Season of Passage, The (46 page)

begin to fal again. She applied medium power to the jets, and let Hummingbird settle in midair just beyond the end of the cave.

She checked their time.

Thirty seconds.

Yet their calculations were wrong. Even as she studied her watch, the bomb exploded. Searing light flashed from the direction of the cavern, so

bright that it obliterated everything else. Lauren floored the pedal and Hummingbird leaped forward at high speed. One second into the tunnel, the

shock wave hit, an almighty fist of blasted air. The tunnel shook violently. It was next to impossible to steer. Behind them a new wave rushed up the

canal, a wave of fire, turning the black waters to shining steam. The steam shot around them on al sides, instantly raising the internal temperature of

their pressure suits to that of an oven. But Lauren had gone through too much to let

Hummingbird smash into the wal s. She rode the wave of fire, and they survived.

In the basement of the Hawk, on the same table where Lauren had cut out James Ranoth's heart, Gary Wheeler lay on his back. The bones of his

fractured left arm protruded through his skin four inches above the back of the wrist. He was unconscious. Using a scalpel and a scissors, Lauren

cut off the arm of his pressure suit and then his undershirt. A quick examination showed he had torn tendons and a severed median nerve. He

needed surgery, she knew, a blood transfusion, and water. She could already see that his hand and arm would never be the same.

Lauren crossed to the part of her medical cabinet that had survived the rough landing. She selected hypodermics, narcotics, stitches, and a smal

bottle of glucose solution. She had only one of the latter, and she knew she would need ten of them to rehydrate him ful y. She started an IV, and

gave him a light anesthesia. She doubted he would wake during the operation; he was out cold. It was a miracle he was even alive, she thought.

During their flight from the canal, while he phased in and out of consciousness, he had explained how he had tied himself to the rope ladder, and

thus survived the tsunami. He also mentioned how a soft spongy sack hit him after the wave had passed. She hadn't told him it had been a piece of

Jessica.

At present it was dark outside. The wind howled, blasting the exterior hul with snow. For an almost airless planet, Mars was sure delivering plenty of

environmental abuse. Lauren sat on a stool beside the table, too weak to stand, and began to cut through Gary's arm with her scalpel. She prayed

that he didn't die on the table.

Lauren awoke on the couch in the living area to moans of

pain. She checked the clock. Four hours had passed since she had put in Gary's last stitches. She tried to sit up but immediately doubled over in

pain. She had forgotten her broken ribs. A pity they had not forgotten her. The dry heaves that fol owed did not help matters. She staggered down

the ladder to the basement.

Gary rocked on the table in a nightmare. He had yanked out the IV attached to the now empty glucose bottle. His left arm was bandaged, locked in

a brace. She touched his forehead. It was hot.

'Gary,' she said. 'Wake up. Can you hear me?'

His thrashing subsided. He opened his glazed eyes. 'I'm cold, Lori,' he whispered. 'My hand is so cold. I'm thirsty. Ahh!'

An intense spasm of pain gripped him. Lauren was at a loss. She had hoped he would awaken strong enough to pilot the Hawk into orbit.

Apparently the loss of blood and the dehydration had weakened his system more than she had anticipated. Lauren took hold of his shoulders.

'Listen to me,' she said. 'You've got to get up. We've got to get back to the Nova. I can't help you here.'

The spasm continued. Veins bulged at his neck. It was as if his body was in one massive cramp. 'No!' he cried. 'The cold. Make it stop, Lori. Help

me!'

She could not bear to see him suffering so. She prepared a shot of morphine and injected him in the vein on his right arm. Within a couple of

minutes he began to relax, and soon he was asleep. Lauren removed his bandages and studied his injury. Her puzzlement deepened. The broken

skin surrounding his incision was a dark green, almost black. He had a serious infection, yet he had shown not a trace of one a few hours ago.

What germ could have multiplied so swiftly? She sniffed. His arm smel ed as if it was rotting.

Lauren reinserted his IV and changed his type antibiotics. She doubled the dosage. Then she took a knife and made a slit in the skin at the site of

the infection, al owing the pus that dribbled out to col ect on a slide. She studied the sample under a microscope, but didn't recognize the cel s. One

thing she did recognize, however. The cel s appeared dead, yet they were multiplying.

Lauren took a blood sample from Gary. Here she found no sign of the cel s, even though she subjected the blood to a number of tests. She was

somewhat reassured. The infection was spreading, it was true, but it was stil contained.

Lauren took the pus and prepared a culture. She wouldn't have been surprised if Ivan's face had started to grow in the center of it. Then she lay

down on the floor beside Gary. She would awaken when he did.

She heard cries in the dark, and she was standing and holding his hand before she knew she was awake. Gary writhed like a frothing animal with

rabies.

'It's Lauren,' she said, squeezing his uninjured hand. 'Can you hear me?' She turned on the light.

He awoke, shivering, fear in his eyes. 'I'm freezing. I'm cold-like them.'

Lauren examined his left arm. The infection had moved into his hand; it was also creeping toward his elbow. The odor was worse. Indeed, he was

beginning to smel like the pit where Bil had met his end.

'What are you feeling?' she asked. 'Tel me.'

He closed his eyes, struggling, apparently fighting an internal resistance. 'I feel cold and thirsty. I can't breathe. But I feel that if I drink ... if I drink.' He

shook violently, his eyes popping open. 'No! I won't! Stop them, Lori! Stop them!'

Lauren grabbed him, struggling to keep him on the table. She glanced over at the arm of his pressure suit that she had cut away. It was then she

noticed the smal torn flap at the elbow. The damage had probably occurred when he fel off the ladder during the quake, before the tidal wave hit.

When the wave rol ed over him, though, the pressure must have been immense. Lauren wondered if perhaps a drop or two of the canal water had

penetrated his suit at that moment and mixed with his blood. The idea was not total y farfetched. There were three layers to the suit. The outer layer

was made of a hard - although flexible - plastic. It was that layer that had been breached. The middle layer was a tight weave of synthetic thread. It

was possible the pressure had been able to force a tiny portion of water inside to the third layer - which was basical y a flannel coat - even though

the suit remained sufficiently intact to keep the air from escaping.

There seemed no other way to explain his bizarre infection. His symptoms were total y alien. The fingers of his left hand had begun to swel , the

flesh turning the same dark green as her incision. Bil and Ivan had not displayed such signs, of course, but no medical text she knew of outlined al

the phases human physiology went through before it metamorphosed into a walking corpse. For al she knew, both Bil and Ivan had turned a dozen

weird colors. Gary continued to shake in her hands like a man possessed. Lauren put her head to his ear and spoke gently.

'Gary,' she said. 'Tel me, what's going through your head? I have to know before I can give you another shot.'

'I'm cold. I'm suffocating. Thirst.'

'What are you thirsty for?' she asked.

A sudden wild gleam entered his eyes. Lauren took an instinctive step backwards.

You know, Lori.

But the gleam vanished, and Gary rol ed onto his side and began to mumble nonsense. Then another spasm of pain came and he screamed and

screamed and wouldn't stop. Lauren gave him .another shot of morphine. This time he took a long time to settle down. Final y, though, he relaxed,

and began to doze.

Lauren checked on the culture and found a stinking dish of green fungus-like growth. She studied the sample under an electron microscope and a

section of col ege biology came back to her. The cel structure of the infection was not total y foreign, after al . She'd seen it before, in school when

they'd studied reptiles.

Reptiles?

Martians.

Lauren hurried back to Gary. The antibiotics were doing no good. The infection appeared to spread even as she watched. He had only one chance.

She shook him awake.

'Gary! Wake up! I have to tel you something.'

He stirred uneasily in a dream-like daze. 'Decision. Live forever. Forever.' he began to weep miserably. 'No blood. Too much blood. Immortal

children.'

Lauren shook him again. 'Gary!'

'My guardian can't save me.'

'You have to wake up!'

'Chan...' he whispered.

Then he was asleep. It was her decision to make alone. Another look at his arm and she made it quickly. She prepared another injection, and took

up her scalpel and a smal electric saw. She had no choice. She had to amputate his arm at the elbow.

Lauren sat by a porthole in the control room with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It was night. She couldn't

sleep. Somehow she had lost the day. At least the blizzard had abated. Stil , outside was a happening place. Gary's casual remark about the

warhead acting as a fuse was proving correct. The summit of Olympus Mons glowed a dangerous red; a Martian candle lit in mourning for the loss

of the black altar. But this was no candle to be easily blown out. It dripped hot wax in their direction, hot lava that was going to reach the Hawk soon.

She watched as the fine fiery lines crept down from the caldera and asked herself what else could possibly go wrong.

She had studied the notebooks under Gary's bed. She would have to study them for a couple of years before she would know how to get the Hawk

in the air.

'Friend,' she said. 'What are the odds that we'l get home?'

Of course, the computer was ho longer on speaking terms with her. Yet it must have been listening. Across the control room, on a square blue

screen, large red-lettered words suddenly formed.

[One hundred percent, Lori.]

Gary cal ed her name. Lauren pul ed her numb face off the cold window, blinking in the morning light. She'd fal en asleep watching the volcano. It

was day. The plateau was ful of steam. The approaching lava was vaporizing the snow. She hurried to Gary's side.

He was crying like a child, staring where his once strong left arm had been. Thankful y, in what was left of the arm, she saw no signs of infection.

'Where's my arm, Lori?' he asked pitiful y.

'You had a serious infection. I had to amputate it.'

He winced. 'Why didn't you give me medicine?'

'The medicine wasn't working.'

'But where is it?' he asked. Clearly, he stil didn't

comprehend the ful meaning of his shortened bandage.

'It's gone. It was rotting. I had to cut it off.' She wanted more than anything in the world to be gentle, and yet she sounded cruel to her own ears. She

lowered her head. There were no gentle amputations. 'I'm sorry, Gary.'

'You didn't tel me!' he cried. 'You didn't ask me!'

'You were unconscious. I did what I thought was best.'

'Get out of here! Go away! Just leave me alone!'

'I can't,' she said. 'We have to get out of here. We have to blast off. We need water, and the volcano's erupted. You have to get up to the control

room'

'You're a monster!' he yel ed. He was furious. He wanted to hurt her. He tried to sit up, but was too weak. 'Give me back my arm. I want my arm.'

'Gary. Please?'

He fainted. Lauren caught him as he slumped back. She took his pulse and found it thin and rapid. The green pus was gone and with it the fever,

but he was nevertheless dying. If she didn't get liquid into his system soon, it was possible he wouldn't wake up again. She wasn't much better off.

She couldn't swal ow. Her head felt as if worms with teeth were chewing on the synapses in her brain. Her eyes were so shot with blood they scared

her when she looked in the mirror.

Lauren reached down, pinched Gary's Achil es' tendon, and got no response. She debated giving him a stimulant, but feared the drug would cause

him to have a heart attack. She tried to think of alternatives and her mind drew a blank. Almost a blank.

She wondered if it was time she started on her own diary.

A moonlit night. The trees shook in the harsh wind. Waves of white foam crashed on the glittery shore of the wide lake. She walked barefoot along

the empty beach, wearing a long

simple white dress, with a scarlet sash tied at her waist and fal ing over her hip. Her hair was long, partial y braided, and it touched her breast as

she moved. She felt and heard nothing. She only saw. Al was silent. Her feet moved over the ground but left no prints. She walked in the steps of

destiny. She was home.

She came to a gathering of people huddling in a thick of trees. They carried burning torches - the flames protested the windy night. Without effort

she moved closer; nothing obstructed her. She recognized the spot. She was at Terry's cabin. Only now the cabin was nothing but a pile of ash.

Three tombstones stood in the center of the mess. The people standing near them were al familiar to her. There was Daniel, Mr Russo, Jean and

Stephen Floyd. She had never met the latter two, but that did not seem to matter.

Jean Floyd, holding two white roses, separated from the group and stepped to the first tombstone on the left. The light of her torch shone on the