Season of Passage, The (24 page)

a spin. Her leg smacked a second floating puddle, a much larger one, and suddenly the room was fil ed with bloody spray. The strength went out of

her. She dropped her laser, her flashlight. Voices screamed in her head. They screamed for her love.

'Help,' she moaned weakly. 'Please help me.'

She toppled in mad circles, going from no place to nowhere. Nausea swel ed in her stomach as her last meal pushed up her throat. Quickly she

clamped down on her guts. She knew if she vomited, she would have to pul off her helmet, and then she would have to breathe Carl's air, and drink

his blood.

Final y her hand latched onto something solid, and she was able to stop her mad spin. She caught sight of her flashlight; it circled above her head

like a broken siren, warning of an emergency that was two years over with. Moments later she had the light in hand. She had almost caught her

breath, and was on the verge of responding to the frantic cal s of her companions, when things went bad again, so bad it almost cracked her mind

in two pieces.

No, no, no, Jesus. Take it away!

Hanging in space, only inches from her face, was a disembodied eye. A single eye that had been gouged from its socket. It trailed wisps of red

muscle and nerves. It sported a pupil that was so dilated it could have been an open window into a hel of despair. Natural y, it was staring at her. It

liked her. It floated a little closer to have a better look at her. Such a pretty girl, with such warm blood in her veins.

Lauren tried to move away, but her body was like a rubber band that had snapped, and no longer worked. She was in a dream, running from the

unseen monster that was getting closer and closer. She was in the nightmare of al nightmares, where the Martians partied on goblets of red wine.

A toast to Lori, they said. May her veins fil our glasses soon.

Soon, Lori.

In what was left of her mind, Lauren realized her doom was certain. The eye had seen her; it knew where to find her. Voices screamed in her

headset. They spoke in Russian. They spoke of love. But she was not through for the night, oh no. There was one more ride to go on. It was sure to

please.

Bad things always came from bad things. It made sense that the eye had come from somewhere. Lauren bumped into something soft and giving.

Carl Bensk was strapped tightly in his chair, his pale hands locked in a painful clench, his hol ow eye sockets holes into madness. Someone had

sliced open his neck with a broken piece of mirror, revealing his carotid artery and a mess of gross tissue. The someone had undoubtedly been

Carl himself. The piece of cracked mirror was stil jammed in his flesh, as if death had come too swiftly for him to remove it. Yet Lauren didn't real y

believe that. She knew Carl's end had not come quickly, or easily. Engraved in his face were hard lines of insanity. It was as if he had witnessed a

horror so unimaginable and overwhelming that even death had been unable to erase the memory.

Yes, Lori, it was bad. It was so bad it got to be good.

Carl was happy now, though. He was very happy. His obscene grin was ample testament to the secret knowledge that had come to him at the

expense of his wonderful experience. But what a smal expense it was. A scratched throat, a little lost blood. It was nothing to cry about, not when

you didn't have any eyes. Carl wanted her to know al about it. He was wil ing to explain. Yes, Lori, come into my arms, and I wil nibble on your ear,

and whisper to you stories of love and hate. Of a sweetness so fine that your blood wil boil with lust. Come Lori. Touch me. Lick me. Suck my

wound. Make me come alive.

Lauren vomited, and barely caught the vomit in her mouth. She closed her eyes and tried to swal ow, and block out what she was seeing. But Carl

continued to watch her, with eyes that pierced through al of space and time, and left her no place to hide.

Love me, Lori. I am not evil.

EIGHTEEN

Mission Control was an orchestra of tension. Red lights were flashing, angry people were shouting, and the stink of perspiration was as thick as in

a shower room after a Super Bowl. Just outside the main room, Terry paced nervously. Lauren was supposed to land on Mars for the second time

in two minutes. But there was a problem. On account of the thick clouds wrapping Olympus Mons, Gary had overshot their destination, which just

happened to be the only plateau around for two hundred miles. At present they were backtracking, consuming valuable fuel. Commander Brent was

screaming at Gary to set down. But Gary couldn't find the right place.

'I don't see the Russians,' Gary said. 'Where are those Russians? Where is that damn place?'

[Horizontal vector - 80 miles per hour.]

'Friend, how long to the Russian landers?' Commander Brent asked.

[Sixty-one seconds, Bil . Fifty-nine seconds.]

'We can't do it,' Commander Brent said. 'Come in on the far side of that wal , Major.'

'No good,' Gary said. 'Too rough. We could topple. A minute more.'

[Horizontal vector - 81 miles per hour.]

'We must take the chance, Gary,' Commander Brent said. 'Go down!'

Terry closed his eyes and tried to pray, but only ended up swearing at God to help them. Only four days ago a sandstorm of unexpected fury had

arisen in the Utopia Planitia region and almost buried the expedition. Then the docking with the orbiting Gorbachev had fol owed, which had been

even more nerve-wracking, what with the cloak of secrecy NASA had thrown over it. Despite promises to the contrary, the rendezvous had not been

broadcast live. Terry knew from experience that the delayed transmission the public received had been doctored. The docking had gone just fine,

according to the brave astronauts. Yet their voices and that included Gary and Jim, as wel as Commander Brent - sounded awful y shaken after

visiting the Gorbachev. Plus they couldn't hide the fact that Carl Bensk was dead. The word was that his ship had suffered an internal explosion and

lost al its air. Sure, Terry thought. He had received a private taped message from Lauren after the rendezvous and she had been white as a ghost.

She hadn't said a word about Carl or the Gorbachev, only asked about Jennifer. I wish I could hear her voice, Terry. Where is she?

Jennifer did not answer the phone at his cabin. She was not at Daniel's. They said she was 'out.'

'We are caught!' Gary cried from two hundred mil ion miles away. 'The ground's caving in! Curse this bastard planet!'

A black hand of despair squeezed down on Terry's heart, its folds tipped with sharp silver nails. He fel into a chair. The message was twenty

minutes old. Lauren could be dead already.

'Ful power!' Commander Brent cal ed. 'Blast us out of here!'

'Wait!' Gary said. 'I've got to...' The radio went dead.

'What happened?' Dean Ramsey, head of NASA, shouted. 'We've lost communications,' someone said.

Like a pebble on a lake they skimmed on the Martian atmosphere, racing at three thousand miles an hour. In front loomed Olympus Mons, three

times as high as Everest, its massive caldera barreling above the clouds, waiting to swal ow them. It was evening. They had chosen that time

because the clouds that wreathed Olympus Mons formed in the morning. But even this late in the day the clouds remained, blocking their vision.

Mark had said they could sit in orbit a month and stil face the clouds. They were taking a chance. They wanted to be done with their program and

get the hel away from Mars. Carl had shot their morale. Even stoic Bil had seemed shocked after visiting the Gorbachev. Why had Carl committed

suicide? After studying the log tapes, al Jim would say was that when a person gouged out his eyes, he was usual y trying to go blind. Yes, Jim, but

why?

Outside the porthole on Lauren's right, it looked as if they were going to ram the tip of Olympus Mons. However, only moments later, their

aerodynamic lift decreased as their speed was reduced by building friction. They began to fal again, into whirling clouds. The mountain vanished

and the Hawk shook as tril ions of ice crystals splintered against her hul . Gary opened their parachute and ejected their reinstal ed heat shield.

They fel and fel . Final y, the ground appeared.

'Oh, no,' Gary moaned.

'Altitude, Friend?' Bil asked. He looked at Gary.

[6,052 feet, Bil .]

'What's the matter?' Lauren asked. They could have been flying over the Himalayas, only the scale was grander, the color different. Mars was

usual y more orange than red. Yet, to her eyes, it was looking more red al the time. She'd washed Carl's blood off her pressure suit al by herself.

'We have overshot ourselves,' Bil said.

'The cloud decreased our vertical vector far more than we anticipated,' Gary said. 'We bounced too far.' He activated the Hawk's main engines and

jettisoned the parachutes.

[4,501 feet.]

'What are you going to do?' Lauren asked.

'Waste our fuel,' Bil said.

Gary shrugged. 'We can't land here. We'l have to angle back to the Russian plateau.'

'How far off are we?' Jim asked.

'Eighty miles,' Gary growled, studying the terrain below.

'Are we in danger, Wil iam?' Jessica asked.

'Extreme,' her husband said flatly.

Five minutes and many miles later, Gary said, 'I don't see the Russians. Where are those Russians? Where is that damn place?'

[Horizontal vector - 80 miles per hour.]

'Friend, how long to the Russian landers?' Bil asked.

[Sixty-one seconds, Bil . Fifty-nine seconds.]

'We can't do it,' Bil said. 'Come in on the far side of that wal , Major.'

'No good,' Gary said. 'Too rough. We could topple. A minute more.'

[Horizontal vector- 81 miles per hour.]

'We must take the chance, Gary,' Bil insisted. 'Go down.'

Their fuel gauges were sinking.

'Where for Christ's sake?' Gary asked.

'Aim for that ridge,' Bil said. 'If we do not land in twenty seconds we wil be trapped here forever.'

Gary shook his head. 'Too uneven.'

[273 feet. 250 feet. 200 feet.]

'What does that matter now?' Bil asked. 'Just do it, Gary!'

[108 feet. 50 feet. 18 feet.]

They settled toward the edge of a cliff. Down. Down.

'To the right,' Bil barked.

'You said the ridge!' Gary yel ed.

'To the right!' Bil said:

'We are caught!' Gary screamed. 'The ground's caving in! Curse this bastard planet!'

'Ful power!' Bil shouted. 'Blast us out of here!'

Wait!' Gary said. 'I've got to..:'

Something exploded in the lower decks.

'Go up!' Bil ordered.

'I've got to straighten her!' Gary said.

Love you, Jenny, Lauren thought. She closed her eyes. A second wrenching jolt kicked her through the seat. The Hawk was skidding on her landing

pads, down an icy slope, her auxiliary thrusters barely keeping them from toppling. Apparently the moment they had contacted the surface, the

ground had given way. Bil wanted to use their main engines to throw them back into space. But Gary was trying to straighten the Hawk first.

Suddenly the crumbling ground slipped away, and they were fal ing like a huge boulder into a steep val ey. Lauren's eyes popped open. Gary

reacted instantly. He tilted the nose of the Hawk skyward and brought their main rockets to ful power. Lauren was flattened back into her chair.

[100 feet. 200 feet. 850 feet.]

But rather than continuing their upward ascent, Gary eased up on the rockets, which al owed them to hover for a moment while he glanced out the

window. For an instant, watching Gary's face, Lauren thought time could have been suspended. His expression contained so many emotions at one

time: confusion, revulsion, desire. Then decision locked on his face, a certainty so sudden it could have been thrust upon him from the outside.

Once again they started down. Snow whipped at their hot windows and vaporized into steam. A hard thud shook the floor of their craft, and then a

soft sigh seemed to echo through the control room. They were down, and the ground was firm.

[Touchdown.]

'We are down, Mark,' Bil said.

There was no response.

'Mark? Mark?' Nothing. 'Damages, Friend?' Bil asked.

[Generators A and C have failed, Bil . Communications are out. The basement is ruptured and open to the Martian environment. The laboratory is

severely damaged. I am suffering minor power fluctuations.]

'Is deck two stil sealed?' Bil asked.

[Yes, Bil .]

'Is our loss of communications due to the failure of the two generators?'

[Yes, Bil .]

'Why don't you go to backup?'

[I am unable to, Bil - possibly because of my own damage.]

'They'l think we exploded,' Jim said.

'I'm surprised we didn't,' Bil muttered.

Gary's face flushed inside his helmet. He exploded. 'You're the one who wanted me to set down on that foam-rubber ridge! And if I'd fired the main

engines when you said, we'd have joined our Russian friends. Sir!'

Bil unfastened his belts and stood slowly, towering over Gary. 'You're right, Major,' he said casual y.

'What?' Gary said.

'Your instincts chose the proper course.'

'Huh?' Gary said.

'Your hearing has not been damaged, Major.' Bil addressed them al . 'Our instruments show we have enough fuel remaining to attain a shal ow

orbit. But we have come here for a purpose, and thanks to Gary, we can stil hope to achieve it. We wil assess our damage and begin repairs. We

can use the living area for an airlock until we have repressurized the basement. We are in no immediate danger. Questions? Lauren?'