Season of Passage, The (35 page)

never be able to live with herself if something happened to him. Last night she had talked Gary out of accompanying him. I love Jim, but you'd be the

only one I'd have left. Big brave Dr Wagner was turning out to be a coward, after al .

Lauren reached the "ladder that led to the door of the Karamazov. She had to stop to catch her breath. Her throat felt like an abandoned gold mine.

Her lips were cracked, and she could taste her own blood. They had drunk the last of their water for breakfast this morning. Soon, they would have

to find something else to drink.

But she knew they dare not touch the canal water, not without a complete analysis of the liquid. It was remarkable, since they had discovered the

canal, they had not had a chance to perform even the most rudimentary of experiments on the water. She blamed that fucking Ivan -he had kept

them dancing since he had first opened his frog eyes. But she was stil kicking herself for not having returned with a water sample after they had

rescued Bil .

Lauren climbed to the platform outside the airlock. Jim had left the outer seal open; there was no need for codes. She stepped inside and the door

shut behind her. Soon she was in the Karamazov's dark laboratory, holding tight to her flashlight. She saw a tal frozen beaker of blood. The

Russian doctor must have been searching for evidence of infection. He had drawn an awful lot of blood, though, more than he could possibly have

needed.

Thirsty, Lori.

Lauren left the laboratory and took the ladder to the second floor. Black was stil playing black on the chessboard. She stepped to the sleeping

chamber where she had found Ivan. She reminded herself of what Jim had said about Ivan, that he was gone for good. Hurrying, she searched the

floor for the diary and found it near Dmitri's desk. She was anxious to leave, but the commander's family photo made her stop. A tear came into her

eye as she picked it up and stared at the happy faces. She made a promise to herself to write them as soon as she got home.

Then Lauren caught sight of a glass sitting on a smal table by the bed where she had uncovered Ivan. It could have been a glass of water or juice

that a man would keep by his bed in case he got thirsty during the night. Only this glass was ful of red liquid. Lauren took a step closer, tel ing

herself she was not seeing what was before her eyes. But she was a doctor, and it was hard to lie to herself about a glass ful of blood.

Lauren felt sick to her stomach. She picked up the glass and then began to tremble. The temperature was below freezing, and the blood was stil in

liquid form.

It's impossible. It's blood, just blood.

Something must have been added to it to keep it from freezing. Or maybe al it had taken was the touch of Ivan's lips.

'No,' she moaned. 'No.'

Dmitri's family photo slipped from her hand and fel to the floor. The glass of blood landed on it a moment later, shattering the photo's plate glass

and splashing Dmitri's children a gruesome red. Clasping the diary to her bosom, Lauren turned and fled. She had to get outside and into the light.

She had to get to Jim and warn him he was right about the planet being haunted.

Lauren raced back to the Hawk with her radio off, afraid Bil might be listening. She waved to Gary in the control

room as she approached the ship. A few minutes later she stood gasping in the airlock while the pressure equalized around her. Final y the green

light above the entrance door flashed on. She stumbled into the basement and ripped off her helmet. Gary helped her from behind with her suit; she

didn't see his face at first. But when she did see it, she knew she was too late. A horrible weakness sagged her knees and she thought she would

fal . But she spoke anyway, as if there was hope left.

'Gary, I found something in the Karamazov. It was horrible. We've got to get to Jim. What he suspects is true. It's worse than true. We've got to tel

him...' She stopped. Gary's expression was blank. She shook her head. 'No, Gary?'

He leaned against the wal , the last bit of color drained from his face. 'I've got bad news, Lori.'

'Jim?' she whispered. Tears fel from her cheeks, and she fel with them, although she never hit the floor.

'Jessie cal ed a few minutes ago,' Garry said. 'They're bringing him back now.'

'Bringing him back? What does that mean?'

What could it mean?

Gary rested his head on the airlock door. "They're bringing back his body,' he said.

Terry Hayes awoke with the alarm screaming in his ear. He had hated alarms ever since he was a child, when they jarred him back to a reality

where he would have to get up and go to school where nothing of any interest ever happened. He groped for the clock, wanting to break it with his

fist. But even when he whacked it onto the floor, it continued to yel . He sat up and opened his eyes. It was dark. He checked his clock - four in the

morning. Then he realized it was the phone that had awakened him. Terry didn't like four-in-the-morning cal s. They were never happy ones. He

picked it up reluctantly.

'Hel o?'

'Is this Terry Hayes?'

His heart was thumping. 'Yeah.'

'Terry? This is Stephen Floyd.'

That was Daniel Floyd's older brother.

'Is it Jenny?' Terry asked. 'Has something happened to Jenny?'

A forever pause. 'Yes,' Stephen Floyd said.

'Has she been in an accident? Is she at the hospital?'

'Terry, I don't know how to say this.'

'She's dead,' Terry said, knowing he spoke the truth.

'I'm sorry,' Stephen Floyd said. 'I'm very sorry.'

Terry closed his eyes. He thought of the phrase: the light of my life. It was such a fucking stupid line. Yet, as far as he was concerned, it had been

true about Jennifer. Because now it was so dark inside his head he could have been the one who was dead.

'How did it happen?' Terry asked.

'There was a fire at your cabin. No, it was in the shed in back of your cabin. Danny said she often stayed there when you were visiting with your

fiancée.'

'Yeah,' Terry said.

'The police - they're a bunch of fools - think it was deliberate. They say she started the fire on purpose and kil ed herself.'

T see.' She had told him she was finished with her story. Goodbye, Terry. I wil remember you. He wished he had known what she had been talking

about. But at least he knew now.

Stephen Floyd's voice was ful of pain. 'Danny kind of agrees with them. He says Jenny's been blaming herself for what's been happening to her

sister. You know, the trouble Dr Wagner's been having on Mars, the lost contact and al that. Are you stil there, Terry?'

'Yes. I'm here.'

'That's just what Danny says. What does he know, huh? This must come as a terrible shock to you.'

'No. Wait. Yes, it is. Is Danny there? I'd like to talk to him.'

'He's at the morgue.'

'The morgue? Oh, yeah.'

Stephen Floyd spoke reluctantly. 'There isn't much left, but the police require a positive identification. I understand she has no family other than Dr

Wagner?'

'That's true.' Terry swal owed and tasted his tongue as if it were something foul in his mouth. It was slipping down the back of his throat, but that was

OK. Maybe it would kil him. 'I understand. I'l come. There's a six o'clock flight we used to catch. I'l come then, on that one.' .

'I can meet you at the airport. I'd like to help in any way I can. I'd never known a child like Jennifer before.'

'Thank you, Stephen. You're very kind. I'm sorry, I can't remember when the plane gets in. It seems to have slipped my mind.'

'Just get on the plane. I'l be there when you arrive.'

'Thanks. I'd better go. I'd better pack. I have things to do.'

'Take care of yourself,' Stephen said.

'Yeah.' Terry hung up the phone and sat in the dark. He thought of cal ing Dr Palmer and tel ing him that the crisis hadn't passed, after al . Instead he

dialed Mission Control and asked them to page Tom Brenner. A minute later his partner came on the phone.

'This is Tom Brenner?'

'Tom. This is Terry. Any word from the Hawk?'

'Sorry, buddy. But they're al working on it here, as I'm

sure they're working on it on Mars. Are you having trouble sleeping?'

'Yeah,' Terry whispered.

'Are you OK?'

'I'm fine. I'm always fine. Let me know if you hear anything.'

'You'l be the first to hear. Catch you later.'

Terry put the phone down. There was no reason to cry, he told himself. He had been one of the lucky few who had known her. He was a lucky guy.

He just needed to remember that, and he wouldn't cry when they took him to the room to identify her remains. He would keep a straight face,

because he knew if he broke just a tiny bit, he would break al the way, in half.

Under the harsh white light of her examination lamp, Dr Lauren Wagner poised a scalpel above the naked body that had once belonged to

Professor James Ranoth, world-famous geologist and archaeologist, Nobel Prize winner, the greatest man who had ever lived, and friend. His

body rested on a slightly inclined table. A hastily constructed drainage table waited for his blood at the end of the table. She told herself the autopsy

was vital. She had to know how he had died, whether from dehydration, infection, violence, or something else.

She gripped the scalpel tightly and remembered her first semester in medical school - gross anatomy. It was odd how the memory pushed itself in

now, after al these years. She had opened how many bodies since then? Five hundred? Maybe more? She was an experienced surgeon. The

insides of both the living and the dead held no mystery to her. Yet how many of those hundreds had been friends? Not a one. The memory was not

real y odd, after al . It was just horrible, as horrible as this fucking planet.

Gross anatomy was the class al medical students dreaded. The second-year students had given them advice on cadaver selection. Try to get a

man, not a woman. Try to get someone thin. Most important, you don't want someone who's been dead too long. They're hard to work with, those

people.

The advice was a waste of time. None of her classmates got to choose. They were split into groups of four, and each group was assigned a table

that held a covered body. The teacher told them to begin, but none of them wanted to peel away the mummy-like bandages that wrapped their

cadavers. The amphitheater was warm; the cadavers smel ed. The teacher told them they were smel ing phenol, the preservative used to keep the

cadaver from rotting. He didn't tel them, however, that phenol was also an anesthetic. Later, when they were days into the dissection, when their

fingers began to tingle and go numb, they al thought they'd caught a dread disease from the corpse. The teacher thought it was funny. He had a

unique sense of humor.

Lauren's group got an old man who looked as if he had been in a bad car accident back when Nixon was president. Lauren's partners made her cut

first. They were al men, and often made fun of her because she said she wanted to be an astronaut some day. They kidded her about how she

would feel when it came time to dissect the man's penis.

The teacher had told them to start on the legs, and she took the scalpel and cut from where the thigh met the body, al the way down to the knee. But

she was too timid. She only scratched the old man. Her teacher came by and snapped the word cut in her ear, making her jump. Later they were to

learn it was his favorite word. Cut, Dr Wagner. Don't worry, he doesn't feel a thing. They never do.

Is that true, Jim? I don't want to hurt you.

Lauren was conducting the autopsy in the basement. She was alone. To the best of her knowledge, Bil was in the control room talking to Friend,

Gary was in his bedroom plotting revenge, and Jessica was asleep on the couch in the living area, snoring. Jessica had not taken Jim's death wel .

She had gotten hysterical. Lauren had given her a shot.

Bil was probably stil the monster Jim had spoken of. Lauren couldn't look at his face without wanting to turn away in revulsion. It was as if invisible

maggots crawled over his skin. Yet he was a puzzling monster. He appeared genuinely upset over what had happened. He said that Jim had died

in his arms, and that his death was so senseless, so unnecessary. He seemed to know a thing or two more than he was letting on, but when they

asked him exactly how Jim died, he just shook his head and climbed up to the control room and shut the door.

Lauren had to find her own answers.

She began to cut with the knife.

A cold grave. A hole through snow and ice. A gray sky hanging over a black and white world. The scene seemed appropriate to Terry. It was the

vivid roses he held that were out of place. There were red ones and yel ow ones and white ones - they were al too bright. He had never liked

flowers, anyway. You bought them and you gave them to people and they just died. They were a waste of time, in his opinion.

It was sad how few had come to Jennifer's funeral, Terry thought. There was Stephen Floyd and his wife, Jean. She was crying, clutching a bride's

missal in her gloved hands. Her husband was a good man. Stephen had taken him straight from the airport to the morgue, which was what Terry

had wanted. Best to get it over with, he thought. The positive identification had been dealt with swiftly. Although she lay mostly in ashes, there was

no doubt it was Jennifer. Remarkably, a handful of her long blond hair had survived the flames, along with her right arm, and her right hand. He

noticed she was stil wearing her magic ring.