of her, crossed her mind for a second.
There were moments when she thought she might be exaggerating, and
that maybe Michelle really had committed suicide; she hoped so.
There were other moments when she told herself it was nonsense; her
friend would have never done that. But neither could she believe
that one of guys had killed her, or even both of them.

Wavering between
convictions, she entered the station again, got rid of the suit and
headed for the other airlock, this time from inside. Only Robert
was there when she arrived. Equipped with a cleaning device, he was
trying to remove the remains of tissues and coagulated blood from
the walls. There was no trace of Michelle’s body, nor of
Hassan.

“He took her to the
morgue,” he murmured. She couldn’t detect any irony in him now.

She hesitated for a
moment. Unlike earlier, she didn’t feel menaced at all, but only
oppressed by a huge sense of sadness. She took the other cleaning
device and started working.

Robert stole a glance
at her, but she said nothing.

Half an hour later,
footsteps resounded from a distance. She wasn’t ready to confront
him. He was still the one she feared the most. She wouldn’t have
felt safe caged in such a narrow space with both of them.

She dropped the
appliance and left the room, moving away in a hurry. She just
caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye.

Some days passed, who
knew how many? The perception of time had become something
abstract. She would sleep at night, shut up in her quarters. She
lazily worked in the greenhouse during daytime, keeping the door
locked. There she obtained vegetable, fruits, and eggs for her
nutrition. At most, she slipped into a warehouse in search for
freeze-dried or canned food, something that was sealed and couldn’t
be tampered with.

She knew she was
paranoid, she knew she was suffering a serious form of depression,
but wasn’t able to fight against those sensations. Thinking about
feeding herself was already exhausting.

She tried to avoid any
contact with the others, but they were keeping at a distance from
her, too. She sensed it was so. One day in the greenhouse, she saw
some shadows on the roof, near an Aeolian turbine. They were
repairing it, just like Dennis had demanded. Save for the sorties,
which were suspended, it seemed as if everything in the station was
back to normal, at least where maintenance was concerned.

Once, she had secretly
observed Hassan and Robert in the meeting room watching a video
message from Houston and talking about the agenda, as though
nothing had ever happened; save Hassan appeared perfectly at ease
with the role of new commander, while Robert looked edgy. Some days
later she had heard them discussing loudly, inveighing against each
other, insulting each other. Since then, increasingly often she
could hear classic music coming from Robert’s quarters, for hours
and hours. She could figure out how he was spending his time.

That evening she was
in her bed, slumbering, still dressed, when she heard knocking at
her door. A sudden terror seized her. She curled up and remained
silent.

“Anna, I know you are
in there.” It was Hassan. “I haven’t seen you for days. I’d like to
know how you are.” Again, that aseptic physician-like tone.

She breathed slowly
and waited.

“Anna …” His voice
softened. “I’m worried about you. Please, talk to me. I’m not
saying open the door, but at least say something.”

“I’m fine, go away.”
Maybe he would go now.

“I need to talk to
you.” He was still there. “But not like that. I don’t want to
shout.”

No, she wouldn’t open
the door for no reason whatsoever.

“There’s something you
have to see.”

Really.

“If you want to show
me something, send me a file.”

“I’d rather let you
see it with your own eyes. It concerns the autopsies of Dennis and
Michelle.”

Anna shivered. He was
trying to draw her out, taking advantage of her curiosity. She
wouldn’t allow him.

“Go, please,” she
replied dryly.

Then it was silence.
She waited with her heart in her throat to hear him walk away. She
got out of bed and moved closer to the door, placed her hands on
it.

“Anna.”

She gave a start. He
was just behind the thin panel, a few inches from her.

“Why do you behave
like this? You know I would never hurt you …”

‘
No, I don’t know at all.’
She felt a tear rolling down
her cheek to her chin. How she did want to believe him. For a
moment, she considered opening the door, pretending to believe his
words, whatever the truth was, despite the consequences. All to
stop the agony.

But she couldn’t.
Something inside her insisted on telling her to resist and, to do
so, she had to hate him.

She let herself slip
to the floor, her head leaning against the door.

When she opened her
eyes again, she saw from the digital clock that it was eleven p.m.
She had fallen asleep again for about two hours. The tears on her
face had dried, but her anguish was still there, on the alert.

She stood up in
silence and turned on the screen of the door control panel. The
camera returned the image of an empty corridor.

He was gone.

She felt relieved, but
again awfully alone. She unlocked the door and looked out. Nobody
was there. The light was on, but she knew it had been activated by
the camera. She took a deep breath and stepped out.

Without producing the
slightest sound, she went to the communications room and locked
herself inside. The screen was reporting the usual routine
information.

She reviewed all
messages coming from Houston from the last few days. She wanted to
get a sense of the situation. They were vague messages. They talked
about the mythical confirmation of the launch date. She couldn’t
understand whether they would send a new crew or just a return
spacecraft to take them home. She had the feeling they were
procrastinating due to the usual political disputes.

The worst thing was
that they referred to Dennis’s and Michelle’s deaths as tragic
events, without portraying the slightest doubt about what was
mentioned in the reports.

It occurred to her
that she had no idea what those reports contained. She didn’t even
know how Hassan had justified her absence in the videos sent from
Mars, and then Robert’s, who was also locked up in his isolation.
She wanted to know more. She started searching those videos, but
then a thought distracted her. Maybe those in Houston would like to
hear her opinion. How could they realise what was happening, if
they only received the version reconstructed by a single
person?

Driven by the desire
to clarify the issue, she recorded a message and sent it. A moment
after doing so, she regretted it. They would believe her to be
crazy. But maybe it wasn’t so bad, maybe it would be enough to let
her come back.

Or maybe it would
worsen the situation.

She woke up with a
start. How long had passed? It was one twenty a.m. The incoming
message icon was blinking. She activated the playback.

The smiling face of
the mission director, Jamal Nichols, appeared on the screen. His
cautious words, his accommodating tone.

She had no reason to
worry. Of course, the launch would occur. It was just a matter of
weeks. Yeah, sure.

No mention of her
suspicions, only a prudent ‘let’s not jump to hasty conclusions’.
It was evident he thought she was the one having issues. The
message closed with new empty reassurances.

It had been a mistake. Perhaps Hassan was right,
perhaps she was exaggerating. But she couldn’t find peace. Her mind
was in turmoil. No, she wasn’t crazy. Or maybe was she? No! In any
case, considering the time preceding the launch and that of the
interplanetary journey, the arrival of the new crew would take at
least
three
hundreds sols
. Would she
survive long enough before going insane?

A slight disturbance
crossed the screen. A crackle reached her ears. Anna turned round.
There was nobody. The crackle repeated and then faded away.

The radio transmission
LED lit up, steady.

Even before trying to
comprehend the reason, she started recording. It was happening
again. The other time, in the rover, it all had occurred so fast
that in the end she had believed she’d dreamt it. But now it was
happening for real.

The screen turned
black, and was then flooded with the diagram of a high frequency
audio signal, at first chaotic, then more and more regular. A peak
matched each time the LED lit up.

The LED turned on for
a moment, then off, on again, off again, then on and off once more.
It came on again and remained fixed, then it went off. It did that
twice more. Then it repeated the previous sequence, and finally it
turned off for good.

The screen went black
again. A second after, the normal data resumed scrolling.

Anna kept on staring
at them. She couldn’t believe it. She played the recording again.
The sequence of peaks repeated on the screen: three short, three
long, and again three short signals. That was Morse Code.

SOS.

It couldn’t be the
outcome of the solar wind. It would’ve been an enormous
coincidence. And surely, no Chinese automated probe would ever send
a distress signal.

So, as she had done in
the rover, she connected to the MPS system to track down the
signal. And once more she obtained the same result: Valles
Marineris.

An insane thought
appeared in her mind. It spread more and more, becoming convincing,
real, plausible, transforming into the only possible choice.
Exciting.

She transferred all data to her
folio
and deleted them from the
server. She could make use of a few hours of sleep before sunrise.
She had to hurry.

8

The silence was broken
by a joyful jingle, as the glow from a mobile phone display
illuminated the room.

“It’s yours …” Natalie
murmured with a thick voice.

A moan, a movement
among the sheets and finally an arm passed over her, reaching out
for the night table beside her. Jan tapped the answering icon and
lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello …?” He let a yawn follow that
word.

A voice on the other
side pronounced his name.

“Yes, it’s me. Who’s
speaking?”

His brain was still
clouded by sleep. What time was it? The wall display indicated four
a.m. As he heard the name and the title of the person at the other
end of the line, he woke up completely and sat up.

“Who’s calling at this
time?” the woman near him said, rising from the pillow and turning
on the light.

Jan was motionless; he
was listening intently. An adrenaline discharge had drained any
fatigue in a moment.

Natalie was watching
him, puzzled. She rubbed a hand on her sleepy face, then took her
glasses from the night table and put them on.

“Oh, my God … Anna.”
Jan felt invaded by fear. He would’ve liked to say something else,
but was too upset.

“Anna?” the woman
echoed, at once more interested in that conversation. “Anna, your
ex?”

He shifted his gaze to
her and nodded.

“But isn’t she on Mars
…?” Natalie said, then, as she realised about the situation, she
placed a hand on her mouth. “Oh God …”

“Yes, sure,” Jan said
into the phone. “When?” He paused to listen, then nodded. “Okay,
see you later.” And he hung up.

“Is she …” Natalie
started the sentence, but then stopped.

Jan shook his head. “It was the
Isis
mission director from Houston.
He hasn’t explained the entire situation.” He got out of bed. “I
must hurry.”

“Tell me,” she
exclaimed, following him.

He turned round and
placed his hands on her shoulders. “Nat, it’s confidential
information. I don’t know if I’m allowed to tell you about it.”

“Oh, holy smoke!” she
reproached him. “I’ve been your agent for more than three years. We
have a relationship based on friendship and mutual trust. Sometimes
we share the same bed, and none of that interferes at all with your
silly affairs with various starlets and models, nor with my
marriage. I can keep confidential information about your ex living
on another planet, don’t you think so?”

Even if he knew she
was right, Jan was undecided. On the other hand, talking to her
could have relieved his anguish a bit. Finally, he gave up.

“I don’t know exactly
what happened. They didn’t want to recount the details by phone.”
He felt a stab of pain in his head. He had drunk too much. “It
seems Anna went mad and escaped in a rover, refusing any contact
with her colleagues on Mars and those at NASA.”

“Let me guess,”
Natalie stepped in. “They want you to persuade her to come
back.”

“Exactly. And now,
excuse me, but I gotta go.” He let her go and started putting on
his clothes one by one, as he found them scattered in the room from
the previous evening.

She looked at him, half smiling. “I can’t believe
that. Jan
love-’em-and-leave-’em
De Wit is still in love with his ex, who dumped him to go
to another planet. That explains a lot …”