The Season of Passage

  Soon she was standing on the high platform that led into the Russian ship. The controls responded to her touch, but the airlock door opened only partially. The quakes had tilted the Karamazov slightly off balance, stressing the hull and putting unusual pressures on the doors. Lauren was barely able to squeeze inside. She cried out loud from the pain the squeeze caused the cracked ribs.

  Lauren went to Ivan's and Dmitri's bedroom. She searched the desk but did not find the bottle. She crossed to the bunks, skirting the blood on the floor, and tore through the mattresses. No wine. With the touch of a button she was inside the bedroom locker. On the floor, beneath clothes, she found an old-fashioned chest. She dragged it into the center of the room. The sides were screwed shut. She hurried to the level below, to the laboratory, where she retrieved a knife. She had the chest screws out in a couple of minutes.

  The bottle lay at the bottom of the chest, wrapped in blue

  felt; a deep red wine, '89 - a very fine year indeed. It was full, and from the intact seal, it had obviously never been opened.

  Lauren returned to the Hawk. Before she went inside, however, she visited Jim's grave. If she'd had the strength, and the time, she would have dug through the stones and gravel and returned his body to the ship. What fools they had been to fear that he might rise to haunt them. His death had been their only decisive warning. In the pit Jim must have been given the opportunity of decision - immortality or oblivion. He had chosen the latter, to let them know for certain what they were up against. Lauren hoped his end had come easily. Perhaps his heart hadn't betrayed him after all, but had spared him worse tortures.

  Lauren draped the crucifix she had made over the cold rocks. Then she said the prayer she hadn't been able to say at his funeral. She believed there was a chance God heard it.

  Lauren stood by Gary's side, waiting for the stimulant she had just administered to take effect. Finally he opened his eyes. She bent over him and uncorked the top of the bottle.

  'How are you feeling?' she asked.

  He smiled faintly, his eyes far away. 'I was walking in trees and flowers. I was in a garden. Do you see the flowers, Lori?'

  'Yes. We're walking in the garden together.'

  'The garden.' He closed his eyes and began to nod off again.

  'No, Gary. Wake up. You have to drink.' She shook him. 'I've brought you something to drink.'

  'Drink?' he whispered, interested. He opened his eyes and looked at the bottle in her hands. She helped him into a

  sitting position so he wouldn't choke and held the top of the bottle to his lips. All alcoholic beverages were dehydrating to an extent, but in his present condition the water content of the wine would more than make up for the effect of the alcohol.

  'Drink,' she said.

  His expression brightened. Like a child speaking to his mother, he asked, 'It's good?' He opened his mouth to the wine.

  Lauren smiled. 'Very good. Sip it slowly. There you go, that's good. Drink more, as much as you like. There's lots.'

  He finished a quarter of the bottle in one gulp, and then, sighing with pleasure, drank more. When he was satisfied, Lauren took the bottle away and made him lie down and rest, giving his system a chance to absorb the liquid. A shudder rolled through his body, which scared her. But then his breathing deepened and appeared to gain strength. A few minutes later she had him take another drink. The mists began to clear from his eyes.

  'I don't know where you've been stowing your booze, Doc,' he said. 'But I wish you'd brought out the stuff earlier.'

  Lauren laughed, and it was as if a great weight fell from her then. 'It's Dmitri's wine. He mentioned it in his diary. I just returned from the Karamazov.'

  'Dmitri.' Gary smiled. 'Let that be a lesson to you, the next time you're thinking of pouring Scotch down the drain.'

  Lauren laughed again, enjoying the sound of it. It had been so long since she had felt joy. Terry and Jennifer were alive in her mind once again. 'Are you strong enough to stand?' she asked.

  He sat up. 'I don't know. It doesn't matter. Just help me to the control room. Then I can sit down again.' He pointed

  to the bottle. 'Have you had anything to drink?'

  Lauren was tempted, infinitely tempted. But the doctor in her was strong, even if the rest of her was falling apart. Gary was weaker than she, and also more vital to them regaining orbit. She knew his thirst would return shortly.

  'I want you to finish the rest,' she said. 'It will take time to check all the systems and you'll need your strength.' Lauren hugged him. 'God, Gary. We're going home!' He kissed her cheek. 'I wish I could hug you back.' She pulled slightly away. 'I can't say how sorry I am.' He shook his head. 'What are you apologizing for? You saved my life. Hell, they'll probably give me a purple heart. Wounded in action in the war of the worlds.' He smiled once more, although the corners of his mouth remained sad. Both their eyes strayed to the window. The river of lava was now only a few hours away. Gary continued, 'While I prepare the Hawk for lift-off, I want you to get rid of everything Martian on this ship. I mean absolutely everything. The only thing we're taking home from this place is a bunch of bad memories.' 'Amen,' she said.

  Lauren did what Gary said, with one exception. She found the silver ring - forgotten in the urgency to attend to Gary's arm - in the living area beside the couch. She debated asking Gary's permission to bring it back to Earth. She finally decided against raising the issue, afraid he might say no.

  NASA would never know.

  Lauren slipped the ring in her pocket. She still planned to give it to Jennifer.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The interplanetary drama was hours old. On Terry's TV screen, the Hawk drifted through a dangerously low orbit, apparently out of fuel, with no power to maneuver. The much larger and more cumbersome Nova, piloted by Mark Kawati, was dropping down to rendezvous. Mark had been unsuccessful at raising the Hawk on his radio. He now had visual contact, however. He estimated they could dock in five minutes.

  Terry was alone in his apartment. He sat on the floor with the lights off, his knees hugged to his chest. It was the middle of the night. The TV screen was his only source of illumination, in many ways. When Tom Brenner had called earlier and awakened him with the news of the Hawk's liftoff from Mars, Terry had been tempted to race down to Mission Control. Sitting where he was, though, the view was just as good. Besides, he was running a fever. He'd been ill since he'd buried Jennifer, three days ago. Or had it been four?

  'Good visual,' Mark Kawati said from two hundred million miles away - and twenty minutes ago. 'Time to contact, Friend?'

  [Four-minutes, five seconds, Mark.]

  'They look good, Houston,' Mark said. 'Their rotation vector is almost nil.'

  Lauren had to be alive in that far-off silver ship, Terry told himself. Yet if she was, what would she think of him after she received the news of her sister? It was a selfish thought, Terry realized, but an honest one. Lauren would soon know about Jennifer. The suicide had been spread across the front page of every major newspaper in the country. Another tragedy in the Wagner family, the reporters said. But, of course, they'd had to add that Jennifer was seeing a psychiatrist. Terry understood Mark Kawati read the papers.

  Even if Lauren didn't hold him to blame, Terry knew he was never going to forgive himself for having left Jennifer at the cabin, practically alone, wandering the nights with only the imaginary characters of her story for companionship. The Sastra, the children of the garden -how sad their tale had been, and how gruesome had been the section that dealt with Janier's death, and Kratine's curse. Then there had been Jennifer's final remarkable chapter, when Chaneen had called upon the unspeakable power to destroy an entire world. Terry was not sure whether Jennifer had thought of herself as Chaneen or as Janier, and now he could never be certain. Perhaps she had identified with neither character, but with King Rankar instead, who had sacrificed his life for the sake of his children. Perhaps Jennifer had thought she had to do the same in order for Lauren to return hom
e.

  Mark spoke to Houston. 'We will eclipse in eighteen minutes, but should dock well before then. No communications from the Hawk yet.'

  Through the cameras mounted outside the Nova, the Hawk grew swiftly. Terry could almost see through the tiny rectangles of yellow light that represented the ship's portholes.

  'She's coming up,' Mark said, his voice tense. 'They're braking, looking good.'

  Suddenly tiny flares erupted on the sides of the Hawk. 'That's strange,' Mark muttered. 'They're firing their auxiliary rockets.' There was a pause. 'Friend! What is their velocity relative to us?'

  [Forty miles an hour, Mark. Sixty-five miles an hour.]

  'They're coming right toward me!' Mark cried. 'Friend, port side. Initiate burn on the D and E rockets.'

  The Hawk seemed to swallow the TV screen.

  'More power!' Mark yelled. 'They're going to...'

  The screen turned to static. Then a frantic TV commentator at Mission Control broke in. Terry didn't listen to what he had to say. He was already on the phone to Mission Control, trying to get through. But the line was busy. He ripped the phone out of the wall, threw it to the floor, and kicked it across the room with his right foot. His big toe gave a loud crack and he realized he had probably broken it. What did it matter? What could anything matter now? It was obvious the two spaceships had collided.

  Strapped in her seat, in the weightless control room of the Hawk, Lauren peered through the faceplate of her helmet at the ship's multidirectional viewing screens. Mars was below, the sun above. The Nova was approaching from behind.

  'Wake up, Gary,' she said. 'She's almost here.' The wine had helped Gary to his feet, but the rejuvenation had worn off. Gary had gone back to his dreams of flowered meadows drifting in and out of consciousness. He looked at her with drowsy eyes, his dark hair floating straight out from his head within his helmet. 'What did you say?' he asked.

  'The Nova's coming. What should we do?'

  He roused himself and studied his monitors. Then he pushed a button with his right hand and pointed at a luminous dial with the stump that had been his left arm.

  'I've saved a little fuel in our auxiliary thrusters to help straighten us out,' he said. 'Would you turn that dial ninety degrees counter-clockwise, Lori?'

  She did so.

  'Wait!' Gary yelled, coming fully awake.

  Too late. The rockets began to fire.

  'Not that one!' Gary shouted. 'I didn't mean that one.'

  'What do I do?'

  Gary tried to reach for a switch but forgot about his missing arm. It was only then Lauren remembered that he was left-handed.

  'Lori, push that switch down,' he said. He cursed and tried to undo his belt, but with only one hand, and in his hurry, the task became hopelessly complicated. 'No! The other one, yeah. No, wait!' He studied his instruments for a moment. Then he sighed, and spoke in a softer tone. 'It's too late, it's done. We'll have to wait and see what happens.' He glanced out the porthole. The Nova was looking awfully big, awfully quick.

  'What's happening?' she cried.

  'We just gave ourselves a boost in the wrong direction. Let's hope Mark's on his toes. God, it looks like we're going to collide. Close the portholes, Lori.'

  She did as she was told. It only made matters worse, as far as she was concerned. The unseen threat was always more terrifying. 'Is there nothing we can do?' she asked.

  Gary appeared remarkably cool. 'Brace yourself and pray we don't explode.'

  The seconds crawled by. Five, ten - each as long as a half

  dozen of her pounding heartbeats. Then a cruel jolt shook the ship and a high grinding noise ripped beneath their chairs, down in the basement. Their lights died. The blue emergency lamps flickered on a moment later and turned the Hawk's control room into a ghastly lagoon of confusion.

  'Open the portholes,' Gary said calmly.

  Lauren did as she was told. The Nova receded below them trailing twisted scraps of metal. One big piece of equipment was no longer attached to the mother ship.

  'We tore off the antenna dish!' Lauren exclaimed.

  'Let's count ourselves fortunate,' Gary said. 'Another few feet and both ships would have exploded.' He chuckled. 'I bet Mark's radio isn't working worth a damn now. Here we go again.'

  'Do you think we damaged the Nova's hull?'

  'It's hard to say for sure. Let's hope not.'

  'It was my fault. I twisted the wrong dial. I was careless.'

  'You're always blaming yourself, Lori,' Gary said, closing his eyes again. 'You must have a guilt complex. No, it was my fault. I'm just used to doing these things myself.' He smiled to himself. 'I guess old Bill couldn't complain about me now.' He yawned. 'But don't worry. We'll see Mark again, as soon as he can swing back around.'

  Lauren was not sure how much time passed before Mark was able to maneuver into docking position again, for she spent most of that time asleep. She awoke only when the Nova's heavy clamps hinged onto the Hawk. Lauren's thirst and pain was almost washed away in the joy of that moment. She called to Gary, but he didn't respond. He snored loudly inside his helmet. She thought of Mark. With the Hawk secure, he would be leaving the Nova's control room and heading for the airlock that connected the two

  ships. Lauren unbuckled her straps and floated down through the living area and into the basement. She removed her helmet.

  Mark had already pumped atmosphere into their lock. Lauren just had to push the right button. The door swished open and a blast of fresh air hit her faceplate. She knew it was fresh even before she tore off her helmet, because it didn't have the stink of Mars in it.

  Mark waited on the other side of the door in midair. He was grinning from head to toe. 'Lauren!'

  'Mark!'

  He hugged her. Of course, he didn't know about her broken ribs, and when she cried out he moved back.

  'What happened?' Mark asked. He studied her closer and his pleased expression turned to one of shock. 'You look sick. What's the matter with your side?'

  She swallowed, bent over. 'It's a long story.'

  He was distressed. 'Your lips are all cracked and bleeding.'

  'I'm all right, Mark, really I am. It's Gary who needs our help.' Lauren straightened herself. He didn't know, how could he know? Mark glanced in the direction of the Hawk's control room.

  'Is he injured?' he asked.

  She hesitated. 'Yes.'

  He was perceptive. 'Is he the only one? Has something happened to Jim?'

  'Jim's dead.'

  'Dead?' His tears were immediate. Jim had been like a father to Mark. 'How did he die?'

  'I can't say right now. Jessie's dead. Bill's dead.' She added bitterly, 'So is the last Russian.'

  Mark turned pale. 'All of them?'

  'The planet killed them. It's a horrible place.' She took

  his hands in hers. 'I'm thirsty, Mark. I need water. I need water like they needed blood.'

  Mark carried Gary to Nova's sickbay. Gary didn't awake at first. It wasn't until she used the artery shunt on his remaining arm, and circulated his blood through the hibernaculum, and replenished his blood with liquids and electrolytes, that he regained consciousness. He was able to sit up and sip apple juice, but went back to sleep shortly afterwards.

  Lauren's thirst got the better of her medical judgment. The first drink she took was too big and too quick, and she ended up vomiting. Afterwards, she contented herself with cautious sips. However, her thirst clung to her still. She wondered if it always would. The longing for water seemed burned into her brain.

  When Gary was resting comfortably, she had Mark X-ray her side. The pictures were not pretty. She would need an operation when she got home.

  Mark was anxious to know what had happened, but Lauren was too weak for a long speech. She encouraged him to talk instead, and his story followed lines familiar to hers.

  While they were on Mars, he began to have trouble sleeping. He would awake more tired than when he went to bed, with vague memories of nightmares
where lizard monsters chewed on his insides. When he lost contact with the Hawk, he had become frightened and wanted to leave. He'd been afraid he would end up like Carl. Yet, strangely enough, he began to identify with the dead Russian. He took to sleeping in the weightless hub, just floating around, with all the lights off. He even considered returning the Nova to the Gorbachev, to see if maybe Carl was alive, after all. He went so far as to start learning Russian from

  Friend so that he could have a conversation with the eyeless corpse. He stopped eating, but was bothered by an awful thirst, even though he drank to the point of making himself ill. He was also cold, and set the thermostat at a hundred degrees. He thought of suicide, and spent endless hours just staring at Mars. Once, when Houston spoke to him, he told them that he believed mankind was a mistaken product of a primordial ooze. That they were always going to be alone, and that their only hope of salvation lay in complete extinction. Houston was worried about him.

  Mark finished his story on an uncertain note. Lauren had the impression he was holding something back. However, she didn't press him. She figured there were some details she'd just as soon not know.

  Gary woke and Lauren rested, and eventually they told Mark their tales. Mark believed every word they said. Given what he had gone through, it wasn't too surprising. The question of contamination arose. Neither Gary nor Lauren felt they were carriers of what had infected Ivan and Bill, but of course they had biased opinions. They just hoped the president didn't order them blown up in space. But they weren't worried about it. Gary remained firm about not bringing anything home from Mars. He ordered the soil samples from their first landing jettisoned into space. No one argued with him.

  Thirty hours after the Hawk had lifted off from the Tharsis plateau, Mark fired the Nova's main engines and threw them out of the Martian orbit toward home, over a year away. The roar of the rockets had scarcely ceased when Lauren began to prepare the hibernaculums. Neither Gary nor herself was near recovery, but the lower metabolism induced by the Antabolene had been found, in previous experiments, to aid in the healing process. Lauren