He was now in no shadow of doubt that there was a lot of water on Mars. He’d been working on a probe to explore the moon’s south pole. They’d discovered that those permanently dark craters still harboured ice frozen since its formation. Now he’d been called by his beloved country to join this heroic mission to Mars.
‘Hi, Dong Dong? Is that how you pronounce it?’
‘Ah yes, as in long!’
‘Anyhow, welcome to NASA. It’s great to have you on board.’
‘We honoured to be invited.’ His eyes searched the room, and alighted on a paperweight of the Eagle on Ford’s desk.
Dong Dong drew Ford into his confidence. ‘Usually they send a delegation, but they trust me and I get to the point.
‘Mr Harris, our involvement has to be tangible. We’re a developing country and space is an area of great national pride. We’ve already sent you our best astronauts and scientists for testing.’
He picked up the paperweight. ‘I know you can’t guarantee to send one of them. So we want to build the lander.’
Ford looked at his lunar module nestled in Dong Dong’s hand. He cleared his throat. ‘Very interesting, but we’ve always made our own landers.’
Dong Dong had a great view of Ford’s sleek silver workstation. He traced out the carefully etched words on the aluminium casing. ‘This says “Designed in California – made in China”. This is not 1968. We already work together making great things.’
‘Well, she never crashes, so that’s a good sign.’ Ford did the maths in his head. ‘That’s almost a billion dollars we’ll save,’ he thought to himself. ‘OK. That sounds brilliant, but don’t forget, we work in feet and inches.’
They had lunch and got to know each other. Ford liked Dong Dong. He had a wonderful combination of confidence and a disarming innocence – for Ford, it was a sign of an open mind. He broached his idea for the crew.
‘Dong Dong, we are choosing three potential teams to go – one has very young people, because of the weight restrictions. We will be keeping it under wraps because of the obvious sensitivities.’
Dong Dong seemed delighted they had already sent a Chinese mother and daughter for testing. ‘What sensitivities?’
Ford played with his food. ‘Exposing such young children to space travel has a risk – physical and political.’
Dong Dong looked through the window at the city sprawling into the distance. ‘Risk is about statistics. On average seven children are shot dead every day in your country. It puts it all in a certain perspective.’
Ford nodded. ‘I’ll take you to meet the team.’
Chapter 20
Iceland Adventure and Visit to the MOPJ
Camper Crossing River
Before the next stage of testing in Iceland, the candidates waited in limbo while the medical assessments were completed. Most had gone home for the duration, except for Buzz, Bheki and Zulu. Buzz’s mother wasn’t well, and Zulu and Bheki had nowhere to go.
Jane was like a mother hen. She’d opened her heart and door and insisted they stay at the farm, and soon the days in the pods became a distant memory as they enjoyed the farm’s freedom.
Elin and Kirsten had returned to the planet’s youngest country. Kirsten’s energy seemed boundless, helping to arrange the training. Iceland is a famous testing ground for astronauts, and she’d teamed up with Magnus, an expedition organiser par excellence. Neither were impressed with Ford’s special request: a visit to the world-famous Museum of Practical Jokes.
Magnus was a bear of a man. He mopped his brow as he considered the proposition. He had three loves in his life: Iceland in all its geological glory, football and a secret regard for Kirsten.
She went over the brief, hardly able to contain her excitement. ‘Plan it like we’re on Mars: we need some transport and then a hike. Find an unknown and hostile environment and test us.’ She put her finger to her pursed lips. ‘The route and details will be down to you!’
There are no shops on Mars, so they’d need to carry everything with them. Iceland can be challenging at any time of the year – except for the abundance of water and atmosphere, the cold and desolation offer an analogy of Martian conditions. Magnus had worked with NASA for years and was familiar with many of the issues. He’d met Kirsten at the University of Reykjavik where he was researching autonomous vehicles.
There’s only one major road encircling the island, so it’s hardly surprising that no cars are made in Iceland. Many of the other roads are nothing but cinder tracks. However, there is a car industry, adapting imported vehicles with ridiculously large wheels, high axles and loads of storage, designed for driving through deep rivers, jagged rocks and to the top of glaciers.
Magnus was working on a fleet of rugged multi-purpose vehicles which could be driven to the start of a hike then drive autonomously to rendezvous the end of a trail.
To eke out the grant, Magnus had searched out some old bangers. He’d discovered a weather-stripped old farm on the way to the Douglas Dakota crash site on the south-west coast. In the barn were three 1970s VW camper vans. Their paintwork, sandblasted by the dark sand whipped up from the beaches, and the delicate veneer of rust made them the most sexy grunge-mobiles outside of California. He’d fitted them with his autonomous controls with manual overrides. Magnus brimmed with excitement as he realised that these were the perfect vehicles.
Kirsten was having a great deal of trouble booking tickets for the Museum of Practical Jokes. Every time she put her newly registered username and password in she got rebuffed with a message to call the box office number. On calling the box office number she was referred back to the website. On the website it advised her to follow a link to customer services. She pressed the link and found herself on the Disneyland Paris website. Trying another tack, she called the telephone number again and simply waited. After an inordinate time, she heard the ringing tone.
At last, a human being!
‘Cornwall County Council Rates Department,’ replied the friendly voice.
She screamed, ‘I didn’t want you!’
The rejected voice replied, ‘Do you want the Museum of Practical Jokes?’
‘Yes, yes, please!’ Kirsten pleaded.
‘Well, you’ve come to the wrong place, but we get a lot of these calls. If you press four we can help you.’
Kirsten was now almost in tears. ‘Please, can’t you help in person?’
There was a pause, then, ‘I’m not allowed because of data protection.’
Kirsten was completely confused. ‘What does pressing four do?’
‘Oh, it will refer you back to the museum.’
Kirsten had been at this for over an hour and just flipped. ‘OK, if I told you we had kidnapped your children and they are all going to die, would you help me?’
A worried voice came back, ‘I hope that’s a joke!’
‘Give me a straight answer and I’ll tell you.’
A wavering voice came over. ‘You can’t book tickets; you pay on the door, if you can find it. Now, please, what about my kids?’
‘Call this number: +354 561 6666.’ With that Kirsten hung up.
When the woman dialled, it was the box office of the Museum of Practical Jokes and she was referred back to the website.
Ford was nervous as he waited in his office. He needed some reassurance. He had to speak to Yasmin.
A bead of sweat was trickling down her brow as the call came in. She’d just woven her limbs into another impossible knot. The yoga mat squeaked on the parquet floor.
‘Oh sugar!’ she cursed as Ford’s ringtone interrupted the Tibetan mood music.
She casually flicked away the perspiration and unlocked her legs.
‘Hi, Ford! I’m just working out. Is it about the interview?’
‘Yep, and… Jane’s had a spot of bother. The press are trying to bug our place.’
‘Oh my God! What happened?’
Ford told her the story.
‘Oh well, they’ve definitely go
t you on their radar. They’ve been snooping after Rocky and Sharon too. Change your passwords, and make them complex!’
Ford laughed. ‘What! I can’t even remember my simple ones!’
‘It won’t make a difference then! Anyway, this interview will reset the balance. It’s a proper paper. Just be straight and honest, and remember you don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to.’
He’d hardly ended the call when there was a knock on the office door.
The reporter, Lesley Scrivener, was a man with voluminous pockets. He wore an ancient tweed jacket and had the whiff of stale tobacco. Out came the notebook, pens, phone, pipe, matches and an ancient dictaphone onto the low table between them.
Ford felt a little nervous and Lesley sensed it. ‘Don’t you enjoy interviews?’
Ford loosened his tie. ‘They call me the man who deafened the world.’
Lesley gave a knowing smile.
‘We are always looking for a story. Relax and let’s tell them the truth.’ Lesley clicked the machine on. ‘Why do we need to go to Mars? What’s so compelling?’
Ford thought for a moment. ‘What’s the point in anything? Half the world thinks it’s fascinating; the other half can’t see the point.
‘“We have enough crap on Earth to resolve,” I hear them say. But… if we only did the immediate, we’d live very hollow lives.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We have always looked to the heavens with wonder and – guess what? – we’re now able to do something about it.’
Lesley looked quizzical. ‘Aren’t we just as happy watching television or playing golf?’
‘Do you know we spend more on golf than space research? What’s the more valuable: finding out about a new planet or ruining a good walk? Anyway, the universe is fascinating any way you look at it. My wife studies ants; I study the cosmos. On the very smallest scale the universe is fuzzy and indeterminate, and only when we observe it does it become real. Why not on a big scale? That faint red dot in the sky is now an amazing new world. Does anything make sense, unless there are eyes to see it and minds to understand? We have only a brief sojourn in a seemingly vast continuum of time, but with each bit of knowledge we add, I believe we give a greater credence to the universe.’
Ford glanced at the photograph of the Andromeda galaxy on the wall.
‘Besides, I’d like to add more certainty to Drake’s equation. Are we alone or not? Drake estimated there were fifty thousand other civilisations in our galaxy alone, and presumably the same number in that one.’ He pointed at the photograph.
The reporter stared at the great spiral of stars. Lesley was sceptical. ‘But where are these civilisations? Surely they’d be beaming out some kind of message!’
Jane had views on this.
‘My wife says I can’t find my hat in the morning, so how’s a nerd like me going to find it? For instance, SETI’s boffins scan the skies on the wavelength of atomic hydrogen. Who’s going to air their music on that?’
Lesley lit his pipe with a studied nonchalance. ‘Could we even have a conversation with them when the nearest stars are light years away? Isn’t it difficult enough to communicate with Mars?’
‘Yeah, there’s a minimum twenty-minute gap with Mars.’
Lesley guffawed. ‘My parents seem to manage. They can go for weeks without talking.’ He continued his probing. ‘What difference does it make whether we’re alone or not, if we can’t communicate?’
‘Our perception of ourselves is important. If we’re alone, we are very special. If we are one of many civilisations, the universe becomes a more extraordinary place. Finding life on Mars could make us change our views of ourselves, our religions, even our very existence. At the moment we are a lonely world lost in space, uncertain if we are unique or ubiquitous.’
Lesley wafted the smoke around.
‘Where are you going to look for this life? That ‘so-called’ fossil’s been dead for a long time.’
Ford studied the wild eyebrows through the haze.
‘Life on Mars could be deep in the ground or just under a rock. That’s why we need a human crew. They have to be able to turn over a lot of rocks or go down a cavern. You can’t do that with a rover.’
Ford made them a coffee as Lesley continued the questions. ‘You’ve never headed a mission. Aren’t you a little inexperienced? You’ve made a few gaffes already… certainly upset the fundamentalists.’
A well of irritation rose in Ford. This was ridiculous. ‘I’m a scientist, not a priest, and it’s got nothing to do with religion. Science ain’t about faith, it’s about reality!’
‘You don’t take the Bible very literally. Do you think it needs rewriting if we found life elsewhere?’ Lesley asked.
‘Look, all religions have their creation myths; mankind has always been inquisitive about our origins. These were the best explanations of primitive societies. The more we know, the more we can move on.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, it’s not about me, but having a great team and solving problems. I’m a problem solver.’
Lesley dunked a biscuit in his coffee. ‘Have you worked out how to get them home then?’
‘We won’t go if we can’t get home. We can’t put the crew at risk.’
This led to an obvious question. ‘Who are the crew? When do we find out? I hear you had an extraordinary response to your advert.’
Ford ran his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s classified. We won’t say until they take off… Two good reasons. The training and selection will go on right to the wire and we need the anonymity, because they’ll be hounded to death by you lot.’
Lesley feigned a look of hurt. ‘Finally, why on earth would anyone want to go? It’s a cold, desolate, frozen, isolated, awful place!’
This had crossed Ford’s mind many times. ‘If he were alive, I would ask Shackleton!’
Shackleton survived in Antarctica against all odds. When his ship got crushed in the ice, he rowed hundreds of miles to get help. Despite all the dangers and disasters, he got all his crew home safe.
The results flew out, skimming through the airways like swifts in the autumn. Blink, blink, blink, bringing the news to the chosen ones for the next round of testing.
It was a time for excitement, a time for reflection, a time for fear.
Blink, your travel itinerary from Italy. Blink, your itinerary from Beijing, blink, your itinerary from Iceland, blink, your itinerary from London, Washington, etc., all over the world, and each email had a time and place and destination: Iceland.
The would-be astronauts flew in over the barren perimeter of Keflavik airport. Magnus met each flight and whisked them out to the glass and stone surroundings of the Geyser Information Centre, nestled in one of the geothermal areas of the North Atlantic divide.
This would be the last outpost of civilisation they’d see until the end of the exercise. The interior was inspired by the rugged landscape and had a full view of the geyser fields. Every few minutes a plume of white steam would burst from the hot pools, breaking the grey skyline, before slowly dissipating down the valley. The tourist season had drawn to a close and the snows were starting to take hold on the hills.
The sparse clientele took little notice of the group of women, men and children as they made their way to the lecture theatre.
The doors closed and it slowly dawned on each of them that they’d been whittled down to a final eleven. Magnus bustled around, ordering them into three teams: ‘The Right Stuff’, ‘The Elves’ and ‘The Other Things’.
The process of elimination had selected three astronauts, two men and one woman; a scientist, and an engineer. These were the adults. Milling around were six others, who for all their talents were just children.
Yasmin explained the quest on her beloved flip chart. They were to set out in the three ‘Utility vehicles’ in the early morning. First they’d examine their kit and were given a budget to spend at the centre to augment any essentials they thought were missing.
This was the first test.
They had a set of maps and the co-ordinates for their journey. Tonight they’d stay in their vehicles at the nearby campsite.
Magnus’s growl drew their attention. ‘We are here in Iceland because the dynamics of our planet are all on show. Mars might appear lifeless, but it’s certainly active. Now I’m going to show you geysers… and not just the ones outside!’
The house lights dimmed and a projector’s beam flashed against the far wall. A strange image came into focus, a white crust-like landscape speckled with dark ink blotches and bursting feathers of black gas breaking through the surface.
‘Yes, these are geysers – not water like the ones outside, but subliming carbon dioxide, photographed from a Martian orbit. Can you imagine witnessing that?’ After a few more explanatory slides the lights came up and he led the way to the door. ‘At least we can do a little sight-seeing here and see our own geysers – a first taste of an alien landscape.’
Mars tilts on an axis like Earth and has seasons and frozen polar regions that expand and retreat from winter to summer. In the relative warmth of spring at its south pole, the winter’s harvest of carbon dioxide ice starts to sublimate and its gases run through a network of spidery channels before dramatically bursting through the thin water-ice crust in immense spouts hundreds of feet high. Vast networks of these vents create a speckled tapestry on the landscape.
‘If I went to Mars, I’d love to see these!’
They picked their way up the bubbling hot-water gravel paths to a large blue pool edged in a salt-hardened, white and yellow crusting. The weak autumn light broke through with casts of sunshine yellow on the grey-toned background.
Mars Geysers
By the Strokkur they stood in expectation as the waters heaved and juddered from subterranean turmoil. Bheki couldn’t decide what was most exciting – the extraordinary waters or the snow. Suddenly, there was a low gurgle and a perfect bubble of white steam rose through the clear-blue liquid creating a giant monstrous eye before bursting in a gush of brilliant vapour, breaking into the brooding skies. They quivered in amazement as the high column dissipated, carried away on the breeze.
The Other Things Page 23