Return to Mars (62 page)

“That’s all right,” Trudy said gently. “Take a few minutes’ rest. I’ll be okay by myself.”

“You sure?”

“Certainly. If anything happens, I’ll wake you.”

“Not supposed to …” His words faded into a jaw-stretching yawn.

“Sleep, darling,” Trudy coaxed softly. “Go to sleep.”

Dex Trumball woke from a troubled dream. He was seven or eight years old again and begging his father to come and see him play a baseball game at the school playground. His father turned into a thunderstorm, terrifying bolts of lightning and sheets of cold, wind-whipped rain that swamped the field and flooded the school and carried all the cars in the parking lot down into a huge swirling whirpool that dragged Dex himself and all his teammates down, down into cold wet darkness.

He sprang up on his bunk, soaked with cold sweat.

Damn! I’m still scared of the old man.

For long moments he just sat on the bunk, listening to his heart thump inside him, waiting for his panting breath to return to normal.

I’m going to end all that, he told himself. I’m going to stand up to him when I gel hack. I’m going to beat you at your own game, Pop.

Yeah, he told himself. But first you’ve got to get through the night without pissing yourself.

He tossed aside the sweaty, roiled sheet and got off the bunk. Pulling on the coveralls that lay draped over the desk chair, Dex padded barefoot out toward the nearer of the dome’s two lavatories.

It’s not going to be easy, Dex told himself. Dad’s going to fight me every inch of the way. He’s furious over this Navaho business of Jamie’s. Must have half the lawyers in North America trying to break their claim.

As he left the lavatory, Dex saw Trudy Hall stepping out of the comm center.

He put on a grin and waved to her. She seemed startled to see him.

They both headed for the galley.

“You’re not supposed to be wandering around the dome,” Hall scolded, in a sibilant whisper.

“Nature calls,” Dex whispered back.

“Well, do your business and get back to your quarters, then.”

Surprised at the sharpness in her tone, Dex flipped her a mock salute. “I’ve done my duty, Captain Bligh, and am now returning to the fo’c’sle.”

Trudy did not smile at him. Dex thought she looked more angry than amused.

As he headed back toward his cubicle he glanced through the open doorway of the comm center. Rodriguez seemed to be bent over the console, head resting on his folded arms.

Sonofabitch, Dex thought. Tommy’s taking a nap. No wonder Trudy’s so stoked. She doesn’t want anybody to know that her boyfriend’s sleeping on the job.

With her pulse thundering in her ears, Trudy watched Dex walk back to his cubicle and go inside. She stood rooted until she saw his accordion door slide shut and heard the faint click of its latch.

Then she took in a deep, racking breath and headed for the garden.

It would have been so simple if they’d kept the garden covered with a plastic dome, as they had originally. Then all she’d have to do would be to puncture the plastic and let the sub-Arctic Martian night air do its deadly work. But she herself had ruined all that when she punctured the garden’s protective dome during the dust storm.

Now the garden was shielded by solid walls of greenhouse glass. She couldn’t break them down with anything less than one of the tractors, and even then it would take so long that they’d come out and stop her before she got the job finished.

No, Trudy said to herself, fire is the thing to use. Fire purifies. Fire will force them to see how fragile our existence is here, how close to death we arc with every breath we take. Fire will bring us home to safety and warmth and nights where you can walk out and look at the stars and see clouds scudding by and not have to worry that your suit might fail or the dust might get you or the heaters break down and freeze you.

Despite Fuchida’s warnings and Jamie’s cautions it had been ridiculously easy to get enough methane into the garden to do the job. Just tap some from the fuel generator while you’re outside and carry it into the garden in your sample cases. It would remain liquefied in the heavily insulated cases, not forever but long enough to get the job done. Two trips was enough, Trudy thought. There’s enough there now to get a jolly good fire started. A wonderful, cleansing fire.

Trudy walked calmly, purposively to the comm center and called up the plumbing schematic on the computer next to the snoring Rodriguez. She glanced down at him lovingly as she scrolled through the command list. This is for you, darling, so we can get back to Earth alive, safe, and lead normal lives again.

She found the command sequence that shut off the flow of nutrients to all of the rows of trays that held the plants in the garden. Remembering first to shut down the sound system so that no warning beeps would echo through the silent, sleeping dome, she then cut off all nutrient flow to the plants. She wanted the trays dry when she started her fire.

TRUDY WATCHED THE LAUNCH OF THE REPLENISHMENT MISSION ON THE comm center’s main screen, using the headset earplug so there would be no noise to wake Rodriguez, still sleeping peacefully next to her. The rocket took off from Tarawa in a roar of flame and thick billows of steam clouds.

Then she turned to the screen that displayed the garden monitoring system. Glaring red lights flashed across its top. The nutrient trays were dry, the sensors warned. IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED flashed in garish Day-Glo letters along the screen’s bottom line.

Immediate action, Trudy thought. Yes.

She turned on the greenhouse’s overhead lights. The plants already looked wilted. But looks can be deceiving, she knew.

She walked swiftly from the comm center, across the dome floor, to the open lulled of the airlock that connected to the garden greenhouse. Instead of a normal airlock, the dome and the greenhouse were connected by a cermet tunnel that arched overhead. The second hatch was closed, but Trudy easily swung it open manually.

Fifty rows of trays stood before her, lit by the overhead strip lamps, fifty rows of green living things that would soon die.

She began toting her sample cases filled with liquefied methane to the nearest of the trays. For several days she had wondered how she would ignite the fire. There wasn’t a match or a lighter in the whole inventory of stores. Jamie and all the others thought they had been so clever about it, preventing anyone from producing an open flame inside the dome, but she had been cleverer. A simple electrical spark would do the job. All she had to do was to snip one of the wires that ran the length of the trays and then spark the methane.

It wasn’t as easy as she had envisioned it, but at last Trudy had the sample case open and the methane inside it boiling into invisible gas. With hands that trembled only slightly, she brought the two severed ends of the hot wire together. Now don’t give yourself an electric shock, she warned herself.

The gas whooshed into a sheet of flame, knocking Trudy back painfully against the tray on the other side of the aisle. The heat singed her face, and she raised her arms protectively. Crawling, she made it to the two other sample cases and began to open the nearer of them. The flames seemed to reach across the ceiling of the greenhouse and dive down toward her. She screamed.

The shrill screech of the smoke alarm yanked Jamie out of sleep. “What the hell …?” He was instantly awake, the alarm’s scream freezing him momentarily with fear and confusion.

The only other time the smoke alarm had gone off was when Craig had burnt some chili he had brought along in his personal belongings. They had talked about turning off the detector, but Tarawa had insisted on the safety regulations.

Pulling on his coveralls on the move, Jamie half-hopped, half-ran out onto the dome’s open area. Dirty gray smoke was pouring out of the greenhouse hatch. He dashed toward the comm center and bumped into Rodriguez, stumbling out.

The shriek of the alarm roused Rodriguez from his tranquilized sleep. Adrenaline surged through his arteries as he saw the monitor screen’s flashing red lights.

“Trudy!” he called. “Trudy!”

He pushed himself out of the chair, still slow and stumbling, and staggered for the comm center door.

Grasping Rodriguez by both shoulders, Jamie demanded, “What’s happened?”

“Dunno,” the astronaut answered thickly. “Trudy …”

“Jesus Christ!” Dex’s voice yelped behind him. “There’s a fire in the greenhouse!”

“Trudy’s in there,” Rodriguez gulped.

Turning toward the smoky hatchway, Jamie saw that all the others were running across the dome to him.

“Stacy, take the comm center,” he shouted, starting for the hatch.

Rodriguez seemed to shake himself and head after him, with Dex close behind. Jamie heard Craig yelling, “Close the goddam hatches and turn off the air in there!”

“No!” Rodriguez bellowed. “Trudy’s in there!”

Jamie got as far as the hatch, but the heat and the blinding smoke drove him back, coughing and pawing at his eyes. Rodriguez pushed past him and dived through the hatch.

“Wait!” Jamie yelled, but it was too late. Rodriguez disappeared in the smoke.

“Here, use this.” Jamie turned and saw it was Vijay, handing him a breathing mask.

“That was quick thinking,” he said, slipping the plastic mask over his mouth and nose.

Vijay slapped the small canister of oxygen against his back and Velcroed it in place.

“All set,” she shouted over the crackle of the flames. Jamie felt the cold metallic tang of oxygen in his nostrils.

“Close the hatch behind me,” he said.

“No!” Vijay blurted.

“Close it!” he commanded.

“I’ll do it,” Dex said. “Just rap on it when you want me to open it.”

Nodding, Jamie ducked through the hatch. Instantly his eyes began to tear. The tunnel was hot, it felt as if he was walking into a furnace.

Blinking, cringing from the flames he could see ahead, Jamie edged forward slowly. Then he felt a shower of water pouring over him from behind.

Dex came even with him, grinning through the plastic mask. He carried a dripping packing case in both hands, water sloshing in it.

“Fuchida’s idea,” he said.

Jamie nodded. “Soak yourself, too.”

Through the open hatch Jamie could see that the greenhouse was a mass of flames and sooty smoke. Nothing can live in there, a voice in his mind howled. There’s nothing alive in there.

But Jamie pressed on, feeling the heat of the flames on his face, with Dex beside him, step for step.

At the lip of the second hatch he saw two bodies sprawled: Rodriguez atop Trudy, both of them blackened and blistered.

Dex threw the remainder of his water on them, then tossed the packing case to one side and bent down to help Jamie drag the injured pair clear of the hatch.

“Tell ‘em to close the inner hatch,” Jamie commanded. Dex turned and headed back up the tunnel. Jamie imagined its walls must be red hot.

The hatch swung shut and the glaring, blistering heat shut off with it. Jamie sank to the floor. The tiles felt warm through the thin fabric of his coveralls. The smoke began to clear away. Dex, Fuchida and Craig appeared.

“Are they dead?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie answered. “I think Tomas is breathing, at least.”

Tenderly they picked up the burned bodies and carried them out into the main dome. Vijay began to cut off their coveralls with a tiny pair of surgical scissors as soon as the men lay the bodies on the floor. Rodriguez groaned, his legs moved slightly.

Stacy came out of the comm center, totally calm, under control. “The fire is out. I pumped the air out of the greenhouse as soon as the inner hatch was closed.”

“They’re both alive,” Vijay announced. “Let’s get them to the infirmary. No, there’s only one bed in there. Put Trudy in the infirmary, she’s worse off. Take Tommy to his quarters.”

Jamie, Dex and Fuchida carried the astronaut; his coveralls were burned through over his upper torso, the flesh blackened and oozing. Stacy and Craig took Hall while Vijay ran ahead to the infirmary.

After they lay Rodriguez on his cot Jamie’s legs felt rubbery. Dex slid an arm around his shoulders and said softly, “Come on, pal, you’ve earned a shot of orange juice.”

Sitting wearily at the galley table, Jamie saw Fuchida standing near, staring at him solemnly.

“You were right, Mitsuo,” he said weakly.

“I wish I weren’t,” the biologist replied, shaking his head.

“Which one of them was it?” Dex wondered, as he handed Jamie a mug of juice and sat down heavily beside him.

Jamie leaned back and stared up into the shadows of the dome. The place smelled of smoke. And sweat. And fear.

“That’s not important,” he said.

“Isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “No, the important thing is that this expedition has been ruined. We can’t stay here any longer. Too much damage has been done. We’ve got to pack up and go back to Earth.”

JAMIE HAD NEVER SEEN PETE CONNORS LOOK SO GRAVE. “IT’S A TOTAL mess, all right,” the mission controller was saying. “You guys are lucky to be alive. They’re calling a special meeting of the ICU committee. I’m sure they’ll want to call this an accident and cook up a cover story. Nobody wants to tell the public that one of your people was a psycho.”

Jamie nodded as he watched the screen. Outside the comm center the others were going through the motions of breakfast.

“Talk about timing,” Connors went on. “The resupply mission went through their transfer orbit insertion burn just eleven minutes before your message came through. They’re on their way to Mars. Be there on sol five twenty-two, five months from now. They think they’re gonna have a few weeks with you guys to get set up, get oriented. Now they’ll have to land and work on their own.”