Mars Station Alpha

by Stephen Penner

  Remember that smell, Junior, Ferguson had told him. There's a reason it makes your stomach turn and you have to fight the urge to run away. It reminds us we're all mortal. And when you can smell it, that means it's close. Really close. And you know you might be next.

  Stanton stepped all the way into the infirmary. The dim red light illuminated Dekker's naked body eerily. Red-black shadows curved into the crevices of his corpse. All of the blood had settled in the bottom of the body, leaving the top a sickly paste-pink. His eyelids had been closed, but not even Stanton could shake that B-movie feeling that Dekker would suddenly open his eyes and grab him in the iron grip zombies apparently gained in death.

  He circled the entire room silently, inspecting the walls and furniture. He avoided the table with Dekker’s remains. Instead he checked everything else in a methodical clockwise sweep of the room. It was only when he had finished that sweep that he walked over to the foot of the metal table supporting what used to be Nils Dekker, and said, "Okay, come out from under the table, Petrov."

  There was a pause, but then Petrov emerged from the blackness under the table. He stood up in the red gloom of the sick bay.

  "You saw me," he said.

  "No," replied Stanton. "I guessed. But I guessed right."

  Petrov was visibly upset, even in the half light. "I should have stayed under there," he cursed himself.

  "Well, I would have checked before leaving," Stanton answered. "It's not like there are a lot of places to hide in here."

  Stanton walked over and sat on one of the three small chairs in the sick bay. "We need to talk, Aleksandr."

  Petrov lowered his head. "Yes. Yes, we do."

  He didn't take one of the chairs, but instead sat on the other metal examining table.

  "Why did you come here?" Stanton asked. "And please tell me you weren't going to defile Dekker’s remains."

  "Defile?" Petrov repeated indignantly. "Of course not. Nils was my friend." Then he added poignantly, "He was the only one who believed me."

  Stanton smiled in the red light. "I want to believe you, Aleksandr," he started. "Well, no. I actually don't want to believe you. I don't want to believe that on top of everything else we have to deal with—missing colonists, missing comm equipment, sandstorms—I don't want to believe that we also have to worry about ghosts haunting the station and trying to kill us. And I don't want to believe that Dekker died because he jumped up on that rock and made a bad joke."

  Petrov shook his head. "That is never what I said. Oksana did not understand what I was trying to say. I only wanted her to believe me. I am not crazy, Captain, I swear it."

  Stanton nodded patiently. "I know, I know. And I'll admit that I don't understand everything there is to know in this universe. When I was a little kid, not more than eight, I had a dream that my grandmother, who lived across the country, came and sat on my bed. She told me what a good kid I was and how she was so proud of who I was and what I'd become some day. I found out the next day that she had died that night."

  Petrov smiled, his teeth gleaming pink in the emergency light. "That was no dream," he nodded.

  Stanton shrugged. "I don't know. But at least I know that I don't know. So I'm open to what you're saying. But you have got to understand, Aleksandr, you're freaking everybody out. And it doesn't help matters that when the power cut out you snuck away to hang out with a corpse."

  Petrov's eyebrows shot up. "Oh no, Captain. That is not what happened at all. When the power went out, I knew it was because of the poltergeist—"

  "Petrov..." Stanton warned.

  "Hear me out, Captain, please. When the power went out, I knew it was the poltergeist playing a trick on us. I could feel it. But I also knew that it was very, very dangerous. Sometimes the spirits do not understand what mortal danger they put us in."

  "You're losing me here, Aleksandr," said Stanton. "Bring it back to reality."

  "I knew the sandstorm could damage, even destroy the station with the shields off," Petrov continued. "So I rushed out of the commissary and straight to the control center to engage the manual override switch for the emergency power."

  "Okay. See, now I know you're lying," interrupted Stanton. "Lin is the one who flipped that switch."

  "I don't doubt it, Captain," answered Petrov, "for when I entered the control center and attempted to locate the switch in the complete blackness, the spirits carried me through the walls to the sick bay. They wanted me to be here, close to them."

  "All right, Aleksandr. You just lost me. You were transported here by spirits?"

  "Yes, Captain," Petrov practically pleaded. "I know it sounds insane, but you must believe me. I went to open the wall cabinet for the manual override switch, but instead I found myself in the darkest of worlds, not knowing which way was which, following the blackness before my nose. I felt as if I were falling, falling forward forever and ever, and then, when the red auxiliary power lights turned on, I was here, in the sick bay, with Nils."

  Stanton just stared at him.

  "Nils needed me to come to him, I think," explained Petrov. "Perhaps to tell me he did not blame me for what I said. But I also felt he had something to tell us. Something about the spirits who wish to do us harm. So I began meditating to try to communicate with him. That's when I heard your footsteps in the corridor. I didn't know who, or what, it was, and so I became frightened and hid under the table. I am sorry for my cowardice, Captain."

  Stanton stared at the Russian. It was a lot to take in all at once.

  "Do you believe me, Captain?" Petrov looked him the eyes, his own troubled and haunted.

  Stanton managed a grimace. "I don't think you're lying," he said. "But I don't believe you either."

  He sighed deeply, then leaned forward and put a hand on his crewman's arm. "You've become a danger to the rest of the crew, Aleksandr. Will you agree to being confined to quarters?"

  Chapter 32

  Petrov opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again and looked up.

  "Do you hear that?" he asked is a desperate, raspy voice.

  "No more ghost stories, Aleksandr," Stanton warned.

  Petrov shook his head violently. "No, no. Not that. The click-clack of the sand hitting the shields. It has changed."

  To Stanton, the constant buzzing of incinerated sand molecules had faded into background noise. Sensory adaptation had rendered it essentially inaudible, but he refocused and he could clearly hear what Petrov described. The shields weren't destroying the sand overhead any more. They could both hear the sand smashing directly against the metal roof of the sick bay.

  "Let's get back to the control center," Stanton said. "Maybe one of your poltergeists blew the switch again."

  They hurried to the control room where Mtumbe and Lin were sitting against each other in the dim light. When Stanton walked in, Mtumbe jumped up.

  "We were just talking!"

  Lin stood up slowly and just smiled.

  "Not interested right now, Daniel," said Stanton. "The auxiliary power is failing. We need to check the switch."

  "The switch is fine," Lin reported. "We checked it a few minutes ago and it is still connected."

  Reinspection confirmed this.

  "Listen again, Captain," said Petrov. "The shields are working in here."

  Sure enough, the buzzing of incinerated sand was clearly audible in the control room.

  "Damn it," said Stanton. "That means the shields are starting to fail selectively."

  "What do you mean?" asked Mtumbe.

  "The shields aren't working over the sick bay," Stanton clarified.

  "That could threaten the entire station," Lin realized.

  "I know," answered Stanton. "We need to get the shields up again. They may be failing elsewhere as well."

  Just then Gold and Rusakova walked in. "No sign of Petrov," Gold reported before seeing him.

  "I have found me," he grinned. "Right here."

  "Great," answered Gold. "So it was you who sabotaged our emerge
ncy power?"

  "On the contrary," he explained, "I was on my way to activate the emergency power when the spirits transported me to sick bay."

  Gold stared at him for a moment then turned to Stanton. "You need to lock him up," she said.

  "I'm working on it," he replied. "In the meantime we have a serious situation. The shields have failed over the sickbay. The station roof there is getting ravaged by the sandstorm."

  "What can we do about it?" Rusakova asked.

  "We could ask the spirits for help," Petrov suggested.

  Gold looked again at Stanton. "Seriously. Locked up."

  Stanton gave a tight smile. "Seriously. Working on it."

  "We could try diverting some of the power to the shields there," Lin suggested. "But I don't know if the control glass is fully operational at emergency power levels."

  "Plus, if there is finite power available," Rusakova pointed out, "diverting power there might weaken the shields elsewhere."

  Stanton thought for a moment. "Rusakova, how's the ship holding up?"

  "It seemed fine, Captain," she answered. "It was built for the vacuum of space. I believe it will withstand some sand."

  "Are you thinking we could divert some of the power from the ship to get all shields operational?" Mtumbe asked.

  "Bad idea," said Gold. "That ship is our ticket home. We shouldn't do anything to endanger it."

  "Well, then," started Mtumbe, "what are we going to—"

  But his question was interrupted by the deafening buzz of the station's emergency alarm.

  Chapter 33

  Dzzzt! Dzzzt! Dzzzt!

  Stanton and the others could barely hear each other over the alarm.

  "Oh my God! What's happening?" shouted Rusakova.

  Petrov fell to the ground, holding his ears and screaming, "Stop it! Stop it!"

  Mtumbe and Stanton both covered their ears against the noise and looked for some indication of catastrophic failure.

  Lin ignored the alarm and began manipulating the control glass for information. Gold, too, was nonplussed by the alarm and peeked over Lin's shoulder. After a moment she straightened up and walked out of the control room, tapping Stanton on the chest as she passed and motioning for him to follow her.

  He did. And so did Mtumbe, but not before yelling over the din of the alarm for Lin and Rusakova to stay with Petrov, who was balled up on the floor, screaming, "The spirits are angry! The spirits are angry!"

  The alarm was just as loud in the corridor, so Stanton didn't bother yelling after Gold about where she was leading them. But it only took a minute to see for himself.

  A fortified blast shield had already descended across the end of the corridor, completely sealing off the sickbay from the rest of the station.

  "There must have been a hull breech," shouted Stanton. "The station autosealed that section off."

  Gold nodded in agreement. "Is there any way through that wall?"

  "No," replied Stanton. "That wall is designed for safety. It comes down to hermetically seal off that section from the rest of the station. The only way back in would be to go outside and down through the emergency roof access each room has."

  Then Stanton realized something. "Damn it," he said. "Dekker is in there."

  Mtumbe realized something too. "So are my antibiotics."

  Chapter 34

  The alarm stopped as suddenly as it had started. Stanton’s ears rang in the ensuing silence. The lights didn't come back on, though, so they were left in the red gloom while the sandstorm continued to rage over their heads.

  "When was your last dose?" Stanton asked Mtumbe.

  "This morning with breakfast," Mtumbe frowned. "Next dose is supposed to be with dinner."

  Stanton saw Gold lean away from Mtumbe just a bit. She saw him looking at her, so she took a full step back as if appraising Mtumbe's leg. "How's it healing, Commander?"

  Mtumbe hesitated at the unexpected question from an unexpected source.

  "I think it's fine," Mtumbe answered. "A little numb to the touch, but it doesn't hurt. In fact, I don't think I need the antibiotics any more anyway."

  Stanton almost believed him.

  "No," said Stanton. "We'll figure something out. Anyway, I don't want to leave Dekker’s body in there too long. Assuming we can repair whatever damage breeched the hull, we don't want the entire sick bay fouled by a decomposing body."

  "Especially one that’s now exposed to Martian air," Mtumbe raised his leg in illustration. "They got some nasty bugs here on the Red Planet."

  "Mars needs antibiotics," joked Gold dryly.

  Stanton smiled. He just couldn't stay mad at her.

  Then Lin came running up to them, clearly agitated. She was rarely agitated.

  "Come quickly," she said. "It's Petrov."

  They followed her back to the control room where they found Petrov laying on the floor apparently unconscious. Rusakova was kneeling beside him, a hand on his chest.

  "Is he okay?" asked Stanton. "What's wrong?"

  "I am not sure," Rusakova replied. "He was holding his head and complaining about the spirit voices. Then all of a sudden, he jerked his head back, his eyes rolled up into his head, and he went limp."

  "He's not dead, is he?" Gold asked.

  "No," replied Lin. "His pulse and breathing are normal. He's just unresponsive."

  "We should move Petrov to sick bay," suggested Rusakova.

  "Negative," replied Stanton. "Sick bay is inaccessible. The storm breeched the hull there so it’s been autosealed off. We can't get inside until we send a crew to repair the breech."

  Lin looked with concern, first at Mtumbe's leg, then to his face. "Your antibiotics are in there."

  "Don't worry," he smiled. "I'll be all right."

  Her face showed she didn't believe him either.

  "Let's move him to his quarters," said Stanton. "We can lay him on his cot until we figure out what's going on."

  They returned to the control room and Stanton grabbed a hold of Petrov under the arms. Mtumbe tried to lift the Russian’s feet, but he couldn't put much weight on his injured leg. Lin pushed him out of the way, and she and Gold each grabbed a leg. Mtumbe and Rusakova followed behind.

  As they all headed toward the sleeping quarters, Stanton heard Rusakova whisper to Mtumbe, "Nils's body is still in sick bay, isn't it?"

  Mtumbe frowned. "I'm afraid so."

  Rusakova shook her head. "He was a good man. He deserves a proper burial."

  Mtumbe patted her on the shoulder. "Captain Stanton is a good man too. He'll make sure Nils gets a decent burial."

  They arrived at the sleeping cabins and laid Petrov on his bed. As they stepped back, Petrov began to stir slightly. His head rolled back and forth. Then his eyelids popped open, but his eyes were still rolled back into his skull.

  "Leave," he moaned in an otherworldly voice. "Leave this place, or suffer the fate of your predecessors."

  Chapter 35

  "Petrov!" Stanton shook the transfixed Russian. "Petrov, snap out of it!"

  Petrov didn't seem to respond to the captain. Instead his eyes rolled around in his head and he started saying, "Croatoan, Croatoan," over and over.

  Stanton threw a harsh glance at Gold, who looked back quizzically.

  "Petrov," Stanton said more calmly, almost soothingly. "Petrov, can you hear me?"

  Gold rolled her eyes at the captain, but Rusakova seemed genuinely concerned. Mtumbe and Lin looked at each other.

  "Is he trying to humor him?" Lin whispered to Mtumbe.

  "I'm not really sure," Mtumbe whispered back. "Let's see what happens."

  "Petrov," the captain repeated. "Aleksandr? It's John. We're all here, Aleksandr."

  Petrov's eyes regained their focus and he looked at Stanton's face. "Captain?"

  "Yes, Aleksandr, it's me."

  "I'm scared, Captain," Petrov said.

  "I know, Aleksandr."

  "They want us to leave, Captain."

  "Who does?" Stant
on asked. "Who wants us to leave?"

  "The spirits, Captain," answered Petrov, still dreamlike. "They say we are disturbing their rest and we need to leave."

  "Oh, brother," muttered Gold.

  Stanton shushed her.

  "Aleksandr," he went on, "tell them we need to find out what happened to our friends, and then we'll leave."

  Petrov was silent for a moment, then he said, "They say if we don't leave, then what happened to them will happen to us."

  Stanton could hear Ferguson mocking him. He's crazy, Junior. Just lock him up and get on with your mission.

  "Aleksandr," he pressed on. "Ask them what happened to our friends."

  Petrov didn't reply. Stanton waited for a moment, then repeated, "Petrov? Petrov?"

  But he had become unresponsive again.

  Stanton threw his hands up in frustration.

  Mtumbe pulled him aside, "I know you're trying to humor him, but you're starting to freak everybody else out. You don't think he's really talking to ghosts do you?"

  "No," Stanton insisted. "No, of course not. He's clearly delusional. Probably some schizophrenic break. But if I can get him to resolve it within his own reality, I think he's more likely to accept the confinement we're going to have to put him under."

  Mtumbe looked at his friend for a few moments. "And that's all this is?"

  Stanton smiled. "That's all this is."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  Mtumbe smiled broadly. "Good. You had me worried for a second there."

  Then Petrov started to speak again. His voice was frail and distant. "Wh— Where am I?" he rasped.

  "You are in your cabin," Rusakova answered.

  Petrov pushed himself up on one elbow. "Is the emergency passed? The alarm is off."

  "It's over for now," Stanton answered. "But we have other problems."