Losing Mars

by Peter Cawdron

  “Opening the hatch.”

  Nope.

  Instead, the Redstone creeps to within a few meters of the Huŏxīng Wu, approaching its bell-shaped engine. I line the nose cone of the Redstone up with the engine, nudging the vessel. A shudder runs through the Redstone, but as there’s no atmosphere, there’s no sound to record, no evidence of metal grinding against metal. Slowly, I increase the thrust, pushing the Huŏxīng Wu toward Phobos. No one can ever examine this craft. It has to be destroyed, along with the alien artifact inside.

  “I have her… I have Hedy… Shepard, this is Redstone. Do you read me? Over… I have her. I’ve got her.”

  The onboard flight computer will have recorded everything in exact detail, including this maneuver, betraying my ruse, but I have no intention of bringing up anything but the most basic radio comms. No historical flight data, just enough to get us back to Earth. Some data might slip through automatically, especially in regards to life-support, but none of the voluminous data detailing flight operations will go outbound. That’s normally downloaded back on Earth.

  On reaching Earth, there’s no way NASA will risk reentry with the damaged heat shield on the Redstone. They’ll send up an Orion for us and this craft will tumble into the atmosphere, burning up, destroying the electronic evidence. Even if the flight recorder was to survive, it’ll plunge into the sea at Point Nemo, the sunken graveyard used for de-orbiting spacecraft safely. It’s the most remote point in the South Pacific, midway between Chile, Antarctica, and New Zealand.

  I bring the thrust up to ten meters per second before pulling back and leaving the Chinese vessel to tumble toward the surface of the moon. It’s not overly fast—a speed like this wouldn’t even make the 100M finals in the Olympics, but it’s enough to knock the Huŏxīng Wu on a collision course with Phobos. Because there’s no atmospheric resistance, the Chinese craft will continue to accelerate under the pull of gravity before making a nice fresh crater on the surface.

  “Closing the hatch.”

  It was never open. The data recorder knows, but it’ll never tell.

  “Pressurizing.”

  Okay, enough of the theatrics. I bring the Redstone around, setting the computerized navigation system to settle into a parking orbit one hundred meters from the Schiaparelli supply module.

  “And cameras off.”

  Cameras are now on and wiping over the previous records. I remove my helmet, positioning it in the storage area with a cargo net, directing it at the unconscious astronauts. Right about now, I’d love to get Jen on the line for some medical advice, but I can’t risk my suit’s automatic backup kicking in and streaming my video recording before it’s been wiped. I remove my gloves but not my suit. It’s a convenient way of ensuring my wrist pad computer remains powered and the camera keeps running. I’m trying not to be conscious of the video capturing my motion, but I can’t help talking to myself.

  “Environmental controls off.” I open Hedy’s faceplate, having powered down her suit’s life-support. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this one away. Hedy and the taikonauts should have run out of oxygen easily twelve to eighteen hours ago. Somehow, the alien collection system placed them in suspended animation, preserving their suit consumables.

  Will anyone believe my comment about Hedy salvaging oxygen cylinders from the Chinese vessel? I doubt any of the valves are compatible. God damn it, I hate lying. My cover story is clumsy. Conspiracy theorists are going to burn holes in my account, and for once, they’ll be right.

  I pull off her gloves, leaving them somersaulting beside me as I push her suit sleeves up her arms.

  “Gonna get some fluids in you.”

  I retrieve an advanced medical pack and unravel a length of plastic tubing along with an IV port. In the weightless environment, things go floating everywhere, including me. I clip my feet beneath a handhold set beside the cockpit seats, leaning upside down above Hedy. After rummaging through the medi-kit, I madly swap IV packets between my hands, turning them over and trying to distinguish between them.

  “Isotonic saline solution, lactate ringer, or 5% dextrose?”

  I grit the tubing between my teeth as I read the various instructions and disclaimers. Shit. Everything’s bad. Everything’s good.

  “Saline solution. Good for dealing with shock and resuscitation, but what the hell is hypo-natremia? This stuff is bad for heart failure, edema and hyper-natremia. Well, of course it is!”

  I settle on standard saline, tapping the back of Hedy’s hand, slapping her skin and provoking a vein.

  “Come on, Hedy. Work with me.”

  I pinch her skin, slipping the needle in and fixing it in place with some tape. Drops of red blood float through the air. I leave them. Too much going on. It would be really nice to have Jen whispering in my ear, and in my imagination, she comforts me, telling me I’m doing great. Ah, sweet delusion.

  I bleed the air out of the plastic tube, squeezing the IV bag and forcing fluid down it in the absence of gravity. A glob of saline solution forms at the end of the plastic, on the verge of floating away but held in place by the fluid’s surface tension. Carefully, I push the tube in place, fixing it to the port on the back of Hedy’s wrist. There’s no sense in hanging up an IV bag in zero gee, but NASA has provided us with tiny motors that have a bearing that turns, repeatedly compressing the tube, keeping pressure on the line. I set that up and attach a medical monitor. Her heartbeat, respiration and blood pressure are all low, but stable. Thankfully, there aren’t any erratic patterns. Whatever the alien tech did to her, it’s suppressed rather than damaged her body.

  Time to repeat the process for each of the taikonauts.

  “Florence Nightingale never had it so good.”

  Within twenty minutes, there are eight gloves, including mine, drifting around the cabin, bouncing into each other, but I’ve got three drips going. Three heartbeats. Everyone’s breathing.

  “Make good choices,” I say to myself before realizing that was recorded. I’m left wondering what those back in Houston will think of that cryptic comment when they hear it in the days, weeks, months, years and even decades to come.

  I hate lies. The problem with lies is every detail has to be remembered and recalled with precision. For a lie to be effective it has to be self-consistent. No contradictions. Apparently, I’m able to keep this up for at least fifty years, although already I’m having my doubts.

  Is this really the right course of action? I feel as though it’s the only option. It seems to me any other decision ends with humanity squabbling over technology thousands of years more advanced. It would be like giving the Roman emperor Caesar the blueprints for a nuclear bomb. It might take him and his philosophers some time to figure it out, but once they realized what was at stake, they’d dedicate themselves to the task. The advent of nukes would ensure Rome never lost a war. Good for Rome. Bad for everyone else. Given it was the arabs that invented concepts like algebra, the idea of zero, and magnifying glasses, one of which Galileo eventually turned skyward, that would have been horrific for humanity. That one advance in one area would suppress all others.

  I’m watching the clock. Nine hours to go. I can’t wait to fire up the radio again. I’m exhausted, tired, drained, but I’m determined to push ahead regardless of fatigue.

  I activate the docking sequence, bringing the Redstone in next to the Schiaparelli and allowing the computer to bring the two vessels together as one. It’s a victory of sorts. Nature catches up with me, and try as I may, I can’t keep my eyes open. I fall asleep strapped in the commander’s seat, awkwardly wearing my bulky spacesuit, docked with the Schiaparelli, with the cameras still running.

  The last thought to run through my mind is a sense of turmoil. Telling the truth would be the easiest option. As it is, I’m condemned to defend a lie for the rest of my life.

  Lies

  I wake as sunlight streams in through the cockpit windows. As a night in orbit is barely four hours long, I’m not sure quite how
long I slept. I look at the time elapsed. Thirteen and a half hours since I lifted off from Phobos. Time to stop my helmet camera and preserve at least some footage.

  I release the clip holding me in my couch and check on Hedy and the others, changing their IV bags. The two Chinese astronauts are still deep under, but Hedy’s restless. Pumping fluid into her has kick started her internal organs.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “Can you hear me?”

  No response.

  Although I’ve removed all of their gloves, I’ve left their helmets on in case there’s any kind of emergency decompression and I need to get them sealed in their suits. Hedy’s still got her snoopy cap on. I’m not sure where mine is. I reach inside her helmet, releasing the chinstrap. There’s no need to remove the cap as such, leaving it to float free from her head will be relief enough.

  I let her rest, and remove the cover to the control panel. Time to bring communications back online. Once the radio array is aligned, I switch to VOX or Voice Operated Transmission. I’m not too sure VOX is an acronym like everything else within the Redstone as the X doesn’t seem to stand for anything in particular. In Latin, vox means voice. Perhaps it snuck in as a pseudo-acronym.

  “Shepard, Redstone... Shepard, this is Redstone. Can you hear me? Are you receiving me? Over.”

  Oh, hot damn, for them, this is a voice from the grave. Last they heard from me, I’d crashed on Phobos. I hate to think what Jen’s been through, and I feel bad not making contact sooner, but I couldn’t risk footage from the surface being backed up by the relay station at Shepard.

  “Shepard... Redstone.”

  The team on the surface may not be responding, but Hedy is. Her eyes flicker.

  “Oh, there you are.” I push off the side of the vessel, sailing over next to her. “Easy.”

  Her arm reaches for me. She tries to speak but her voice is croaky.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re onboard the Redstone. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Hey, that’s not a lie. I’m quite pleased about that one—I know that for sure.

  She squeezes my hand. I float next to her, pulling at the cargo straps I’ve used to hold her in place. “Hang on. Let’s get you out of there, huh?”

  “Cory… How the...”

  I smile, unsure what to say in response. I’d like to give her a short, sharp answer but I feel as though if I say something now, some long rambling pseudo-explanation is going to unwind in a cacophony of confusion.

  “Is this real?”

  She’s remembering at least some of what happened to her. I grin, saying, “Oh, this is as real as it gets.” Funny, but as those words drift from my lips, I realize they’re my defense. She thinks everything that happened was an illusion, a hallucination.

  Hedy looks around, but her helmet restricts her view.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” I say, handing her the IV pump and releasing the clips on her helmet. “Slow movements.”

  “I—I feel like I’ve been through hell.”

  “You have.”

  “The Chinese?” She sees them. She’s clearly surprised by how much time she’s missed.

  “Oh, yeah. Found them on the surface.”

  “Of Phobos?” She’s alarmed. “You—You went down there?”

  “I crashed down there!”

  “You crashed?”

  I laugh. “Oh, you have no idea…” I stow her helmet.

  “And Shepard?”

  “Still trying to raise them.”

  Hedy folds forward in response to cramps seizing her stomach. I hold her shoulder, wondering if she’s going to be sick. “Easy.”

  She doesn’t respond. She’s still coming around. I give her some space, holding onto a rail by the hatch as I try to raise Shepard again, checking settings on the radio as I broadcast.

  “Shepard. This is Redstone. Come in. Over.”

  There’s a sheepish, “Cory?” in response.

  Hedy and I look at each other, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, Shepard. Damn, it’s good to hear you.”

  “Cory. What the… How the hell? Where are you?” It’s Lisa.

  “In orbit. Docked with the Schiaparelli.”

  As her voice softens slightly, it’s apparent she’s turning away from whatever microphone she’s using down there and yelling through the module, “Scott. Jen. Susan. Quick! Come quickly!”

  I wink at Hedy, speaking clearly for the microphones within the cabin as I say, “Hey, Lisa. I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.”

  “What? No.”

  Hedy’s voice is weak. “Hi, Lisa.”

  Lisa chokes up as she talks. “Hedy? Is it… Is it really you?”

  “It’s me.”

  Lisa screams with delight, which takes both Hedy and I by surprise. I feel as though I can see the tears streaming down her cheeks as she yells into the microphone. “Oh, my God! Hedy! I thought I’d lost you. I thought you were dead!”

  “I know. I know.” Hedy wipes her eyes. She has to because in zero gee, tears will simply pool by her tear ducts.

  Jen comes on the channel.

  “Cory? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, babe. I’m here.”

  “What the? How?”

  And so it begins, the torrent of lies. I’m not sure what to say first, but Scott cuts in on the conversation.

  “Hey, buddy. We’re getting audio, but no video. Can you stream?”

  “Working on it. The Redstone took a bit of a hammering down there. Still trying to get systems back online.”

  That’s kinda true, kind of a lie.

  With that, Jen’s question is glossed over—for now. There will be plenty of time for a debrief later. I’ve got to get my story straight and stick to a limited range of facts. I can’t afford any chinks in the armor.

  “Oh,” I say. “Can you guys relay a message from us to Houston?”

  “Sure. What do you want us to tell them?”

  I smile at Hedy, pausing slightly as I say, “Kirk to Enterprise. We have four to beam up!”

  The End

  Epilogue

  It’s been fifty years. Hard to believe. For me, it feels like yesterday I was in orbit around Mars. Decades have come and gone, stealing time from me.

  Fifty years is a long time to remain silent, but it was the right decision. Since I walked on the surface of Phobos, we’ve had what could have been the apocalypse several times over. War. Famine. Disease. Pestilence.

  We’re still too narrow minded. Oh, there are a few visionaries, but most people are more concerned with a paycheck. So a few species go extinct. Who cares? So long as beer’s cheap, what difference does it make? War with Russia. War with Iran. War with Afghanistan. It’s like this century has been a re-run of the past. Bombs are still the solution, apparently. We’ve got new toys, old problems.

  Scientists found life around a star not more than seventy light years away. Spectroscopy revealed an unbalanced chemical equation. Too much ozone. Too much water vapor. Signs of a carbon dioxide cycle. Close examination by VeRST—the Vera Rubin Space Telescope—revealed a pattern match for algae blooms in vast alien seas. The system has been named the Galapagos in honor of Charles Darwin’s discoveries during the voyage of the HMS Beagle.

  The celestial Galapagos are too far away for us to send a spaceship, but everyone agrees it’s pretty damn cool knowing we’re not alone in this wide wild universe. Life thrives elsewhere. Of course, for me at least, it wasn’t news. I do wonder, though, if that’s their home world. I doubt it since we haven’t seen any sign of industrialization in the atmosphere or detected any electromagnetic activity. Given the Milky Way is over a hundred thousand light-years in diameter, the Galapagos are right next door, which makes me think the alien explorers who established the Phobos base must have known about them. Sometimes, I dream about a small moon in orbit around the Galapagos and a peaceful race of alien scientists observing that world as they did ours.

  I’ve thought about Phobos a lot o
ver the last half a century. As far as moons go, it’s a captured asteroid. Funny thing is, its orbit is almost circular whereas, being captured, it should be highly elliptical, tracing a vast oval around the planet, and it’s right on the equator. Rather convenient, really. I wonder if it was captured by them. And I wonder if they captured a similar asteroid and brought it into orbit around Earth for the same purpose. Certainly, if they did, ours wouldn’t have lasted more than a few million years before crashing into the planet just like Phobos will one day.

  Mars has been colonized. Last I heard, there were around eight thousand people in two subsurface towns. It’s mainly a mix of scientists and engineers, doctors and farmers, but they’re raising families, raising Martians! It’s cost a fortune, but we didn’t lose Mars. We’ve become a multi-planetary species.

  Studio lights glare down on me. Even though I feel sweaty, I dare not reach up to wipe my brow lest the liberally applied makeup should smear.

  The stage manager talks to me, briefing me on the schedule. “Okay, so Rachel DiMaggio is going to spend the first session talking to you about the rescue, we’ll break for some ads and then bring in a panel to talk about space exploration and the results from the Vera Rubin.”

  I nod politely.

  Rachel walks over and shakes my hand. I get to my feet to greet her.

  “Please, you don’t have to get up.”

  I do anyway. We met briefly in the green room while I was in makeup but it seems only proper to greet her formally in front of the audience. She’s much taller than she looks on TV and is genuinely warm and friendly.

  She says, “Thank you again for agreeing to come on the show. I know you’ve had your reservations about the media over the years, so I’m thrilled to have you here today for the fiftieth anniversary.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”