Bachelor on Mars Read online

  She climbed aboard, and the door shut behind her, making her jump. She had a panicked thought that maybe she was locked in here forever, but she placed that fear aside, taking the bag of tools from her backpack.

  How amazing would it be to spend days combing through an alien ship, unraveling the secrets of another race’s technology. She couldn’t believe her luck, getting to be the third human to experience this.

  The helmet was sitting beside the left-hand chair, looking much like Jack had described to her.

  She picked it up, studying it. Lights on it blinked twice in hello, almost as if the ship were telling her to put the helmet on.

  Curiosity welled up as she wondered what it would be like to try it on, but she ignored the building desire. She had to disable the ship and her gut told her that the quickest way to do that was to separate the helmet from the vehicle. That would keep Haxley from communicating with the ship, if that’s what he was doing.

  Although if the ship really was communicating with Haxley as Jack thought, severing the connection to whatever link it had into his mind might leave the old man injured as well.

  Studying the layout, she realized there wouldn’t be cables if the helmet could operate without them.

  She pulled the helmet out as far as it would go from the wall, lengthening the cables, studying them for any weaknesses. The wires were made of the same, hard, smooth plastic as the ship. There was no way to unscrew or unplug them from either the helmet or the hull.

  She tried pulling the helmet free from the wall. Bracing against the chairs, she leaned all her weight against it.

  They held firm, no sense of give at all.

  Which meant she had to chop them apart. She dug in her bag for an awl and a hammer. Placing the edge of the tool against the cord, she hit it as hard as she could. The awl slid off without making a dent.

  She sat back, staring for a long moment at the cord. Then reached for her blowtorch. It lit with a blue flame and the floor under her feet gave a small shiver, as if the ship didn’t like it. Which was dumb. The vehicle wasn’t alive. She put the flame to the cord.

  The ship rocked sideways, throwing her violently against the wall. The blowtorch fell, still lit, to the ground, sliding away from her.

  A loud whine filled the small space when the lit torch touched the floor, filling the space with a loud screech.

  “Okay! Okay!” she shouted. “Let me put it out.” She scrambled to flip the switch, extinguishing the flame.

  The noise stopped immediately.

  The ship was alive. And she’d hurt it.

  The thought was so amazing, so insane, that Margaret lay quietly on the floor, unable to do anything but puzzle out this crazy reality. Someone, somewhere far, far away, had built this ship and maybe flown it here.

  Or…birthed it.

  She shivered at the thought.

  But that was too farfetched for her scientific mind, so she decided it had been built and maybe the pilot had died, or had abandoned it, if Haxley was right and it was only able to fly at a reduced speed close to the ground. This sentient being had been left alone, unable to return to its home, stuck here. And she’d hurt it.

  Feeling remorse, Margaret patted the ship and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  It didn’t answer.

  She had to figure out what its intentions were, had to figure out how to separate it from Haxley for good and free the older man before he couldn’t be saved and descended completely into madness.

  For a few moments, she fought the idea, but really she knew she had no choice.

  Slowly, knowing she could be making an irreparable mistake, she put the helmet on.

  Jack peered through the small window he’d first seen Margaret through.

  Haxley was nowhere in sight.

  He opened the door and slid through.

  Pausing to listen, he heard footsteps coming from the living room, so he ducked around the corner to the side hall.

  Haxley entered, his movements jerky and agitated. “It has to be here,” he mumbled. He opened Jack’s map cupboard and began tossing the rolls out, ruining Jack’s carefully compiled collection.

  When that cabinet was empty, he opened the next one down and started throwing things from that.

  Jack backed slowly down the side hall, then, when he could no longer hear Haxley, went looking for the contestants. He hoped they weren’t dead already.

  For such a small space, he had to search for a while, because his first tour through the kitchen, his bedroom, and living room hadn’t turned up anyone. He went back to the closed storage door and threw back both locks. Opening it, he found them all squashed into the small space.

  The light came on when he opened the door, a feature he’d put in to make sure no unnecessary electricity would be wasted.

  Lynette opened her mouth, but he put his finger to his lips and she snapped it shut again. He leaned close. “Barricade yourselves into the kitchen. I’m going to try to talk Haxley down.”

  Lynette stepped out and started shooing the contestants toward the kitchen. “Good luck with that. The guy’s insane. Totally bonkers.”

  “Yeah,” Jack agreed, then nodded for her to go too. “Make sure they stay as silent as you can. You don’t want to draw his notice.”

  Russ stopped by his side. “Want me to be your backup?” Russ asked, jumping a bit on his toes like an overweight boxer getting psyched up for a fight.

  “Not right now. I may need you later.”

  Russ gave a worried nod and followed the others.

  Then Jack went to his bedroom and rummaged until he located some zip ties, stuffing them into his pockets.

  Going for simplicity, he figured he’d dive onto Haxley, knock the zoot gun out of his hands and tie him up. The old man was fast. He had to watch for that and not get shot again. Next time, he might not be so lucky. He picked up a chunk of basalt from his collection for luck and stuck it in his pocket.

  Then he returned down the side hall and inched around the bend.

  The sound of items crashing to the floor had him gritting his teeth. The old man was going to destroy his lab. He couldn’t see him, though, so he inched closer.

  Then closer still.

  He peered carefully around the corner.

  And looked right into the end of Haxley’s zoot gun.

  Shit.

  “I want your money, Jack. I’m not kidding around,” Haxley said.

  The mad light in his eyes told Jack he was in serious trouble. “Haxley, I swear. I have nothing. Really. You can check my bank balance.”

  The old man gestured Jack into the room with his gun. “Show me.”

  Jack walked to the console, his shoulder blades tingling. At any moment, Haxley might shoot him in the back. He tapped the screen and brought up his accounting software.

  Pointing to the balance, he said, “See? All I have left is what the show paid me.”

  Haxley growled, the sound feral. “That should have come to me! I have twice as much room at my station as you do. Picking Station 7 was short sighted.”

  Jack knew from what Margaret’s brother had told him that they didn’t want Haxley because they thought Jack had more television appeal, whatever the hell that was. But no way was he telling Haxley that. “I can give you their information and you can contact the producer. He’s a guy name Hank Carson. Or,” he said, warming to the idea of offloading Haxley onto Hank, “We can pitch a trip to Station 5 as one of the dates and tell them your fee. They want to have a bunch of locations where the contestants can be filmed out of their suits.”

  “Shut up,” Haxley said.

  Jack stopped talking, watching closely for an opening.

  “Transfer all your money into my account,” he ordered. “I want it all.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, wondering if he could just pretend to transfer it, but the old man was so paranoid, Jack didn’t think he could fake it. “What’s your account number?”

  “I,” the old man stumbled. “I
don’t know.” He seemed lost for a bit, then straightened. “We’ll have to go back to my station and—”

  The door to the courtyard opened and Margaret walked in.

  Haxley swung his gun around, but Jack chopped down on his hand, sending it flying across the room. It bounced against the console. Haxley jumped to retrieve it, but Jack tackled the older man, sending them both skidding into a set of cabinets, hitting with a tremendous bang. Rolling on top, Jack held the older man down with his knees in Haxley’s back.

  “That hurts,” Haxley moaned.

  Jack wasn’t falling for the old man’s tricks. He’d already been shot once for his trouble. “I’ll lighten the pressure if you stop fighting.”

  Haxley stilled, his breath heaving, and Jack used the opportunity to dig into his pockets for the zip ties. Then Jack wrestled the man’s hands together behind his back and secured a zip tie around one wrist.

  Without warning, Haxley fought like a demon, scrambling to get to his feet but Jack put all his weight on the back of Haxley’s knees. The man screamed in pain and stopped struggling instantly.

  Margaret dove in to help Jack put on the other zip tie, looping it through the one already secured on the other hand, then threading it into the catch and pulling tight.

  Margaret crouched down to meet the old man’s gaze. “Your ship is gone,” she informed him.

  Haxley stopped moving. “What?”

  “Your ship left.”

  “No, no, it wouldn’t leave.”

  “It did. I fixed it and it left,” she said.

  “No. That can’t be true. It wouldn’t leave me. You’re lying,” Haxley screamed, then started to cry.

  She patted his shoulder. “It said to tell you goodbye.”

  The old man cried harder, as if his heart was breaking, the sobs so pathetic, it hurt Jack’s heart to hear them.

  Jack crossed to the console and started fiddling with dials.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Station 5. Ellen might be stuck in the closet and if she is, we’ll need to get a rescue mission together to let her out.”

  But it turned out Ellen had gotten out of the closet without their help. She answered Jack’s call on the first ring, sounding relieved when Jack told her they had Haxley in lockdown.

  A loud bell started to toll.

  “Ellen, I’ll call you later. We have visitors,” Jack said, pressing buttons to cut the call.

  “What is that noise?” Margaret asked.

  “Your brother’s shuttle is landing. The biodome is warning of an incoming ship and it’s peeling back to allow entry. With the coms down, they had no ability to warn us they were going to land. Let’s stash Haxley in the storage closet and go meet them.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jack’s lab was filled to the brim with contestants, the Bachelor, the staff, the shuttle pilot, and Hank Carson, who stood grimly in the center of the room, listening to the whole tale unfold. He didn’t ask questions, just listened, a live Ken doll looking both fashionable and in command.

  “When I put the helmet on,” Margaret was saying.

  “That was a hell of a risk,” Jack said, interrupting her, his heart hammering with fear that she’d put herself in jeopardy like that.

  “I know. But the ship is alive and I couldn’t communicate with it any other way.”

  “Do we have film of this alien craft?” Hank asked.

  “We should,” Jack said. “I have video feeds set up so I can keep watch outside.”

  Hank gave a brisk nod. “Go on, Margo.”

  She winced at the name. “When I put on the helmet, it told me what was wrong with it. Well, showed me I guess would be a better way to describe it. A part had broken off, as if it had been sheared right through. It’s what had controlled the hyperdrive that allowed it to reach sonic speeds.”

  “Like it snapped off?” Jack asked, trying to reconcile that with what he’d seen in the ship. “Couldn’t it just make itself a new part?”

  “It told me it couldn’t. And the scene it showed me was of a bad man slicing it off on purpose, trying to ground the crew it had carried here on Mars.”

  “Did the man look human?”

  “Human-ish. It had a huge head though.”

  “I guess we aren’t the only race with our share of Haxleys.”

  “Then what happened?” Lynette asked.

  “I managed to attach it with duct tape. I told it that it might not stick, but when the two surfaces connected, a whole new panel lit up. And the ship rejoiced, because it could go home.”

  “Where is home, I wonder?” Jack’s imagination took off and for a few seconds, he was lost in the possibilities.

  “I didn’t ask it, but now I wish I had,” Goldie said. “I’m worried that a long journey will leave it stranded somewhere else, if the duct tape doesn’t hold.”

  “What happened after you fixed it?” Hank asked, his tone impatient.

  She shrugged. “I stepped off and it flew away. Just shot up into the air and was gone.”

  Jack found the video feed, rewound a bit, then let it play for Hank. The ship’s departure was fast and furious, it’s speed obviously restored. He’d been afraid of the ship, but now that it was safely away from him, he admired its sleek lines and amazing abilities. Jack wondered what the implications were now that alien life was confirmed.

  “Rewind and play it slowly.” Goldie leaned in and pointed. “See how there is no backwash from the engines? I was standing right beside it without any danger.”

  Jack rewound the footage and played it again.

  “What is the power source?” she murmured.

  “I don’t know.” Jack grinned, watching her expert mind take flight. “Wish it had stayed longer?”

  “You know I do. I wish I’d thought to ask it questions, but all either of us wanted was for it to leave, I think.”

  “Where’s Haxley?” Hank interrupted, losing interest in the ship.

  “Storage closet,” Jack answered, disappointed to see Goldie lose her train of thought. But he figured she’d spend the rest of her life thinking about what she’d seen. He knew he would.

  “Where he put us,” one of the contestants pouted.

  “I almost wet myself, we were in there for so long,” another said.

  Hank nodded, his face sympathetic. “You were all terribly brave.” He turned back to Jack. “I figure you owe me another ten days of filming.”

  “Wait, what?” Jack’s brain skipped at this declaration. Hank Carson needed to take his contestants and go. Well, everyone but Margaret. She could stay. But his tolerance for filming was at rock bottom.

  “Smith,” Hank said to the pilot. “You have to leave when?”

  “Three hours if we want to stay on schedule,” the man replied. “Any more time here and you’ll be charged for an extra day.”

  Hank hissed at that. “Okay, we have three hours to do three rose ceremonies, then we’ll send all the losers home.”

  Jack tried to calm his rising panic. “You can’t stay. I need you gone.”

  Hank was already turning away to organize his troops. “Not going to happen, Boyle. You signed an ironclad contract.” He swung back to point at Margaret. “You did, too.”

  Lynette waved her clipboard. “Their clothes have been destroyed.”

  “Then we’ll film in casual.” Hank clapped his hands. “Let’s move people. The clock is ticking.”

  Lynette stood mute for a moment, eyes narrowed at him as if Hank had plucked her last nerve. Jack secretly cheered. Then she turned on her heel. “I want all women in the kitchen for makeup on the double.”

  The ladies herded out.

  Lynette jerked her head. “Including you, Margo.”

  “Not a chance,” Goldie answered.

  “She hasn’t been voted off yet?” Hank asked, a little too incredulous for Jack’s taste.

  “No.”

  “And she’s not going to be,” the Bachelor said from where h
e still stood against the far wall.

  Hank rounded on him. “Why the hell not?”

  “You promised me I would get to choose.”

  “And you think you’d be happy with my sister? Are you insane? She’d make a horrible wife.”

  An angry wave rose over Jack. “Watch your mouth, Carson,” he said, menacingly. Jack imagined how good it would feel to drive his fist into Hank’s mouth. Must. Not. Hit. Goldie’s brother.

  Margaret’s heart fluttered at Jack’s old-school chivalry. “It’s okay.” She was still a bit high from fixing the alien ship. It was as if she’d spent her whole life waiting for that moment, like a surgeon who repaired a child’s heart. Because the ship had seemed like a child to her. Its emotions were simple. It hurt and it was lonely. It wanted to go home, where it would be safe and loved. It had spent too long here, time going on and on while it waited for one of its kind to find it. But it never did. She’d wanted so badly to help it. And she had.

  “No, it isn’t. In fact, an apology is in order,” Jack said, as if he really wanted to force Hank to give her one.

  Hank turned to Lynette. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked, confused.

  “You know what, Hank, it’s your sister and your choice for the bachelor. You figure it out. I’m going to run the girls through makeup.” She stomped away, clearly done with the whole thing.

  “I’m still waiting for you to apologize to your sister, Carson. She stuck her neck out to save all your cast and crew and doesn’t deserve your slander.” The Jack Boyle standing in the room was hard as nails and had a deadly edge to him.

  Hank studied Jack for a moment and must have concluded he was serious. He turned. “Margo, I’m truly sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

  She almost laughed at her brother’s plight. He never apologized when he could charm his way out of trouble. “I accept your apology, Hank,” she said, gravely. Because no matter what, she loved her brother and in the end, he’d sacrificed a lot to get her to Mars, risking his show in the process.