9. Mars’ day is very close to Earth’s: 24.6 hours. The morning sun was just above the horizon when we set out to refuel the Shepard. It took about an hour to drive the fuel plant to the ship and another hour to transfer the liquid oxygen and hydrogen into its fuel tanks. After refuelling we were supposed to do a thorough check of the Shepard’s systems, but that would have taken all day and I didn’t want to keep the alien waiting. We had an escape vehicle ready if need be. We would just have to hope it was in working order. A complete checkup could be done after our first encounter with the alien.
The SEV had reached the Hab on our return. Breakfast was eaten and final preparations made for our outing with hardly a word exchanged between us. Mission had sent me a list of mathematical Morse code tests to try on the alien with my torch, presuming of course that it could see light. I also had a radio beacon, modified to transmit bursts of noise in several frequencies at the touch of a button. If that didn’t work we would try hand signals with improvised batons—it had to be able to detect movement.
Our suit radios and helmet cameras were patched into the Hab and would transmit everything we said to Earth, who would receive it about a quarter of an hour afterwards, or a good deal later depending on whether the Orbiter satellite was overhead or not. Cloe of course would follow events without the time delay, but again only if the Terra Nova had direct radio line of sight either to the Orbiter or to the Hab.
“Anything else?” Dieter asked.
“No. Let’s go.”
The trip to the alien elevator would take about an hour in the SEV. The vehicle was open-topped, giving us a perfect view of the terrain around us. In the soft, rich morning light the beauty of this strange land became even more manifest. A layer of thin cirrus clouds streaked with salmon tints drifted across the western sky. The dawn rays, filtering at a low angle through the dust-laden Martian atmosphere, spread a blanket of subdued and yet glowing light over the mountains and the flat plain around us. It would have been worth an excursion just to see this splendour. Absorbed by the unearthly majesty of the surrounding vista I hardly noticed the slight bumps as the SEV rode over small rocks and pebbles on the ground. Dieter was driving. I wanted my attention undistracted when we neared our objective.
Our course was south-south-west. The alien craft was virtually on the line of the equator which ran through the southern end of the Echus valley. I punched the co-ordinates into one of the SEV’s two macrobinoculars and scanned the landscape before me. A winking crosshairs showed me where the alien should be. We crossed a slight depression, the bed of what had once been an ancient river, then crested a low rise—and there it was in the distance, about seven kilometres away. A small black dot, its elevator cord invisible at this distance.
“OK, I see it,” I said. “Straight ahead.”
As we progressed I kept the binoculars to my visor. Before long I could make out its shape: a slightly irregular oval tapering up to a point. Its surface was textured, but the texture was also irregular. After some time I was able discern a pattern to the surface markings and what looked like extrusions below it—landing legs? The pattern in the surface texture resolved itself into a series of interleaving lines—reinforcing struts?
“Stop.” I said.
We were about three kilometres off. The binoculars were at maximum magnification and their visual stabiliser was on, nonetheless I rested my elbows on the front safety bar of the SEV to steady my arms for as sharp a view as possible. I did not know why, but the hair was rising on the back of my neck. For a full five minutes I scanned the alien craft. It sat squat and motionless as if unaware of our presence.
Dieter took the other pair of macrobinoculars and focussed them on the alien. “What is wrong?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” I said.
My uneasiness did not abate, still there was nothing for it but to keep going.
At a hundred metres from the craft we stopped again. There was no doubt now. The thing looked like an enormous gourd, resting on six claw-tipped, stubby legs. The surface pattern looked like a layer of overlapping black leaves. From its top a dark thin cord rose up into the sky.
“I do not like it,” said Dieter.
“Me neither. Give me the torch.”
I stepped off the SEV and walked slowly towards the alien craft. At eighty metres I stopped and switched on the torch. So far it had given no sign it was aware we existed.
Blink…blink-blink…blink-blink-blink…
No response. I decided to try even numbers. Blink-blink…blink-blink-blink-blink…
Without warning the entity moved about a metre towards us on its legs, then stopped.
“Verdammte scheisse.” said Dieter. “It is alive.”
“How can it be?”
Dieter was standing beside me. “Look. It is a huge tardigrade. They can live a week in space and they are not even adapted for it.”
“Get back to the SEV,” I ordered.
I decided to start on odd numbers. Blink…blink-blink-blink…
No response.
Back to even numbers. Blink-blink…blink-blink-blink-blink…
Still nothing.
Then, again without warning, the creature began to walk towards me.
For a moment I tensed my muscles, ready for flight. It was an act of will to force myself to keep still. I hardly breathed as the thing approached with a queer rocking gait. The thought crossed my mind that it was not suited to Mars’ light gravity. At ten metres it stopped. A moment passed then, from its topmost point, the patterned layer of leaves began to peel outwards, like a suddenly flowering plant, bending back until their points rammed into the ground. One point buried itself into the dust barely three feet from me. I had just registered the fact that there was an inner layer of more lightly-coloured leaves when a sudden dizziness rose up within me, turning a second later into stupor and then unconsciousness.
I awoke, confused and amnesic. I was lying outside at an angle and in a seat. It took some seconds for me to register that I was in the SEV. My first instinct was not to move until I knew more. I twitched my fingers and toes. No apparent injury in arms or legs. I waited for my head to clear and the first signs of pain to appear from an injury, but as my consciousness sharpened the certitude grew that I was physically unharmed.
Slowly, feeling an odd sluggishness, I raised myself to a sitting position. From where I was all I could see was the rock-strewn ground in front of the SEV and the canyon walls in the distance. Eventually I felt sufficiently alert to descend from my seat and look around. Nothing. No sign of the alien, nor the Hab, nor Dieter. What had happened? Where was I?
First things first. I checked the time. It was twenty past ten, rather more than two hours since the encounter with the alien. Next, my oxygen supply. Low, about twenty minutes left, which implied there was a slow leak in my suit. Fighting down a stab of alarm I did a mental calculation. Yes, the Orbiter would be above the horizon. I restarted the SEV and switched on its NAV. The instrument took a few moments to calibrate with the Orbiter satellite and then co-ordinates appeared, accompanied by a small cross on a screen map. It took me ten full seconds to grasp the implication of what I saw.
I was at the landing site of the Shepard.
A wave of sheer horror and panic overwhelmed me. I could not think. I looked around again, willing in desperation for the ship to reappear: solid, safe, my ladder to the Terra Nova, to Earth, to life. I do not know how long it took for the certainty finally to penetrate my mind. The Shepard was gone and I was stranded on Mars beyond any hope of rescue.
I clambered back on the SEV and then got off it again. I walked around to the other side of the vehicle and gazed around, perhaps—I don’t know—hoping to see the ship in the distance somewhere. The worst thing about panic is that it flushes out rational behaviour, replacing it with an animal’s instinct for survival; by fighting, hiding or running. I had a whole planet to run across but nowhere to run to.
I don’t know how long I would have remained in that state of febrile helplessness had not a faint ping-ping warned me that I had fifteen minutes of oxygen left. I had to get to the Hab, now, or I would die. I stumbled back into the driver’s seat and crushed the acceleration pedal to the floor with my foot. At its top speed the SEV would reach the base in a quarter of an hour if it did not overturn first or smash a wheel on a rock.
Panic is fuelled by adrenalin which soon subsides after its first rush through the bloodstream. As the SEV rattled its way over the stony ground I was gradually able to begin thinking again. Calm down. Get your heart rate and your breathing back to normal. That will give you more time. It did not occur to me to try and contact anyone. With the Shepard gone there was nothing anyone could do to help me. For the remainder of my life I was on my own. There was nothing to do except concentrate on becoming calm again whilst I steered the SEV on as straight a course as possible for the Hab.
The Habitat was a speck growing in size when a continuous ping-ping started up in my headphones, a warning that I had five minutes oxygen left. Damn it, move, I hissed, and began to take slow, deep breaths to oxygenate my blood as much as possible before my supply gave out.
The first sign of a suit’s oxygen exhaustion is the sudden need to breath in more deeply and rapidly as the pressure in the suit starts dropping. As I slammed on the SEV’s brakes outside the Hab’s entrance hatch I was gasping, my lungs straining for more and more of an increasingly tenuous air. The panic was back but this time I forced it down, fighting a growing dizziness as I opened the entrance hatch and staggered into the airlock. I had just enough strength to close the hatch behind me, switch on the airlock’s air pressure feed and unseal my helmet, before I again passed out.
I was on a hard floor. The air was stuffy and my left elbow hurt. I moved my right hand across to feel it. No sudden sharp pain. Good, no broken bones. The stuffy air came from the poor oxygen diffusion from the airlock into my partially removed helmet. Pushing myself up against the airlock hatch I gripped the helmet and pulled it off. Ah. Sweet air.
Slowly, methodically, I worked my way out of my suit and lifted it onto its holding frame in the airlock wall. I then opened the inner hatch and stepped unsteadily into the living quarters of the Hab. My first instinct was just to sit at the communal table and gaze out the porthole. A slight wind had sprung up, raising a fine haze of dust that partly obscured the far canyon walls. The Martian equivalent of bad weather. Well, weather be damned. I had no intention of going out for some time, if ever. My world was now fourteen metres long and three metres wide. It was a world that had been designed to keep five people alive for two months, which meant, if everything kept working longer than it had originally been intended to, that I had perhaps ten months to live. Ten months was a long time. I would not think about the end of it just yet. First I had to find out what had happened.
Daily routine helps focus the mind. Little things like going for a walk, washing the dishes or feeding the cat can be the moments of one’s best inspirations or at least a source of mental stability. A stagnant brooding would get me nowhere. I needed to live by routine. Quitting my chair I made myself a cup of coffee with milk and sugar and resumed my seat. As I sipped it I did some thinking.
Had the alien creature attacked me? It had responded to my attempts to communicate with it by rushing me. No, that was not quite true. It had approached me, stopped a short distance away and opened what looked like an outer layer of leaves. If that had been a hostile move then why had it not simply crushed or impaled me then and there?
Why had I fallen unconscious? Had the alien exerted some sort of paralytic influence on my mind? That would perhaps explain its stopping short, pausing to render its victim inert before moving in for the kill. If that were the case then why was I still alive? It was obvious that Dieter had taken me back to the SEV and driven us clear of the alien. But any mental anaesthetic would surely have crippled him as well, leaving us both at the alien’s mercy. The more I analyzed it the less sense it made. What made the least sense of all was Dieter’s actions. I knew one thing for sure. He was already on the Terra Nova. I did not want to talk to him ever again, and it made no difference to my fate if I did, but I needed to find out what he was up to.
I stood up and moved over to the communication console. Flipping on the mike I hesitated a few moments before speaking. “Jason to Terra Nova. Come in.”
There was a pause, then Cloe’s face appeared on the monitor: “Mon Dieu, you’re alive.”
“Yuh. What’s your status?”
Another voice cut in. Dieter’s. “Jason?”
I was instantly alert. “Where are you?”
“He isn’t with me,” said Cloe, “I…”
Dieter cut her off. “Jason, listen to me. I am in the Shepard. Cloe has taken the Terra Nova into a higher orbit. I cannot match it with the fuel I have left. You must talk to her.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“Listen to me. You have to…”
“I said shut up.”
There was a silence.
“I want to talk to Cloe. You will keep quiet until I tell you to speak. Understood?” Dieter said nothing. “All right Cloe. What the hell is going on?”
“I…I don’t know…I…he said the alien had attacked you. You were in a coma. He’d taken you to the Shepard and lifted off before the alien could reach the ship. It’s just...I…”
“You didn’t believe him.”
“No.”
“What’s your current orbit?”
“Elliptical. Periapsis three hundred kilometres, apoapsis two thousand eight hundred. I have enough spare fuel to brake to an orbit he can reach.”
“Stay where you are. Don’t do anything until I say so. All right?”
“All right.”
“OK I’m going to talk to Dieter now.” I paused. “Right, what’s your story?”
It was a few moments before Dieter spoke. “That alien was coming for you, Jason.”
“Bullshit. It didn’t attack me. Tell the truth or we cease all communication.”
“Ja ja, gut. What I do is what I am trying to do in the beginning. I try to save Cloe’s life and my life. I cannot save three of us but I can save two.”
“And just how do you plan to do that?”
“Jason...think outside the box...for a minute. This is about time. It is not about place. When Ganymed hits Earth we must stay away from the Earth for at least a year until the rock and dust shell around it has gone. It does not matter where we are. We must just stay away.”
“What do you mean?”
“You cannot see? We do the burn as planned in two months’ time but our trajectory takes us into a lunar orbit. We stay by the moon until it is safe to return to Earth.”
“That’s too dangerous and you know it. Fragments from Ganymed will reach the moon. Mission ruled that plan out from day one.”
“If I put the ship into an orbit on the L2 Lagrangian point on the far side of the moon I can use it as a shield. It will block fragments flying straight out or pull them in with its gravity. But it works with two people only. Three people and there is not enough time.”
He was right. Give Dieter his due: he was an unequalled problem-solver.
“Why didn’t you run this past me?”
“Because I know you never agree to it. How would you decide who is the unlucky one? We draw straws? We fight? You think only to keep all your crew alive. You will never accept a plan that means one must die for the others. I had to make the decision by myself.”
“You didn’t have to do anything.”
“I do it anyway. Cloe will live, and I will live too if she wants it and you want it. Or are you my executioner?”
“That’s enough,” I said.
He ignored me. “I left you alive, Jason. You have food for a year. That is enough for a supply ship to reach you and a rescue ship to come afterwards. I did not kill you.”
“Don’t feed me eyewash. They have to send everything to Ganymed for as long as people think the bombs are going to work. By the time they build a supply launcher for me it’ll be too late and you know it. From now on I make the rules and the decisions. I ask a question you answer it. I say shut it you shut it. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Right. First question. Did you knock me out?”
“Yes. General anaesthetic syringe from the Hab’s medikit. I injected you through the suit while you try to communicate with that creature.”
“Why didn’t you leave me in the Hab?”
“The Orbiter was photographing us all the time. I needed to convince Cloe I had taken you on the Shepard. She had to see photos of the SEV going directly to the Shepard. If I could have left you in the Hab I would have done it. Also that creature was too, too...I wanted to get off Mars as quickly as possible.”
“Why didn’t you seal the puncture hole in my suit to give me a better chance? I nearly didn’t make it.”
“…sorry Jason. I did not think of it.”
Yeah, I had no difficulty believing that.
“That’s it for now. There will be no further communication between you and us until I come back on line. You will wait to hear from me and will not speak or message before that time. You hear?”
“Ja.”
“You have enough air for at least two days. I’ll make a decision about this by then. For now radio silence. Jason out.”
I switched the mike off but left the channel open. There was no way Dieter was going to do any talking to Cloe behind my back. He might try to message her instead but there wasn’t anything I could do about that. I leaned back in the console chair and gazed at the ceiling. What does one do in a situation like this? Dieter was an unrepentant murderer on the loose. I could not understand him but that was not my problem. Cloe was my problem. I was not a courtroom judge and could not make the decision to end Dieter’s life, but neither could I make a decision that would put her in his power. Twice she had thwarted him. They would be together, alone, for a year and a half. Who knew what he would do to her? On the other hand he was truly in love with her and did not, at least for the moment, wish her harm. He did not have a psychopathic or criminal background and had done what he did only out of a desperate desire to save himself and the woman he loved. I could not imagine him having any motivation to harm or kill her now that his objective was attained. Cloe was savvy enough to keep him stable until they returned to Earth. I imagined the US government would still be intact albeit battered by the time they finally got back. He would be taken into custody, unless he managed to land somewhere safe and obscure and make his escape…
I paused in my train of thought. Somewhere safe and obscure. I reached for the keyboard and typed out a message.
Cloe,
Send me everything you can find in the Terra Nova’s library on the exact extent and duration of the expected effects of an asteroid impact like Ganymed’s, in particular everything concerning asteroid ejecta that achieves escape velocity. Do this now. Remember, just data from the library. Don’t ask Mission for anything additional.
Do not communicate with Dieter until I’ve seen the material and got back to you. I’m beginning to have an idea about his story. Will tell you what I think later.
Jason
The reply came about four hours later. It took an additional hour of wading through the technical jargon, charts and mathematical equations for me to reach the relevant conclusion: rocks and dust particles thrown into space by the impact of the asteroid would not form a shell round the planet but would either fall back to the Earth or be dispersed through the solar system, some even leaving it. This would take place within a fairly short period of time, leaving the Terra Nova free to approach the Earth. Dieter’s story was garbage. All three of us could have returned to Earth, taken shelter on the far side of the moon for a couple of months, and then gone in for a landing.
It was true that there would be a dust layer in the air for up to a year, partially blocking the sunlight and inhibiting photosynthesis, but that would not prevent us re-entering the atmosphere. Dieter had wanted me dead for a different reason than an inability to keep me alive. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what that reason was. He wanted to make a getaway, to land somewhere where the local authorities would grant him asylum in return for what he could offer, which would be technical expertise and an inside knowledge of NASA. The Chinese would probably jump at it.
It is remarkable that one can spend years in close companionship with another human being and still not really know him. This new Dieter, cold-hearted and ruthless, was a stranger to me. I could not have imagined a few months ago what he would show himself capable of.
I sighed, deeply. I could not decide to end Dieter’s life or save it, but it was not my decision in any case. I leaned forward and began to type again.
Cloe, he plans to escape. China probably or somewhere he won’t be extradited. ******************* I know. ******************* What do you want to do? ******************* I don’t know. ******************* I’ve written to Trinny again. If you drop to low orbit and collect him you’ll be an accessory and face charges. They’re not going to allow it. ******************* You think I care about that? He killed Tessa and Domingo but I can’t become like him, ever. ******************* You won’t be murdering him but I understand. I’m not going to lay down the law. Think about it for a while before you decide what to do. Keep in touch. ******************* Thanks Jason.
I switched on the mike. “Dieter?”
“Jason? You are there?”
“I have a message for you, from the President of the United States. It was suggested that I just send you a copy but I prefer to read it. You’re listening?”
“…go ahead.”
“Here it is:
“‘Executive Order 16125 of December 24, 2047.
“‘By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America,
“‘I, James D. Pearson, conclude that the actions of Dieter S. Gerhardt are criminal, namely the wanton murder of his fellow crewmembers, Domingo Suarez and Tessa Suarez, and the abandonment to certain death on the Martian surface of his commander, Jason Montague, even though all three surviving crewmembers could have made a safe return to Earth. No reasons offered by Dieter Gerhardt for his actions constitute any mitigation of their criminal nature.
“‘In consequence I hereby order as follows:
“‘Under no circumstances is Dieter Gerhardt to be admitted on board the Terra Nova. Such admittance will be construed as aiding and abetting the escape of a dangerous criminal. The legality of this Executive Order has been confirmed by the Supreme Court in session and is effective as of 12.01, eastern standard time, on December 24, 2047.
“‘James D Pearson
“‘The White House
“‘December 24, 2047.’”
There was a long silence, then Dieter spoke. “You cannot do this, Jason.”
“I’m not finished yet. Further orders have been given to Cloe. She is to switch off her comm link for the next seventy-two hours and communicate with Mission Control or myself by text alone. She is not to open or reply to any message from you during this time period. At the end of this conversation I will cease all verbal communication with you. You may send me any text messages you wish passed on to Mission Control, but I will not reply to any message directed at me.”
“Jason, verdammt...”
“I have one last thing to say. If you have any faith in God, now is the time to lean on it. I did when we were landing. You have nowhere else to turn. Think about it.”
“Damn you.”
“That’s the end my communication. Jason out.”
I stretched forward and switched off the mike. I had one last thing to do: send a photographed copy of Pearson’s Executive Order to Dieter.
For two days he sent me message after message, pleading, berating, promising. Cloe could not make the return trip alone. He was willing to stand trial. He had a right to stand trial. He deeply regretted what he had done. He was ready to do anything asked of him. I ignored them all, passing on the three directed at his lawyer, the German Chancellor and the President. I received no reply from any of them.
Early afternoon of the second day I received a message from Cloe.
I will save him. ******************* OK. What’s your fuel situation? ******************* Tight. I can’t reach him where he is but if I get as close as I can he can just reach me and leave us enough fuel to return to Earth. ******************* And the moon? ******************* Yes. This factors it in. We stay on the far side of the moon as long as possible then return to Earth. ******************* Good luck. ******************* You think so?
An hour later I received a ping from the comm speakers. Moving over to the monitor I opened the inbox.
Jason, his ignition failed. Same problem as you had when you landed but the manual override didn’t work this time. ******************* Can he fix it? ******************* No. Two boards’ chips were malfunctioning. He thinks defective manufacture. Now they’ve completely died and he can’t replace them. He’s told me to match his orbit and get him. ******************* Under no circumstances do you do that. Then you both die. ******************* He says he can solve the fuel shortage. ******************* Bullshit, he can’t. You stay where you are. Switch your comm link on but don’t say anything. I’m going to talk to him.
“Dieter. What’s the status with the boards?”
“Jason? I cannot fix them.”
“Can you jury rig something to replace them?”
“Not possible. I need the spares in the Hab. Cloe must come to me. I’ll work out a solution to the fuel problem after that.”
“Cloe is staying where she is. If she drops to your orbit you won’t have enough fuel to get back to Earth and there’s no way of working around that.”
“Jason…”
“Shut up and listen. I was prepared to let her save you if that was her choice but there’s no damned way she’s going to kill herself just to give you a few more months. There’s one of us who will survive what you’ve done and that’s her, understood?”
“It is not your decision.”
“Yeah. I’m stuck on Mars and I’ll be dead in a few months but I’m still the mission commander. Cloe, I’m giving you a formal order. You stay put until I tell you to move. No more coms with Dieter. Switch off your comm link now.”
“Was?” said Dieter, “Cloe, you…”
But I had turned my own comm link off. After that was done I left the console seat and flopped down on my bunk. See you soon, I thought.
Then another thought occurred to me. It was Christmas Eve. God’s birthday. Peace to all mankind. Life does have its little ironies.
10. I don’t know exactly when Dieter died. The human body’s consumption of oxygen is variable, depending on the metabolism, health and psychological state of the individual. About halfway through the following day Dieter’s messages ceased. I sent a communication to Cloe, telling her to keep radio silence for an additional twelve hours. I wanted to be sure Dieter was dead or unconscious.
During this time I saw nothing of the alien. A message from Cloe confirmed that it was still in the same place. It seemed to be waiting for me to make the next move. Well, one thing at a time.
I stepped outside once, after receiving a particularly desperate message from Dieter. It was the morning of Christmas Day and the strain was telling on me. I had done nothing in the Hab except mark time and watch videos, eventually switching to reading. For no other reason other than the fact that it was Christmas, I began to read the Gospels, just the first chapters concerned with the birth of Christ.
Luke, I found, supplied the fullest details. As a child I had had a vaguely Christian upbringing, which consisted of going to church on Sunday morning and being relieved when I got out of it an hour later. Nothing had stuck except the conviction that there was perhaps a God up there, but not one who had anything to do with me personally.
Now, without quite understanding why, my interest was up. As I read through Luke’s account my sceptical cast of mind gradually gave way to a feeling of envy. Zechariah, Elizabeth, Mary herself, were joyous, no, exultant, at the conviction of a Messiah who would save them and their people. I did not think they fully grasped what the salvation would consist of, nonetheless mixed with the idea of a political liberation there was something deeper. Zechariah, who had started out as the good, old sceptic, was a different man by the time his son John the Baptist was born. One passage in particular had a strange effect on me:
‘And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people in the forgiveness of their sins, through the tender mercy of our God, when the day shall dawn upon us from on high to give light to those who sit in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.’
To give light to those who sit in the shadow of death. I had a peculiar sensation that the words had been written for me and me alone. I shrugged it off. There was no way a Greek writer from the first century could ever have had the suspicion that two thousand years later an astronaut from a continent he had never heard of would be trapped on a distant planet he knew only as the god of war. Nonetheless the words stayed in my mind.
I stood at the top of the airlock stairway and gazed out at the Martian dawn. It was beautiful but strange, and in its strangeness was hostility. A blue sky on the horizon and a salmon sky overhead. The dawn could never have appeared like this on Earth. It was not my world. It was not anybody’s world. It was just a foreign, dead place that would at best tolerate the odd visitor. I needed to leave it and I was here to stay, and now I was completely alone. The alien elevator had ascended back to its mother ship the previous night. I did not know if it would ever return.
The following morning I switched on the comm link and paged Cloe. Five minutes later she appeared.
“Were you asleep?” I asked.
“Yes. I took sleeping pills. Double dose. I’m fine now. What’s happening?”
“Nothing, which I think means it’s over.”
There was a pause. “Did I do the right thing?”
“You did the only thing you could. Did he send you any messages after I spoke to him?”
“Yes, but I didn’t open them.”
“Do you want to read them now?”
“No. I deleted them as soon as I got them then emptied the recycle bin. The technicians can get them off the hard drive if they want but I’m not interested.”
“I am sorry Cloe.”
“I’m sorry for you. He has killed you. You will die just like he died only it’ll take longer. I do not regret his death. I just regret that I was the one who had to let him die.”
“Easy girl, you just carried out orders.”
“Fine. I regret I was the one who had to carry out the orders. That makes me feel much better.”
There wasn’t really much I could say to that.
“What now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe make a start on the drilling project. It’s a pity to come this far and not do at least the most important experiments. How’s the alien?”
“No change since it went back up.”
“I’m not surprised. They must think we’re crazy. What’s its ship doing?”
“Nothing. It’s keeping to its geostationary orbit. It might try coming down again.”
“Possible.”
“If it does what will you do?
I rested chin on palm. “I guess pay it another visit. Just that I don’t know what to expect. Last time it looked like it wanted to turn me into a kebab. Maybe that’s alien etiquette.”
“It terrified you.”
“I suppose it did.”
“That doesn’t mean it wanted to kill you.”
“Well I’m not keen on finding out. The thing is huge. It could make mincemeat of me and the SEV if it wanted to.”
Cloe did not speak for a few moments. “Jason.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to go.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you could send the SEV with a flashlight linked to remote control. You communicate with it and see what it does. If it attacks the SEV, well, tant pis. If it doesn’t attack you can think what to do next.”
“Clever girl. I like it. It goes on file as plan A.”
“I’ll watch its ship. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
“You do that. Send Houston a sitrep too. I’ll check with Trinny what he wants me to start with. I’ll get back to you later.”
“OK. Out.”
A video came from Houston about an hour later. Trinny’s face appeared on the monitor, distraction showing in his normally impassive face.
“What can I say? I got the report from Cloe. You’re to be commended for doing what had to be done. I put you up for a citation but no-one seems too interested right now. Rumour’s getting around about the bombs. So far it’s deniable but the mood is becoming jittery.
“If at all possible try to establish contact with the alien entity. We need to know if we have any kind of option there. Wait a while and see if it drops its elevator to the surface again. If not Cloe will have to approach its vessel with the Terra Nova. I know you were against that idea but the situation has changed. We have to try everything we can. If nothing happens over the next month then I’m ordering Cloe to match orbits and attempt to communicate with it. She’ll use light signals as you did with the SEV. The orbiter’s tried every radio frequency on it and so far no response. You’d think the damn thing would know about radio.
“Do the experiments Jason. We need to give the public something positive. Start with the drilling. If you find water it’ll be a real plus. The mission will have been a success in one of its main objectives. Finding life would be first prize. Keep up the AV documentation. The more feed you can supply the better.
“We’re looking at a recovery mission to get you back home. It’s on the drawing board right now. Once I have something definite I’ll let you know. In the meantime keep to the same regime you’ve been on up to now. Don’t lose hope. I’ll kick all the butts I have to but I’ll get you home. Keep in touch. Trinny out.”
Great. Thanks Trinny. There’s nothing you can do and we both know it, but I appreciate the gesture.
That night I began to feel the weight of my solitude for the first time. Before then I had been completely absorbed in the drawn-out agony of Dieter’s fate. His imminent demise had made my own exile seem sweet in comparison, or rather, I hardly thought of my situation whilst preoccupied with his.
Now it came home to me with leaden certitude: a tiny habitat originally designed to function for only two months was all that stood between me and an environment in which one took little more than a minute to die. Theoretically my supplies would keep me alive for nearly a year, but who knew how long the life support systems would function after their sell-by date? My life hung at the end of a chain of which the links were delicate, brittle, and eroding away. I could count every day as an uncertain blessing. As I lay sleepless in my bunk I began to wish that this race against death, already lost, would end soon, and quickly. As I’ve said before, pure survival is bad for the psyche.
As I tossed and turned I had no desire to quit my bunk and do something to distract my mind. Depression was upon me and depression kills initiative. Watch another video? No, the thought repelled me. Read something? Not that either. My mind drifted to the Christmas tale I had been reading in the Gospels. Christ born among men. Emmanuel. God amongst us, filling those who saw him with a strange joy.
Where was he now? I was as far away from Bethlehem as it was humanly possible to be, but I could have been right there beside the manger and it would have made no difference. This God of human contact was not a God I knew or could have anything to do with. At best I could imperfectly comprehend the state of mind of those who did know him. The God I knew was a remote one, virtually an abstraction. I could take no comfort from him. The dawn was approaching when I finally fell into a fitful and troubled sleep.
The Echus Chasma is part of the vast Valles Marineris, a system of chasmata, or valleys with steep sides and flat floors, stretching a quarter of the way around the planet’s circumference, in places deeper than Everest is high. A cataclysmic rupturing of the planetary crust formed it a billion years ago, releasing underground water that burst to the surface and created a series of flow patterns still easily discernible. The Echus Chasma was chosen as landing site partly because it offered the best hope of underground water fresh enough to support life.
No-one knows for certain what dried up the surface water. The best theory is that Mars’ lighter gravity allowed the solar wind to strip the atmosphere off into space, removing with it the greenhouse effect that had kept the surface warm enough to allow water to flow as a liquid. There are problems with the theory, not the least being how Mars could have formed a thick atmosphere in the first place.
The bottom line was that although there was no chance of finding living organisms on the surface there just might be something beneath it. I wasn’t too optimistic, but my job was not to be an optimist, just to act like one. Liddle said it perfectly in Flight of the Phoenix: A man needs only one thing in life. He just needs someone to love. If you can’t give him that, then give him something to hope for. And if you can’t give him that, give him something to do.
Working on Mars is difficult. It is easier to lift heavy objects in the lighter gravity, but my space suit slowed movement right down. A suit is clumsy and I had to be careful. One sizeable tear and I would die. So I took things slowly, especially as I could rely only on myself in an emergency.
It took two days to set up the drill rig and a further two before it was ready for drilling. The rig itself was a tripod structure about three metres high, supporting a self-motorised drill that could penetrate up to a hundred metres below the surface. If Mars had a water table I would find it.
Documenting the whole business for popular consumption was the real problem. I could shoot only so much footage of the drill and the packing cases and the sample boxes and the control panel. I gave AV reports on my progress in the Hab, but it wasn’t enough. Finally I was able to tie the video camera to the SEV and film myself working on the rig. That with a voice-over commentary gave Trinny what he wanted.
The drill site was about ten minutes by SEV from the Hab. For two weeks I drove to it and worked a four-hour morning shift, returning to the Hab to eat lunch and recharge my suit’s oxygen supply before going out for another four-hour shift in the afternoon. I would have done a third shift but Trinny was categorical: fatigue would make me dangerously clumsy. I didn’t argue with him. As it was my routine tired me out.
Despite my weariness I stuck to it because it was the only thing that helped me forget my situation. Work buoys up a man’s spirit even when there is no reason for the buoyancy. I kept myself busy in the Hab when not at the drill site, processing and transmitting the drill data, discussing with Mission the best angle for the next drill, talking with Cloe. When I lay down each night I fell asleep almost at once and did not dream.
After two weeks I still had not found water. Worse, I was running out of drill units. A drill unit is composed of a bit and a small motor. Once it had drilled into the rock the drill unit was supposed to return to the surface along with the sample tube by reversing its drill rotation, but it isn’t an exact science and drills broke or got jammed in the rock. That evening I discussed it with Cloe.
“I’ve got three units left. Two more days and that’s it.”
“What will you do?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m in the wrong place. Don’t know where else to look though.”
“Maybe you try the middle of the Echus floor. The water might have gathered there below the surface.”
“Doubt it. The valley floor’s flat. The water wasn’t more than a couple of feet deep when it flowed. It must have seeped in evenly. If I don’t find it here there’s no reason I’ll find it anywhere else.”
“I say move and try once. If it doesn’t work then move again.”
“Good idea as any. Any developments with the alien ship?”
“No. Nothing.”
“How’re you bearing up?”
“I’m OK. I have plenty to do and I get messages all the time from Earth. It helps keep my mind off...the situation.”
“Yeah. Sorry Cloe, I’ve let myself get wrapped up in the drilling. Should’ve asked you a long time ago.”
“It’s OK Jason. I’d rather talk about the drilling.”
With no better plan I upped sticks and relocated the drill site to some five kilometres away, nearer the north canyon walls of the Echus. Three days later I was drilling again, with as much success as before. I had gained experience and took every precaution, but three days after that I was down to my last drill and still no trace of water. Nothing for it but to move somewhere else and make a final attempt. I sent Mission a message asking for the green light. The reply came back in the affirmative.
The valley walls at this point were about two thousand metres high, dropping at a steep angle to the valley floor. From time to time huge boulders were loosened by the eroding slopes and rolled to the bottom, leaving irregular trails in the dust. Some of the bigger boulders made it to the valley floor. I set up my drill near one of these, a round rock nearly the height of a man. There was no particular reason for drilling at this spot other than a vague hope that water from the plateau above the valley might have collected here.
Setting up the rig was a slow and laborious job, but I took even more time over it than usual, partly from a fear of breaking something in my last attempt to find water, and partly from the knowledge that this was my last attempt. The principal business of my mission would be concluded once the last drill had been driven underground. From then on I would have less to do. The shadow of death would start looming closer.
By mid-afternoon of the third day everything was ready. I checked the installed drill bit one final time, then programmed the drill depth, turned to the camera and said ‘This is it. Last attempt,’ and pressed the Start button. A slight vibration of the control panel told me the drill was working. I couldn’t hear anything. Sound hardly carries in the thin Martian atmosphere and my suit would have blocked any faint noise from the drill motor. I waited. Drilling to test depth takes time: I could have left the rig and returned the next day to check for results, but I still had plenty of air and wasn’t inclined to leave just yet.
Forty minutes later the drill reached its programmed depth and stopped. A few moments passed then suddenly, without warning, the head of the drilling tube blew clean off and a powdery white shower spouted up into the air. “Good God,” I uttered, staggering back a few steps. The powder fell on my suit, collecting on my visor and obscuring my vision. I turned around and lurched away, wiping my visor with a gloved hand. Once clear I stopped and turned around. All about the rig the ground was gleaming with the first snowfall on Mars in untold millions of years. I gazed at the fountain for a few moments then spread my arms and did an impromptu bounding jig. I had found water at last.
I had enough time to collect a few samples of snow before a low air supply obliged me to head back to the Hab. I could not take them into the Hab itself. The quarantine procedure was stringent: any alien organisms still potentially alive were not to enter the crew’s living space. It was highly unlikely that Martian bugs would prove dangerous to humans. Viruses and bacteria that live on the human body were especially adapted to do so, which is why nearly all micro-organisms that could infect humans were harmless to animals and vice versa.
But NASA had decided to take no chances. I stored samples in a special compartment outside the Habitat then spent fifteen minutes in a complete vacuum in the airlock, after which my suit was showered with recyclable water that had been chemically treated to kill anything living.
I had not yet told Cloe of my discovery as the Terra Nova had been below the horizon and out of radio range. Once in the living quarters I checked the time and switched on the AV comm link. I sent a call beep and waited for her face. After a few seconds she appeared on the monitor.
“Cloe, I’ve done it. Found water. It came out all over the place. Nearly blinded me.”
“That’s wonderful, Jason.”
“A flipping Texan gusher. If there’s any chance of life it has to be there somewhere. My only problem is stopping it. It blew the rig head right off. I don’t know how I’m going to fix it. It should freeze shut eventually. Problem is testing it. I’ll do what I can outside but I think we’ll have to get Mission’s OK to test a few samples in here. Hell, what’s the difference? Might as well learn what I can. If we pick up life that will make everything worth it.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I do. The first human to discover a living organism on another planet. It’s an achievement, Cloe. It’ll change everything we think about the universe. Life is everywhere. I can be happy with that.”
“Maybe you can be happy with more than that.”
“What d’you mean?”
Cloe leaned forward, and I finally noticed the brightness in her eyes.