The Other Things

by Jonathan Dransfield

  How could this cold planet have harboured life in those early days? Life would have needed liquid water, so it had to have been warmer and have had a thicker atmosphere. It may have been a little closer to the sun and still warm as it cooled down from a molten ball. The active volcanoes then would have been pumping out the thick atmosphere needed to maintain the rivers and seas whose remnants have been discovered by the rovers and orbiters.

  The cool of the evening raised a few goose bumps as Jane mentally pictured this early Martian landscape and gave herself a ringside seat, perched on an outcrop on the planet’s surface just before it started to freeze for good. She focused her thoughts further. ‘How could such complex animals have developed then, when it took another billion years for life to develop to a similar stage on Earth?’

  Well, she was sure that it had started earlier on Mars due to the Earth–moon collision. Then, like her ants in their underground lair, the Earth was too stable to promote rapid change at first. Mars could have been far more dynamic, forcing evolutionary forces forward at a far greater rate.

  Screwing her eyes shut, she pictured a Martian seashore. The land was stark – red, blue and black like today, and the lapping water had the milky blue and green tones of a glacial river. Among the rocks on the narrow beaches were crisp white boulders of ice. The sky was blue with orange-tinged clouds. Across the still waters a line of snow-topped hills spread out and, towering beyond them, an ageing volcano was shrouded in its own vapours, wheezing a caustic mix of gases and ash high into the atmosphere.

  Ancient Mars Landscape

  Straining her ‘biological brain’, Jane wondered where the life was. She thought about her holidays on the Pembrokeshire coast: the roar of the waves, the sting of the wind on her face and the call of the gulls; rock pools, limpets, mounds of seaweed – there would be none of that. Perhaps on the thin line between land and sea something primitive might have grown, a bacterial sludge maybe. Among the shallows there could have been circular mats of stromatolites looking like the bald heads of submerged giants. The milky sea, she imagined, would have been saturated with the vast amounts of carbon dioxide expelled from the volcanoes. Nowadays the poles of Mars still have a dry ice crust (formed from frozen carbon dioxide) topping the water ice below. Every spring extraordinary geysers of sublimating water burst through in a series of spectacular fountains before refreezing in a hail of snow. Those early seas would have fizzed like mineral water. No wonder that first fossil slide showed a shell-like structure.

  She could imagine that scenario but, even straining her vivid imagination, she couldn’t picture the ‘Angel’ fossils to be part of this scene. Jane then noticed, closer to home, that – like Mars – the trailer was getting colder. Reluctantly she retreated to the house. As she lit the fire, inspiration dawned on her. These creatures wouldn’t have been hanging around the shore line with its noxious airs and radiation; they’d have had far more time to develop in the warm water in the flooded chambers of all those volcanoes. The networks of caves she had visited in her early research were vast. Maybe the lakes of Mars hadn’t all vanished with most of the atmosphere, but some had remained underground. The methane plumes that emanate from the ground today could be organic in origin. NASA had found massive reserves of ice just beneath Mars’ surface layers. Like Uncle Chedwyn’s mine, could increasing subterranean temperatures melt it and let the water flow?

  ‘Now, that’s where we need to look,’ she whispered to herself with a growing excitement.

  Her imagination aflame, Jane was hooked and with the aid of Ford’s notes, she refined her ideas and wrote his paper.

  Chapter 10

  Paris

  Yasmin had never felt more alive than today. The early-morning chill just added to the shivering frisson of excitement as she grasped Rocky’s arm on the Pont des Arts. ‘Isn’t this romantic?’ she pleaded with the stocky engineer as they surveyed the thousands of lovers’ padlocks on the railings. This lightning tour of Beijing and Paris had captured her mind. She now understood why someone could be compelled to roam, to drink in the unfamiliar. The clinging heat and insane hubbub of Beijing had been replaced by the mature sophistication of Paris. Even with the clouded skies, the city felt vibrant with colour, and a harmonious integrity from the centuries of thought that defines a culture was evident wherever they went.

  Paris

  Île-de-France, France

  48.5N 2.2E

  Altitude: 115ft

  Geology: Sedimentary basin and Seine river valley

  Everything was the same yet different from the States – from the city buildings to the manhole covers. Yasmin had also spoken French! She had carefully introduced both herself and Rocky at their meeting at ESA and rounded off the discussions with her best Gallic repertoire, waving her arms about manically. She had studiously ignored the uncomprehending faces, flattering herself that two-thirds of language was about pure communication.

  As another bateau mouche passed beneath their feet with its customary following of gulls, she noticed Rocky’s eyes were fixed on the Eiffel Tower rising high above the slate-grey skyline.

  He pointed to it and shared his thoughts. ‘Look, Yasmin, it’s 130 years old and almost as tall as three Saturn Vs. It was the tallest structure in Europe for over a century. If they could build something like that when they had only slide rules and steam engines, why is it so darned difficult to produce a rocket today?’

  They both knew that in many ways their trip had been a great success. Both their hosts had been enthusiastic, particularly at the China National Space Administration, where their Shenzhou programmes had been producing astronauts for years. It was clear that there would be money on the table, and technical support if required for a very significant and prestigious project.

  But to their dismay there were no secret large rockets in the pipeline, and even the regular ones were fully committed. There would be plenty of capacity on the landers, facilities and other kit, but not big rockets.

  Yasmin was undeterred by these minor details; her eyes had been opened. ‘I get it now, Rocky,’ she whispered.

  Rocky stooped to catch her words. ‘Get what?’

  ‘Why we have go to Mars, of course. It’s like coming here – it’s so different. I thought everywhere was the same these days, like a little America, but if Beijing and Paris are so wonderful, just think how amazing another planet would be!’

  They had two hours to kill before they had to leave for the airport. Yasmin tore off in the direction of the shops.

  Rocky might have headed for a fast-food joint but, charged by Yasmin’s words, he decided to go to the Louvre. He didn’t want to rush around and needed to think. Finding himself in a vast hall of red marble, he sat down wearily and contemplated a pair of statues – Mars, in an impressive hat and not much else, and his lover Venus, with her gentle arm around his back, and hand touching his chest. Mars’ muscular body and imperial air reminded him of himself in his prime, but at least he had been wearing a pair of jeans.

  ‘Something will turn up’ had been Yasmin’s final words before heading off to retail heaven.

  ‘Nothing’s going to just turn up – no rockets, no mission!’ thought Rocky.

  ‘Who the hell was this Mars anyway? God of War. Everyone knows that.’ He was fascinated to read that he was also the god of agriculture, lover of Venus and father of Romulus and Remus, and that his mother Juno had been impregnated by a flower. Life must have been so very different then.

  Mars certainly looked quite impressive, resolute even. Maybe Rocky shouldn’t give up straightaway. Suddenly he remembered his own responsibilities. ‘Gift shop,’ he whispered to himself. He couldn’t return home empty-handed. There was also a child in Rocky who just loved gift shops, even when filled with art books.

  Yasmin and Rocky travelled business class back to Houston where they met Ford who had also flown in for the meeting. They felt relatively refreshed as the cab pulled along the causeway and across the choppy waters of Galves
ton Bay. Heading north they could now see the looming form of the museum complex flashing by through the street clutter of the dual carriageway. Rocky’s disappointment in the unfinished quest was tempered by the prospect of seeing his old friend.

  ‘Milton! What have you done to this place? It was a dump.’ Milton was very proud of the improvements he had made to the Samsonian, and even prouder of its collection of aerospace artefacts.

  Milton looked at the trio: Yasmin looking like Coco Channel on steroids, Rocky like a bear out of hibernation, and Ford an extra from Catch-22.

  In a small office, surrounded by photographs of rockets, space shuttles and moon landings, Rocky laid out their problems. He held nothing back.

  ‘Well, you couldn’t have chosen a worse time to go,’ replied Milton. ‘If the China and ESA can’t help and the Russians ain’t playing ball, you’ll have to wait at least ten years before we’ve got any proper rockets ready.’

  Solid Rocket on Parachute

  As Rocky had feared, there was no hope. Milton got up to offer another coffee. Then they suddenly noticed a look of inspiration light up his face and he hastily grabbed a catalogue from the shelf.

  ‘We keep our stock in the desert now, as it stops them rotting.’ He deftly skimmed through the pages and opened the catalogue to show a photograph of a pencil-like rocket left over from the shuttle programme. ‘I’ve got seven of these if it helps. They are powerful and reusable and I only need one for display. They won’t get you all the way there, but… they’ll help. You can have them if you promise to bring me back a piece of Mars.’

  Rocky and Ford desperately searched the catalogue. ‘Hey, these are really cool!’ Ford was instantly attracted to a series of 1960s trucks modified for transporting rocket components.

  Milton laughed. ‘They’re from the Apollo. If you can get them to start, you can have them too. But you can’t drive them to Mars!’

  He prowled the office. Having had another brainwave, he opened a drawer and brought out a large roll of blueprints.

  ‘You could take this to Boeing and ask them to make you another one.’ With great reverence he opened out an original set of blueprints of a Saturn V rocket on the desk. ‘We’ve been poring over them on our restoration project. I will show you around after lunch!’

  However, Ford had to get back to the other mission teams and excused himself, leaving Rocky and Yasmin to the museum tour.

  After inspecting random rocket motors, burned-out capsules and ill-fitting space suits, Yasmin was about to feign illness to escape when Milton announced that there was one last thing.

  ‘This is my pride and joy!’ The massive steel doors at the end of the hall opened like curtains in an opera house, revealing an extraordinary sight. ‘Five years of work and it’s a national monument now,’ explained Milton with a proud smile. Lying on its side before them was the biggest rocket they had ever seen. It appeared to stretch forever down the void of the hangar.

  ‘Jesus Christ! That’s not the one they left outside to rot for all those years?’ said Rocky. ‘It looks as good as new!’

  Milton grinned. ‘It is as good as new, totally restored. We even got rid of the mice.’

  Rocky wandered over and banged the side. ‘What did you do? Body filler, paint job?’

  Milton looked offended. ‘Come on, Rocky! You know me. I’m a perfectionist – everything to the last detail, even the wiring. As new! It’s put this museum back on the map!’

  Jasmin and Rocky at the Museum

  Rocky stood impassively for what seemed like an age, surveying the massive form. Yasmin gently tugged his tie to get his attention. ‘Hello, are you still with us?’

  Rocky, his trance broken, turned to Milton. ‘It looks just like the real thing. Congratulations!’

  ‘It is the real thing,’ said Milton. ‘It’s Apollo 18.’

  A shot of adrenaline charged through Rocky and a light bulb sparked. ‘I don’t suppose…’ Hesitating, he thought better of it. ‘No, forget it!’

  Changing the subject, he asked for Milton to excuse him. ‘I couldn’t find anything in Paris for the kids. Where’s the gift shop?’

  This was not Yasmin’s kind of shopping and she was itching with impatience when a smiling Rocky finally emerged. She had been waiting in their cab for twenty minutes. ‘Just how many children have you got?’ she exclaimed at the sight of him struggling with four massive boxes.

  Rocky threw her a mischievous look and replied with a twinkle in his eye, ‘Not for the kids, they’re for the project.’

  Ford was distracted as he crossed the car park to HQ. He had slept badly after the museum meeting, his mind churning with the latest problems. He had the taste of failure in his mouth and didn’t like it. He kicked a small stone to release some frustration. The stone hit a large black Chrysler, parked near the entrance. Stopping briefly to examine it, he froze as he felt a hand gripping his shoulder.

  Then the military training kicked in and he instinctively grasped the hand firmly with his left and, turning slightly, with his right hand caught a handful of shirt, flipping his assailant’s off-balance body onto the tarmac. The black-suited figure was no slouch and Ford was too slow to drop onto the semi-prone body. In a flash Ford was countered. His own wrist was turned around his back and his face pushed against a car.

  Straining his neck to look over his shoulder, he saw a badge with an electrocuted goose and the words ‘Department of Homeland Security’ embossed around it. ‘Steady now, sir. I only wanted your ID.’

  ‘We have a machine for doing that! Who brought you in?’ Ford fumbled for his card.

  ‘We work with Mr Dyer,’ he explained as he released his grip and let Ford go.

  Ruffled and indignant, Ford made it to his office to find Stephen waiting for him. ‘What the hell’s going on, Stephen?’

  At first Stephen appeared nonplussed, then put on an air of nonchalance. ‘Oh, the security? That’s just routine in my service.’

  Ford was furious. ‘Not our kind of routine and you’re working for us now!’ He crashed his bag down on the desk for emphasis.

  ‘It was in my line of work and the risks don’t vanish when you leave. The president promised me cover as part of the deal and none of us can be too careful.’

  Mopping a little blood from his lip, Ford tried to suppress his anger. ‘You’ll be telling me you pack a gun next!’

  Stephen touched his jacket pocket. ‘I do, actually. Don’t you?’

  Ford couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Who do you think I am – Indiana Jones? I insist you leave it in your drawer.’ He excused himself to calm down in the bathroom.

  On returning he took stock and addressed Stephen. ‘OK, so you bring your baggage with you. What else should I know?’

  Stephen was candid and explained the sensitivities of his previous work and why he needed protection. Consequently the identities of the team, especially Stephen’s, should be strictly on a need-to-know basis, even when the mission went public.

  In his words the ‘bad guys’ he had been dealing with would stop at nothing to attack the state or the president, and the game had now changed for all high-profile projects.

  Ford was stressed. ‘Well, it’s not how we run this organisation.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Ford, I insist. Call it part of my brief… Remember, you’ve felt pretty spooked by the press and they just hold a pencil. These guys want us to go to hell, not Mars.’

  Ford stared at his desk for a moment, then looked up at Stephen. ‘OK, it’s a new world and we could do without the glare of publicity.’ Then, with a forced smile, ‘Just don’t let your spook use his neutraliser on me!’

  Stephen returned the smile with a little more warmth and enquired about the search for the rockets.

  Ford shook his head. ‘Not good.’ He explained they had only a roll of old blueprints and the offer of half a dozen secondhand boosters from the Samsonian to show for it.

  Stephen looked quizzical. ‘Why’s Rocky looking so upbeat then? I s
aw him arrive this morning with a load of boxes…’

  Ford shrugged. ‘Maybe he enjoyed Paris? I can’t think of anything else. There’s no way we can design and build our own rocket in time.’

  When Ford entered the meeting room the familiar scent of coffee hung in the air, and a gaggle of his colleagues surrounded Yasmin as she regaled them with her impressions of Beijing and Paris. She was wearing a new scarf and shoes to prove it. She had also brought something back for everybody.

  To the sceptical accountants, Floyd and Elton, she announced the offers of funding from the European and Chinese space agencies.

  Yasmin relayed to the mission planners and scientists that both agencies had made promises of engineering and hardware and offered the use of the ESA launch facilities in tropical French Guyana, which she selflessly volunteered to check out herself.

  Edward was thrilled with the weighty tomes on European procurement rules, health-and-safety directives, and non-discriminatory selection criteria, which would have to be adopted if they were to go ahead in partnership.

  The huddle was broken by a barely perceptible cough. They turned to look at the figure of Mr Dyer, clad in a black tracksuit. ‘Don’t get too excited, my friends. You can’t get the project off the ground without a rocket. Where is it? In fact, where’s Rocky?’

  Yasmin knew exactly where he was. ‘In his office. He didn’t want to be disturbed for a few hours.’

  ‘Sounds like he’s in hiding,’ said Stephen with a laugh.

  Ford broke the gloom. ‘No one said it would be easy. Remember, we are doing this because it is difficult. Get on with your work and I will see each team during the morning. Leave Rocky to think it through.’