Death Trap (8 page)
Mom left me and slowly moved to the ladder that led up to the platform buggy deck. She began to climb. Away from me. And toward her own death.
To think of Mom giving up her life to save me and the others of the dome was to understand a love that felt like a sword piercing my heart. To think of her gone made me so empty that I almost couldn't breathe.
In that moment, I understood a bit of what she'd been trying to tell me all along. There was something inside me that no scientific instrument could measure or explain. Had I really been created by a God who caredâfor me?
Without realizing that my arms had moved, I felt the rims of my wheels in the palms of my hands. Without saying a word, I pushed forward in my wheelchair to the platform buggy. If Mom trusted in God, then I too would trust that my soul had a place to go.
She heard the sounds of my wheels squeaking. She turned. Shock filled her face. “No!”
“Yes,” I said. “I don't care if I'm needed for the robot experiments. If you go, I go.”
We were whispering because it was deathly still. With everyone watching us, not a single voice spoke.
Mom pivoted and looked up at Director Steven on the platform buggy deck. “Make him stay behind,” she begged. “Have the guards stun him so he cannot follow. I am trading my life for his.”
More heartbeats of silence.
Director Steven checked the sheet of paper in his hand. “I cannot let him stay behind. When I drew names, I did not set anyone apart. Because of that, his name is on this list too.”
We slowly traveled across the Martian landscape, 10 of us in one platform buggy and 10 in the other, following closely behind. Except for me and Director Steven, two security guards, and the two techies who first volunteered to leave the dome, the rest were scientists.
After the entire list had been read, Rawling had tried to volunteer. He had said there were too many important scientists, too many of the best brains in the solar system about to die. Rawling had said it wasn't right, and he should at least be allowed to take the place of one of those scientists. Director Steven had said that the decisions had been made and the names drawn in all fairness. We were to proceed accordingly.
One of the security guards whose name had been drawn tried to make a run for it, but he was stun-blasted by two others and hauled up into the platform buggy.
Just like me. Only I wasn't hauled up because I had been trying to get away. Without the use of my legs, I couldn't climb. So a big security guard had thrown me over his shoulder like a sack and carried me up the ladder. Another security guard had brought up my wheelchair. Not that it made a difference. There wasn't much room to move around in the platform buggy observation deck. The doors weren't locked, but with no space suits and an atmosphere of carbon dioxide waiting outside, there was no place to go.
All of that had taken place a half hour earlier.
Now we were at least 20 miles clear of the dome. The inside of our platform buggy was very quiet, except for the humming of the electric motor that powered the monstrous wheels beneath us.
At one end of the buggy, Mom sat, hugging her knees. A security guard was at the steering wheel. The other seven scientists were scattered in different groups, whispering among themselves. Director Steven was driving the other platform buggy, with the nine other people for passengers.
As for me, I was beside Mom, in my wheelchair by the window. I let my hands mindlessly juggle the red balls as I stared out at the landscape.
The sun began to drop behind the distant mountains. Our dome was on a valley plain. Towering above the nearby hills, those mountains, black and jagged and awesome against the sun, stood 50,000 feet high.
I've been told that sunsets on Earth can be incredible. A mixture of reds, oranges, and pinks all streak across the sky.
Not so on Mars. Since there's so little atmosphere, there are few particles of dust or smoke to work as prisms to change the sun's light into different colors as the sun nears the horizon. Here, the sun always looks like a blue ball of fire.
What's incredible, however, are the pinks and reds and roses of the land itself. With its red soil and the salmon color of the sky, the beauty of the desolate landscape is haunting and sad.
Of course, part of the reason I felt that way as I looked through the clear bubble of the platform buggy was a result of seeing where all of us were headed. Director Steven said he didn't want the others back at the dome to be reminded of what would happen to us. So we'd have to travel out of sight of the dome and then park, waiting for our oxygen to run out.
The strangest thing happened the next morning.
I woke up. Alive.
Mom had prayed for us the night before, because we both expected that the oxygen in the platform buggy would run out during the night. Usually only two or three people went out in it at a time, so it did not carry enough oxygen for all of us for a long period. We expected to go to sleep and never wake up.
As I blinked and rubbed my eyes, I saw surprise on the other faces as well.
We didn't have a chance to wonder about it for long.
“Good morning, everyone.” Director Steven's voice came over the communication speaker, talking to us from the other platform buggy. “Please make sure you have breakfast. I want all of you to remain as healthy as possible.”
I gave Mom a strange look. She gave me a strange look.
Wearing the jumpsuit I'd fallen asleep in, I rolled over on the floor and pulled myself into my wheelchair.
“To those of you who are surprised to be breathing this morning,” his cheerful voice continued, “please let me apologize for yesterday's drama. I assure you that neither platform buggy will run short of oxygen until the supply ship arrives from Earth.”
I pushed over to the window, fighting to move the wheels as I'd been doing over the last few weeks. As I stared across the space between the platform buggies I could see into the other platform buggy where Director Steven was facing the microphone.
“Let me explain,” Director Steven said calmly. “The oxygen level in the dome is far lower than anyone knew. Had I been truthful about it, there would have been panic and civil war as people fought for the remaining oxygen tanks. After I did all the calculations, I discovered there was only enough oxygen for 20 people to survive.”
He cleared his throat. “That left a simple problem. How could I get those 20 out of the dome without the other 180 fighting to go? You have probably guessed by now how I came to a simple solution. I made it appear as if these 20 were the ones who would die. That way, no one would stop them from leaving. And you, of course, are the 20. Mercifully, the others left in the dome will not face the fear that comes with knowing the oxygen will run short. They will just become sleepy and die peacefully.”
What? I thought wildly.
“The few of you who volunteered to give up your lives are here because you deserve to live. The rest of you are among the greatest scientific minds in the solar system. I made a decision that you must be spared to continue the Mars Project.”
What?
Director Steven glanced across the short space between the platform buggies. He caught me staring at him in surprise. “You too, Tyce,” Director Steven said. Surprisingly, he smiled at me. “We cannot afford to lose you. Not after what you proved yesterday.”
A hundred and eighty people had been condemned to die just to save the few of us?
“Rest assured, people,” Director Steven finished in his smooth voice, “we do have enough oxygen. The tanks that were taken a few nights ago were hidden on these platform buggies. The two men who assisted in that task are the two security guards among us. In fact, one even pretended to resist entering the platform buggy, just to make it look more realistic that we were headed for death. Of course, no one else in the dome knows any of this. But those of us in the platform buggies will survive. None of you should feel guilt, as this was my decision and you had no choice in the matter.”
The speakers in our platform buggy clicked off as Director Steven hung up his microphone.
Back at the dome, time and air were running out for everyone. Including Rawling, the one man I trusted above everybody else.
On the other side of our platform buggy, the security guard was handing out nutri tubes for breakfast.
I struggled to push my wheelchair over there. It had been getting more and more difficult to move. I wondered if Director Steven had lied to us about the oxygen, just so we'd die peacefully and without fear.
When I reached the security guard, he gave me my choice of scrambled eggs and bacon or scrambled eggs and sausage.
“Like there's a difference,” I said.
He grinned. “Good point.” He was square-shouldered, with a crew cut and a squashed nose, as if it had once been broken. “Scissors?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” I said. As usual, I just ripped open the top of the tube.
“Hey, muscles,” he teased, laughing, “promise you won't get mad at me.”
“Ha-ha,” I said. I pushed away and found a spot near the edge of the observation deck. If breakfast had to taste bad, at least I could eat it where I had a nice view.
I'd slept for nearly 10 hours, and the sun was already above the horizon, casting long shadows from the jagged rocks that littered the Martian sand.
Then it hit me. If the reason I struggled to push my wheelchair was because of lack of oxygen, how come I could still rip open a nutri tube?
I thought back over the last few days. Not once had I been forced to use scissors on the nutri tubes. So maybe it wasn't my hands and arms getting weak. But why then was it still difficult to push my wheelchair?
I thought about that as I slowly chewed and swallowed the gooey yellow paste that was called scrambled eggs and bacon.
Mom moved beside me and sat on the floor to eat her breakfast. “I'm still in shock,” she said. “Director Steven had this planned out for a long time. Early enough to steal the oxygen tanks and pretend he knew nothing about it.”
“Yeah,” I said, my mind on my wheelchair.
“I'm curious what you think,” Mom said thoughtfully. “Is what he did right? I mean, Director Stevenâ”
“Can you help me out of my wheelchair?” I asked, interrupting her.
“Sure, butâ”
“Now?” I asked. I gave her what was left of my nutri tube.
Mom set it aside and lifted me out of the chair by grabbing under my armpits. She set me on the floor.
I leaned my back against the glass of the platform buggy wall. “Thanks.”
“Tyce?” she asked. “What is it?”
I spun the back of the wheelchair toward me. There was a small tool kit underneath the seat that made it possible to take the wheelchair apart and put it back together. “Give me one minute,” I said, reaching for the tool kit. “I'll tell you if I'm right about something.” I tilted the wheelchair on its side, then undid the bolt that attached the wheel to the axle and took the wheel off.
The other scientists were in their own discussions and didn't pay much attention. After all, they were the greatest minds in the solar system. To them I was just a kid. A crippled kid.
With the wheel in my lap, I used a screwdriver to dig out the bearings that let the wheel turn on the axle. I tried to spin the bearings. They hardly moved. That, at least, explained why it had been so hard to move my wheelchair. And that also explained why the solar panels would not work properly.
Suddenly I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what the problem was!
I put the wheelchair together as quickly as I could, had Mom help me back into my wheelchair, and then approached the security guard.
“Director Steven,” I pleaded, “you have to let them know.”
I was at the console of our platform buggy, speaking into my headset. Director Steven sat at the console of his platform buggy, also wearing a headset. I'd just finished telling him about what had happened to my wheelchair and the ball bearings. They'd been ground down, probably by the microscopic silicon of Martian sand, making them hard to move. What if the wheels on the solar panels had the same problem?
He looked across at me. The platform buggies were parked side by side in the shade of a hill. “No,” he said, meeting my eyes directly.
“No?”
“They already believe we're dead. It'll cause panic if they find out we're still alive.”
“But this can save them!” I said.
“You aren't sure of that.”
“No, butâ” I was talking in a low voice. The security guard who had set me up at the console was standing at the opposite wall because I'd asked him if I could have a private conversation with Director Steven.
“But nothing.” Director Steven ran his hands through his hair. “Already their oxygen levels are dangerously low. Even if they fixed the panels now, the generators wouldn't produce enough oxygen to save them.”
“We could drive back,” I begged. “We could share our oxygen with them as they wait for the generators to make more oxygen.”
“I will not gamble these 20 lives on another wild guess of yours,” Director Steven said. “If you're wrong and we go back and share our oxygen, we too will die. It's that simple.”
“Butâ”
“But nothing. We sit here and wait. There will be no communication with the dome. Am I clear?”
“Butâ”
“Am I clear?”
I pulled off my headset and smiled.
The security guard came back to the console and took the headset from me. “Well?” he asked. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“Sure did,” I said. I reached for the switch that would link our platform buggy radio with the main radio back at the dome. I flipped it on as if there was no question about it.
The security guard frowned. “I didn't think there was supposed to be any communication with home base,” he said.
