The heat was unbearable. Cramer tore at the collar of his shirt, ripped at the drawstring of his pants. His nightmare had come true. They were falling. The station was plummeting through the atmosphere. The entire sky glowed with the heat of their descent. The bearded man beckoned.
Cramer clamped his teeth over his wrist. He pushed his free hand against the dome. Molten plastic burned his fingers. The cries of his fellow Martians resounded through the station. The bearded man drew back his lips in a Satanic grin.
Cramer screamed.
Dan Tighe and Freddy Aviles were reviewing the progress of the computer reconfiguration project when a voice burst over the command module’s loudspeaker.
“Emergency! Mars module! Emergency!”
Dan and Freddy locked eyes. A second later they were in the connecting tunnel, propelling themselves hand over hand toward a knot of people gathered at the Mars module’s entry hatch. Shrieks echoed within.
Dan peeled bodies away and dove inside. At the far end of the internal tunnel, the door to the observation blister floated free of its broken hinges. Torn plastic seals bobbed in the doorway like the waving arms of an octopus.
“We’re falling, we’re falling!” someone was screaming.
Dan turned to the entry hatch and yelled at the circle of faces. “Find Dr. Renoir. Tell her to bring sedatives. Fast! Freddy, get something to restrain him.”
Tighe dove headfirst through the nearest access door and found himself beside Kurt Jaeckle. The professor’s normally olive skin was ghostly white, his deep-set eyes wide in fear and confusion.
Near the aft end of the module, three Martians cowered in cubbyholes formed by different workstations. A fourth drifted like a broken rag doll, his face bloodied and his shirt tattered. Smashed lab equipment and glassware hung in the air. In the middle of it all Russell Cramer whirled like a dervish, buck-naked.
“We’re falling! The station is crashing! Don’t you feel it?” His voice was guttural as if coming from deep within his chest. He grabbed the unconscious Martian by the remains of his shirt and slapped his face. “We’re burning up! Do something!”
The Martian’s head waggled. In disgust, Cramer flung him toward the rear of the module.
“I don’t know what happened,” Jaeckle whispered, his words coming in a rush. “He was in the blister for about half an hour. He started screaming, broke down the door, and attacked people.”
Dan listened without taking his eyes off Cramer. The Martian tumbled around the module, punching equipment with fists that streamed ribbons of blood and terrorizing his fellow Martians with threats of death.
Freddy settled next to Dan. Draped between his hands was a nylon net he had taken from a storage compartment in the command module. Dan shot a glance at the access door. Lorraine Renoir displayed a syringe.
“Stay off my left flank,” Dan told Freddy. “I’ll try to draw him in. When he goes for me, net him.” He turned to Lorraine. “Wait until we have him under control.”
Cramer acted as if blind to everything in the module. He twisted his limbs and babbled a steady stream of nonsense. Balls of white saliva spewed from his mouth and gathered in tiny clouds around his head.
Dan and Freddy edged forward. Twenty feet, fifteen feet, twelve feet. At ten feet, they stopped. Cramer sensed they were close.
“Aye, Commander Tiger, come to see the fire, huh?” Cramer slowly turned his head toward them. His eyes rolled back in their sockets.
Dan tensed his grip on a handhold. He wanted to be able to fly backwards when Cramer lunged forward. But Cramer retreated toward the unconscious Martian, who bobbed against a workstation.
“Tiger sees the fire, the fire wants Tiger.”
Cramer grabbed the unconscious man by the shirt and flung him like a missile toward Dan and Freddy. They tried to stop the Martian, but he barrelled through their arms. Jaeckle prevented him from crashing into the wall. Two other Martians pulled him into the tunnel.
“Tiger sees the fire, the fire wants Tiger.”
Dan and Freddy resumed their careful approach. Cramer’s eyes were unfocused, but he knew they were coming. His doggerel sounded more urgent with each repetition.
“Tiger sees the fire, the fire wants Tiger!”
Cramer suddenly gathered himself into a cannonball and shot forward. Dan pulled back and Freddy threw the net. It snared Cramer, but his fist shot free before Dan could react and caught him squarely in the jaw. Dan’s vision blurred. When it cleared, Freddy’s powerful arms had Cramer locked in a bear hug.
“Feet! Feet!” Freddy yelled.
Cramer kicked wildly, sending them into a tumble that smashed Freddy’s back against a metal cabinet. Dan tackled Cramer and managed to pin both feet against his shoulder. He looped his other arm around a handhold to stop Cramer from moving. Lorraine Renoir swept overhead. Cramer yelped as she jammed the hypodermic into his buttock. A moment later, he went limp.
“Get some duct tape,” Dan said to Freddy.
“Are you all right, Dan?” Lorraine asked, breathless, wide-eyed.
“I’m goddamn lucky it wasn’t my nose,” Dan said as he rubbed his bruised chin.
Dan summoned Muncie and Stanley to transfer the sedated Cramer into the rumpus room. Meanwhile, he ordered the Mars module cleared of all personnel to allow an inventory of the damage.
“I can’t permit that,” protested Jaeckle. “Six of my people aren’t to interact with anyone. It would ruin the entire project.”
Dan shook his head. Jaeckle hadn’t been long in shedding his fear and resuming his contrary personality.
“Then lock them in their compartments,” barked Dan. “My people have their own duties to perform.”
Freddy volunteered to inspect the blister. The dome, normally so clear as to be invisible, was smeared with Cramer’s handprints. A crimson shirt and flight pants wafted in currents of air. As Freddy gathered the clothes he felt something small and hard in the sleeve pocket of Cramer’s shirt. He unzipped the pocket and scooped out the brown bottle. Two tiny rocks floated inside. Freddy stuffed the bottle into his own pocket and gathered the clothes into a bundle.
They were in the rumpus room. Cramer, still sedated, was bound hand and foot with duct tape and secured with bungee cords to the rear bulkhead not far from Dan’s bonsai menagerie. A plastic helmet was tightly strapped under his chin to prevent him from injuring his head. Lorraine, Jaeckle, and Dan gathered in a circle near the centrifuge.
“You were treating him for what?” Dan asked.
Lorraine and Jaeckle looked at each other like game-show contestants deciding on the correct answer.
“Overwork,” said Jaeckle.
“Sleep disorder,” said Lorraine at the same time.
“Well, which is it?” Dan snapped.
Lorraine and Jaeckle each took a deep breath.
“He came to me several weeks ago complaining of bad dreams and an inability to sleep,” said Lorraine. “I told him he should cease exercising at least three hours before sleep time. The complaints seemed to disappear. Two weeks ago, he returned and demanded that I prescribe sleeping pills. I gave him a placebo and ordered him to report to me on a daily basis. He never did. When I confronted him, his reaction was testy.”
“Someone on the station was acting in this manner and you kept that information to yourself?”
“I didn’t,” said Lorraine. “I reported my observations to Professor Jaeckle as Cramer’s immediate superior.”
“That’s right, Dan,” said Jaeckle. “Dr. Renoir and I conferred at great length. I reviewed my records and discovered that Cramer had not been spending the required amount of R and R time in the observation blister. Instead, he had been working too hard on analyzing Martian soil samples. I relieved him of his research duties until he brought his blister time current. He was on his second two-hour stint in the blister when this happened.”