Mars Station Alpha Page 10

  The most obvious was that the main power had not yet come on. They were still bathed in pale red light.

  "I don't remember anything after the alarm started," Petrov said.

  "Nothing at all?"

  Petrov thought for a moment. "Not really. But I have an image in my head."

  Just then, the power snapped back on. Regular lighting was finally restored. Rusakova and Gold stepped toward the window to check on the status of the sandstorm.

  "What's the image in your head, Petrov?" Stanton asked.

  "It's the station," Petrov explained as he clenched his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. "Er, no, it's not the station. Well, it's fourteen astronauts in the station."

  "Fourteen?" Stanton asked.

  Petrov's face screwed up into a pained grimace. "Yes, Captain. But the station is built on top of a cemetery. And the fourteen astronauts are all dead."

  Lin considered for a moment. "There were only seven colonists."

  "And there are seven of us," Mtumbe realized. "Fourteen."

  "Did you say the station was on top of a cemetery?" Stanton asked Petrov to confirm.

  But before he could answer, Rusakova and Gold returned.

  "You're not going to believe this," Gold announced.

  "What?" asked Stanton on behalf of all of them.

  "The sandstorm moved a great deal of sand outside," explained Rusakova. "It uncovered something."

  "What?" asked Stanton again.

  Petrov didn't say anything but he looked up at Stanton with haunted eyes.

  "Large stones," answered Rusakova. "Just like we found out there. Only—"

  "Only they're directly beneath the station," finished Stanton.

  "Hey," said Gold. "How did you know that?"

  Stanton didn't answer. Mtumbe and Lin just looked at each other. And Petrov put his head in his hands and started to sob.

  Chapter 36

  Gold looked down at Petrov. "I missed something, didn't I?"

  "He said he had a vision," Lin explained. "Fourteen dead astronauts inside a space station built on a cemetery."

  "A cemetery?" Rusakova asked.

  "Think 'burial ground,'" said Mtumbe.

  Gold looked around. "And why fourteen astronauts?"

  "Our crew plus the original colonists," Stanton explained. "But it's the ravings of a deeply troubled man, and nothing to take seriously."

  He knelt down next to Petrov and placed a gentle hand on his quivering shoulder. "Aleksandr, we have some work to do now that the storm is over. I'm ordering you to stay in your cabin. Do you think you can follow that order?"

  Petrov gave an exaggerated nod, but didn’t quite lift his head from his hands.

  "Okay, good man," said Stanton. Then he stood up and addressed the rest of the crew. "Staff meeting," he announced. He pointed across the hall. "Commissary. Let's go."

  "We can see his cabin from here," Stanton explained to Mtumbe in a low voice as they walked. "Keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't leave."

  Mtumbe nodded. "Will do."

  When they got to the commissary, everyone took a seat, except for Stanton who stood to address his crew.

  "We need to all get on the same page," he began. "A lot of things have happened since we arrived. A lot of bad things. We've lost one crew member—"

  Rusakova fought back a sob.

  "—and another one," Stanton continued, motioning back toward Petrov's room, "is essentially out of commission as well. Not to mention Commander Mtumbe's injury. That leaves four and a half of us to do the work of seven. And now we have even more work to do.

  "In addition to our primary goal of determining what happened to the first crew, we also need to properly dispose of Dekker's remains."

  "Yes," said Rusakova simply.

  "But to do that," Stanton went on, "we need to get into the sick bay. Luckily, we need to do that anyway because Mtumbe's antibiotics are in there."

  "I think I'll be okay," Mtumbe offered.

  "Not a chance I want to take," Stanton responded. "And not just because I want you to heal up. The last thing we need is a Martian disease spreading among us.

  "On top of all that, we need to keep Petrov safe and secure so he doesn't try to open the airlock to let the voices in his head go for a walk."

  "So what's the plan?" Mtumbe asked.

  "We're going to have to split into teams," Stanton said. "First priority is a Marswalk to inspect the damage from the sandstorm. If it's easily repairable, that same team will also repair the breech to sick bay. Even if it's not easily repairable, the team needs to enter sick bay by way of the emergency roof access to retrieve Mtumbe's antibiotics."

  "What about Nils's body?" Rusakova asked.

  "That's more difficult," Stanton admitted. "It's not really going to be possible to lift the body up and out of sick bay through the roof access. It's difficult enough just to lift a body, it won't be possible to raise it three meters off the ground while wearing a spacesuit.

  "If the breech can be repaired," said Stanton, "then we repair it and restore access through the station to move the body out through the west airlock. If it can't be repaired, we remove everything we need from sick bay and we will just have to leave his body there, I'm afraid."

  Rusakova looked down but didn't say anything. She understood the situation.

  "What is the second priority, Captain?" Lin asked.

  "I want to know why we lost main power," the captain answered, "and whether that's likely to happen again."

  "What about the ship?" asked Gold.

  "I feel good about the ship," Stanton replied, "but you're right. We need to confirm it's in good shape too. If not, that would become the overwhelming priority. So one team will be outside checking for damage from the storm and recovering what we need from sick bay. The other team will be inside, checking on the ship and station power levels and doing a full diagnostic."

  "There are two more concerns," Lin said.

  "Yes," answered Stanton. "One is Petrov."

  "How do we watch him?" Lin asked.

  Stanton sighed. "The planners of this station didn't foresee the need for a jail," he lamented. "I suppose that speaks well of all of us, in a way. But it means we'll have to have someone dedicated to watching him, reducing the rest of the team down to just four. Two outside and two inside."

  "What's the last concern?" Mtumbe asked.

  Stanton shrugged. "After we make sure we're all safe, we need to see whether Petrov was right."

  "Right about what?" asked Gold.

  Stanton's expression hardened. "Is the station built on top of a Martian burial ground?"

  Chapter 37

  "Okay, you know that's crazy, right?" Gold said.

  "What I know," answered Stanton, "is one of my crew is dead, one is injured, and the another one is either nuts or psychic."

  "He's nuts," assured Gold.

  "Maybe not," admitted Rusakova. "There are many people from Aleksandr's part of Russia who claim to be able to communicate with the spirit world."

  Gold just looked at her. When Rusakova refused to return her stare, Gold looked at Stanton, but he just shrugged.

  "I don't think we can just dismiss it out of hand any more," Stanton said. "That's what we did at first and look where we are now."

  "What are you talking about?" Gold said. "No one was talking about ghosts when we got here."

  "Well, we can talk later about why that might be," said Stanton.

  Gold cocked her head at the captain, so he repeated, "Later."

  "Well, I can't speak for Petrov," Mtumbe interrupted the ensuing awkward silence, "but I feel a lot better now. Totally healthy."

  Stanton looked at him with a bemused smile.

  "Really," assured Mtumbe. "You can cross me off the injured list."

  "Don't be so brave," Lin chided him. "Your leg is still weak and you likely still have that infection in you. You are not only injured, you are ill."

  Mtumbe opened his mouth to argue, but
Stanton interrupted. "She's right, Daniel. Which is why we need to get outside and to sick bay as soon as possible."

  He looked out of the commissary at the sunlight in the hallway. Mars had approximately the same axial tilt as Earth, meaning it had the same seasons. They were in late fall, so the days—which were already only 23 hours—were starting to have even less daylight hours. The sandstorm had chewed up the better part of the afternoon. If they went out now, there was a good chance the sun would set before they finished everything they needed to do: inspect the ship, inspect the entire station, locate the hull breech, fix the hull breech, retrieve the antibiotics, and inspect the alleged burial ground. That was too much. Better prioritize.

  "We'll do a quick run to sick bay to get the antibiotics," he announced. "If we're lucky we'll figure out where the hull breech is, maybe even fix it. But then we'd better get indoors for the night. Tomorrow we'll do a full inspection of the station, the ship, and the burial ground."

  "Sounds like a plan," Mtumbe said. "So who's the 'we' that gets to go exploring?"

  "Me," and answered Stanton, "and Gold."

  "Me?" Gold asked, but Stanton gave her a stony glare. "Right. Me."

  "Lin and Rusakova will do an internal diagnostic on the station and the ship," Stanton went on.

  They each nodded and offered a "Yes, sir."

  "What about me?" Mtumbe asked.

  Stanton smiled again. "You're still too weak to go on a spacewalk. And I don't want you hobbling all around doing a diagnostic. So you, my friend, get to guard Petrov."

  Mtumbe slapped his forehead. "Guard duty? How boring."

  Stanton raised an eyebrow. "You'd better hope so."

  Chapter 38

  "Did you double check the suit?" Gold asked as Lin sealed her helmet.

  "I triple checked it," Lin replied. "There are no weaknesses or stressed areas. It is perfectly safe."

  Stanton smiled through his faceplate at Rusakova. He knew he didn't need to ask. She smiled back—a tight, worried, but controlled smile that assured him she had also thoroughly checked his suit.

  Two minutes later, Stanton and Gold were exiting the other end of the west airlock out onto the Martian surface. They had their comm links activated between them, but Stanton had insisted the comm feed back to the comm center not be activated. They would check in if need be. He had said it was to conserve power. He knew no one believed him.

  The sandstorm had been awesome. There were giant windswept dunes of orange sand piled against the station. The dunes were especially high in the corners and crevices of the station's outside walls, some well taller than Stanton and Gold. In conjunction, there were sections of the ground which looked like they had been scooped out with an excavator. It was in one of these ditches that Gold and Rusakova had seen the rectangular stones like the ones Dekker had spotted.

  "There they are," Gold said to Stanton over the comm link.

  Stanton nodded and stepped over to them. There was no doubt that they matched the standing stones. They were approximately the same size and shape. The only difference was that these were all laying on their sides, and had, prior to the windstorm, all been covered by the Martian ground. There were three that he could make out, lined up like pick-up sticks, but there could easily be more farther under the sand, unexposed by the storm.

  "Is this what you saw out there?" Gold asked.

  "Yes and no," Stanton answered. "We saw stones like these, but they were erect."

  Gold looked demurely through her helmet. "Pardon me, Captain? Did you say 'erect.'"

  Stanton blushed, visible even through the gold tint of the helmet glass. "Wow, Agent Gold. Are we in middle school again?"

  Gold laughed. "Not hardly," she replied. "I wasn't anywhere near as confident and collected back then."

  Stanton smiled. "I bet you were," he replied. "You just didn't know it."

  Gold shook her head. "No, I was the homely, brainy girl who no one would talk to. And who still hated going home at the end of each school day."

  "I can believe the brainy part," Stanton remarked, "but looking at you now, I can't imagine you were ever homely."

  Gold fought back a blush of her own. She distracted with a joke. "It's the spacesuit," she said. "I look great in spacesuits."

  Stanton laughed. "Come on. We'll look at the stones on our way back, if we have time. But our priority has to be Daniel's antibiotics."

  Gold agreed and they hurried past the uncovered ruins toward the sick bay module.

  It was eerily quiet. There was little noise on the windswept planet. What sounds there might be, rushing wind or rocks being blown onto each other, could only manage weak sound waves in the thin atmosphere, dying a gentle death against the metal casing of the astronauts' helmets.

  Stanton filled the silence.

  "So why did you lie about carving 'Croatoan' in the wall?"

  Gold almost choked. "Wh— I— Wh— What are you talking about?" she finally managed to ask.

  "I know you didn't carve 'Croatoan' in the corridor support post," Stanton replied, almost casually. "I just don't know why."

  "Of course I did it," Gold insisted. "I told you that. And I told you why. It was a test."

  Stanton shrugged inside his spacesuit. "So was this," he said, a bit sadly.

  They trudged in silence from that point until they had reached the sick bay module.

  Stanton pointed at the ladder and motioned for her to go up first. He could have said as much, but he didn't really feel like talking to her just then. Gold grabbed a hold of the ladder and began the climb to the top. Stanton followed but this time he didn't look at her spacesuit-covered behind.

  When they reached the top, they moved to the center of the module where the emergency access hatch was. This didn't require a computer access pad. It was old-fashioned steel-meets-steel. All they needed to get in was enough strength to turn the wheel-like handle to unlock the porthole.

  Stanton knelt down and tried to spin the wheel, but it didn’t move at all. He pushed and pulled and struggled against the wheel but he couldn't get it to move. His vain grunts echoed in their comm links.

  Without saying anything, Gold knelt down opposite him and grabbed the wheel as well, each of her hands between each of his.

  Stanton looked her in the eye for a moment, then looked down and tried to turn the wheel again. Gold added her strength and after a moment, they could feel the wheel start to budge. The budge turned to a move, then to a turn. Gold let go and Stanton spun the wheel all the way open. He pulled open the hatch door, exposing the interior ladder along the far wall of the sick bay.

  "After you," Stanton said simply.

  Gold smiled weakly. "Thank you, Captain."

  She stepped around and then began lowering herself carefully into the sick bay. At the bottom she landed with a clank on the hard metal floor.

  When Stanton joined her with a clank of his own, he scanned the room and noticed the same thing that Gold had also noticed judging by the utter astonishment on her face.

  Dekker’s body was gone.

  Chapter 39

  "Wh— Where's the body?" Gold asked. "This is where it was, right?"

  Stanton stepped over to the examining table where they had laid Dekker’s body that very morning. He circled it, one gloved hand remaining loosely atop the table. "Yes," he finally answered, tapping on the metal table. "This is it. Right here."

  Stanton looked around the room. Not for the body. He knew it hadn't just walked over to one of the chairs in the corner. He just looked. For something, anything, to help explain.

  "Somebody must have moved it," Gold concluded.

  Stanton shook his head. "Not unless it was you and Rusakova. I came straight from here to the command center with Petrov. When we left, the body was still here. We went straight to the command center where Mtumbe and Lin were. Then you and Rusakova showed up."

  Gold looked around too, the concern creasing her brow.

  "Was there any time you and Rusako
va were separated?" Stanton asked.

  Gold frowned. "Do you think she moved the body?"

  "Well, did you do it?" he countered.

  "No," Gold shot back immediately. "Of course not."

  Stanton shrugged. "I guess she might have tried to move it. Maybe to say goodbye and, I don't know. Maybe get him buried or outside or something?"

  Gold nodded. "Get him outside to help preserve the body in the cold until a funeral could be arranged?"

  Stanton shook his head again. "It doesn't really add up. Why do that? It's not like we weren't going to do it."

  "Love can be a strange emotion," Gold offered. "People can do some apparently illogical things."

  Stanton was surprised. "Personal experience?" he asked.

  "None of your business, Captain," Gold smiled. "Just trying to make a point. And maybe explain the disappearance of an eighty-kilogram body."

  Stanton scanned the room for clues. He wished he could rub his chin in thought but the helmet prevented it. "So there was a time you were separated from Rusakova?"

  Gold frowned as she considered the question. "I think the only time was when we were on the ship still. Once it was pretty clear Petrov wasn't there, we split up for a few minutes to finish the search of the last sections of the ship. The engine room, storage, stuff like that."

  "But that was while you were still on the ship?" Stanton asked.

  "Yes," replied Gold. "And it was only for a few minutes. I don't see how she could have gone through the airlock, moved the body—by herself, by the way—and gotten back onto the ship in that short of time."

  "Well, the only other explanation," said Stanton, "is that Dekker reanimated and walked off on his own."

  "I’m not sure I like the idea of a zombie astronaut," Gold said.

  "I was just trying to make a point," answered the captain. "I think we can safely rule out the undead. That leaves the Rusakova scenario. What was it Sherlock Holmes once said? 'Once you've eliminated the impossible, what remains, however improbable,' or something like that?"

  Gold laughed at the captain's inarticulateness. "Something like that."