The Other Things

by Jonathan Dransfield

  ‘I wonder who?’ mused Ford.

  Jane stopped and thought. ‘Elizabeth Taylor, of course! You can be my Richard Burton. Except for the voice!’

  Ford looked affronted and in gravely Welsh tones quoted, ‘It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and Bible-black, the cobble streets silent and the hunched.’

  ‘Wow! Not bad, cariad! You sound just like Uncle Chedwyn.’ Then Jane started the dancing again. ‘I can’t imagine why Sharon isn’t living here instead of staying at the “Gulag”!’

  ‘Sharon couldn’t afford it, sugar. Her aunt has been trying to rent it to cover the costs of her care home. Sharon told me she could sell the site for a fortune, but it would break her heart to knock this down.’

  Beverly Hills

  California USA

  35.4N 118.2W

  Altitude: 258ft

  Geology: Tertiary sedimentary rocks, oil deposits

  ‘It was really sweet of Sharon to offer it to us.’ Suddenly Jane stopped dancing and stared through the expanse of horizontal glass and way out over the valley. ‘You spent a lot of time with this Sharon in the “Gulag” all bunking up together. I hope she wasn’t too sweet to you then!’

  ‘Honey, that’s silly, we are all professionals – scientists, even – and usually far too tired to fraternise,’ replied Ford, offended.

  Jane pushed him a little further. ‘It’s just that I know what you men are like: a pretty face, a flash of the eyes and you will forget everything!’

  Noticing the direction of the conversation, Ford distractedly surveyed the room. ‘Have you seen how the central-heating system is ducted through those vents in the wall? Very 1950s – absolute classic!’

  Jane carried on, ignoring the integrated services. ‘So, when you all weren’t too tired, did you fraternise?’

  Ford examined the room further. ‘Just an odd glass of wine. Hey, there’s even some flush-mounted grills in the floor!’

  ‘Sorry, my love, but I’m doing the grilling. Where would you drink this wine?’ Jane delved deeper.

  ‘Just in the bedrooms,’ Ford replied nonchalantly.

  ‘What, the bedrooms? Wine in the bedrooms! Yours or hers?’

  Ford made to show her the original Bakelite room thermostat but on reflection gave up the idea.

  ‘Everyone’s, honey. It depended on who needed to talk about the project. Remember these aren’t like a real bedroom. It’s more like a university hall of residence.’

  Jane had a vision of her own chaotic and debauched student days. ‘Well, that’s hardly reassuring.’

  Ford was feeling distinctly uncomfortable and couldn’t understand how the joy of being in this extraordinary house together, at the expense of NASA no less, could suddenly fall apart into a suspicious inquisition. Although he knew how much Jane enjoyed her research and the farm, he had never really comprehended how much his many absences and close relationships with his team gnawed at her with every tick of the old clock in the hall. Finally he turned and faced her full on, snapping, ‘Why are you so interested? Come on, honey. Nothing “like that” has ever happened!’

  Jane took a deep breath and mentally toyed with the meaning of ‘like that’ before deciding to let it go.

  ‘I’m a scientist too, you know: behavioural biology. You just happen to be one of my research topics!’

  Ford smiled to himself at the thought of it. He felt oddly flattered by her jealousy.

  ‘I’m sorry, honey. It has been so tough on you and I’ve not been there. It’s just been so demanding with the project and all the extra red tape and protocols that the darned Europeans need to do anything!’

  This was not quite the right thing to say.

  ‘Wales is still a part of Europe, you know! You’ve had no bloody red tape and protocols from me when I’ve been packing up the house, arranging cover for the animals and sorting the dog out!’

  ‘Believe me, Jane, I appreciate it and your support has helped me get on top of things. Only yesterday I saw the first stage fully repaired and – guess what? – the engines had just been tested and had passed with flying colours.’

  Ford could’ve spent all evening telling Jane about the ins and outs of it all, but he sensed now was not the time and they had a new house to explore and enjoy.

  The open-plan living room faced east, perched on a sedimentary ridge overlooking the Stone Canyon reservoir, just north of Sunset Boulevard. In summer it provided precious evening shade on the terrace and broad views of the setting sun highlighting the receding ridges to the Santa Monica Hills. The air was clean and fresh as they relaxed in their classic modernist armchairs and watched the lights twinkle around the lake shore as the evening faded into night.

  ‘Are you happy with your role in the project? There’s a hell of a lot to do…’ Ford asked. He was concerned she wasn’t content. Jane still worried that searching for landing sites was beyond her expertise and didn’t want to be patronised.

  ‘I watched a spider make a web the other day, something I’ve done a hundred times. The way the breeze catches the first strand of silk, wafting it through the air until it catches a branch or tree and starts the whole process. For the spider it’s instinct; beyond that there’s an intelligence in the problem solving. That tiny brain has so much capacity. I find that far more interesting than geological processes or imprints of dead animals. I remember a trip to London as a girl. My dad gave us a choice of the Natural History Museum or the zoo. I chose the zoo. I remember him musing by the tiger cage, quoting: “When the stars threw down their spears, And water’d heaven with their tears, Did He smile His work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee?”

  ‘That’s been my question ever since. What makes life tick? What makes me tick? When we go for a walk, I look at the hills and the trees, for sure, but it’s the ant holes and the burrows I really relish. That’s what I really want to look for on the mission – to find a rabbit hole like Alice and study the wonders within.’

  ‘But that’s why they’re going down the lava tubes in the desert; you’ve already identified likely ones on Mars.’

  ‘Well, the ones I found on the satellite photos vent methane… which is promising.’

  She then thought for a while. ‘Listen, I want to help Buzz with his biology and even Bheki with his horticulture… I’m not saying I won’t search for interesting rocks or long-dead animals, but my real passion is to find whatever life’s still there.’

  For the ‘Exploration Phase’, the 48,000 square mile desert gave ample opportunity for the kind of journeys the crew would carry out on the planet’s surface. With the variation in height from 275 feet below sea level to almost 12,000 feet, it was a perfect fit. In the three months on the surface they would travel a round trip of at least 250 miles, a mere country walk compared with Scott’s 1,600-mile expedition to the South Pole, which finished tragically an agonising 11 miles short of safety. Mars was an even more ‘awful place’ and 250 miles would be a Herculean effort compared with the mere 25 travelled by the Opportunity Rover in over a decade of robotic exploration.

  Paradoxically, the catastrophic experiment with bicycles in Iceland had not killed the idea, but sparked the engineers’ imagination. Weight for weight, bikes are the most efficient form of transport, turning a sluggardly human into a super animal. What was more, cycling would be perfect exercise for weakened bodies after the long spell in zero gravity.

  Bheki had been modifying the scrap-heap designs he had already put together back home. He and Zulu had created a tricycle for collecting firewood. It had a place to stow the cargo between the cyclist – Zulu – and the footrests for a passenger on the rear, who could jump off and push when the going got tough – Bheki. With less than half the gravity on Mars and little air impedance, a single person could easily propel the kit and a passenger considerable distances with ease. Bheki and the NASA engineers worked hard to perfect the vehicle. They taught him the basics of computer-aided design and 3D printing, while they learned signing
and not to talk to him over the video link while eating a sandwich.

  Six ‘tandem’ tricycles in descending sizes were duly delivered for testing, their sleek titanium frames and contrasting chunky tyres giving them a purposeful appearance. In the Earth’s ‘normal’ gravity the would-be astronauts carried half the weight in the carrier, where their life support packs, shelter, water and food would accompany them on Mars. Happily, the bikes made them look less peculiar in their pseudo space helmets, which from a distance resembled BMX lids.

  A sense of excitement rippled through the teams on their first exploration of the desert. They were given instructions and downloaded the data onto their tablets. They’d take separate routes to the cinder cones and perform a variety of tasks on arrival.

  They were champing at the bit, except for Kirsten and Mo. Kirsten’s head was willing, but her heart was lagging behind. She’d signed up for the mission planning originally, and the prospect of taking two years out of Elin’s life at this crucial stage ate away at her psyche like a worm in an apple.

  Mo was suffering from cabin fever. Three months cooped up had taken its toll. It wasn’t just the inactivity and boredom; it was the almost continuous spat he’d shared with Elin. She was bold and outspoken and it didn’t sit well. She had the answer to everything and owned the last word.

  Elin had no such issues. She was thrilled at the prospect of an adventure and paired up with Bheki on their trike, communicating by touch and signing in front of his face. This had become their secret language and it made them all feel special.

  Buzz and Mo led the way, followed by Xing and Enza, with Elin and Bheki taking the rear. It was to be a long day’s travel, following the old dry gullies and coyote tracks around rocky bluffs. The agility of the bikes was surprising. The leader’s job was to steer and pedal, and the pillion jumped off and pushed up the steeper slopes.

  The sun beat down on them and a steady stream of sweat trickled through their overalls as they picked their way through the stark landscape. The ungainly Joshua trees set an unworldly scene as they sheltered in their welcome shade to collect samples or to take frequent water stops. After a long slog they reached their camping spot where Elin took charge, bossing the moaning boys as their small shovels manically dug a shallow pit in the granular terrain.

  Their extraordinary tent was like a spider’s web. The radiating tubes inflated with a small pump to form a taut dome. They laid the ground sheet in the shallow depression then pitched the centre pole and piled sand back over the webbing. This would be an essential routine on Mars, as it would shield them against the persistent bombardment of cosmic rays. Here on Earth it provided insulation from the cold desert night, at least.

  The boys tumbled inside, throwing their sleeping bags and themselves on the deck. Elin followed like a ferret and shoved them off while barking out chores.

  The space filled with steam and earthy aromas as Bheki organised supper, his speciality sadza – a pasty porridge. He broke into his little stash of spices to liven it up along with the tomato pastes from their space larder.

  Scouring pads and dish clothes were as alien to Mo as a Kuiper Belt object and he reluctantly learned their use under Elin’s watchful eye.

  Soon they were all fast asleep, except the restless Mo. To a boy brought up in a pious household, the Museum of Practical Jokes website had been a revelation. One where mischief was encouraged and revenge was sweet. Even in the darkness of the tent he could make out that Xing had kicked off her sleeping bag.

  He thought about Elin again and how she’d really annoyed him. He felt bruised by her cold, self-assured disdain. ‘Maybe she would appreciate an extra layer or two…’ Very, very slowly and carefully he took Xing’s bag and eased it first over Elin’s head then slowly over her softly breathing form until she was totally enveloped. He retired most satisfied with his work, sensing that Buzz was sniggering softly.

  Elin felt wonderful. For once in her life she was warm. Was it still a dream? How lovely, she thought, but no! It was a nightmare and she couldn’t move. The taut double bags were like a straitjacket, and the drowsy girl squirmed across the tent like a wounded caterpillar.

  Mo sat up, cackling with laughter. ‘There’s a grub in the tent!’ he called. Buzz moved himself closer to Mo, equally amused. That evening Elin had made a neat stack of all the kit. Her blind struggles disturbed the tenuous equilibrium of the pile.

  ‘Look out!’ Mo screamed, too late. Collapsing in a steady arc, the kit hit the titanium centre pole. It flexed and kicked under the weight of sand on the roof.

  Slowly and alarmingly, flecks of falling silica flicked in the night light as a split widened to the high-pitched ripping sound of taut nylon. A cascade of golden particles streamed through as it gave way on top of the two boys.

  Like a very large egg timer, a neat pyramid of grains engulfed the pranksters.

  All that could be seen and heard were their writhing limbs and the shrill laughter of the girls. On Mars they would all be dead.

  Half a roll of duct tape and a lot more shovelling finally brought repair and order back to their shelter. Mo sought tacit absolution by demonstrably dusting down the girls’ sleeping bags and neatly packing them away. He knew Elin was watching him as she stood impassively, hands on hips and he finally forced out an apology.

  ‘Sorry, innit!’ he mumbled.

  It was a small triumph for Elin and she took the opportunity for one last word. ‘Takk, but more excepting you have to be of stelpukraftur – girl power.’

  At daybreak Mo’s radio crackled into life, giving them their first orders. He hastily handed the handset over to Elin when asked to describe the geology before them. The desert sands of yesterday had given way to a series of cone-shaped hills, whose mixed monotones and red mineral streaks now dominated the horizon. This was familiar territory for the girl: a landscape of cinder cones. It would be another twenty minutes for any response, but the task was self-evident, and they started to follow the weathered gullies to investigate any openings they could find. Within a mile of the camp the terrain got too hard even for the bikes and they proceeded on foot. This at least gave Mo an opportunity to crack open any rocks he thought might contain fossils.

  Beyond a small ridge was a hidden hollow and a jagged black square where the rock had broken down to reveal a void below. The radio crackled again. The advice was pretty useless. It told them to go up the track they had just completed. Mo shrugged his shoulders and put his hammer away; the lava tubes would be devoid of interest for his speciality.

  The difficulties in communicating in twenty-minute intervals was going to need better protocols than this. ‘The Other Things’ reported on their intention of investigating the caves. Now they waited for instruction. The boys killed time by throwing rocks down the hole, while Elin and Xing searched the landscape, in case they caught a glimpse of their mothers.

  The series of ancient lava tubes near Kelso Depot were exactly the type of feature that could lead the way into warm and interesting places on Mars. The tubes form when slowly flowing lava builds deep channels and crusts over as it spreads out from the main chambers. These get covered by subsequent eruptions to form a network of oval subterranean warrens, revealing themselves as the overlying rocks are weathered down.

  Buzz was overjoyed to hear Jane’s familiar tones break over the airways. ‘Look for olivine within the caves and take samples of any type of slime you can.’

  Elin gave a thumbs-up to show the others she knew the silica-based mineral Jane was talking about.

  In the cold, dark environment beneath their feet, life still thrived without sunlight or normal nutrition, sustaining itself from iron deposits within the rock.

  Modern humans have been on the Earth for at least 200,000 years, yet we are still discovering how it works. Galileo was nearly burned at the stake for telling some simple truths less than 400 years ago. Even plate tectonics were not understood 50 years ago, and the discovery of extreme animals living in previously considere
d intolerable conditions has allowed us to envision life beyond the safe confines of our everyday world.

  Take the water bear or tardigrade: only quarter of an inch long, it can live without water or food for 120 years and withstand pressures six times greater than those found in the deepest oceans. It can also survive temperatures from near absolute zero to well above the boiling point of water and withstand radiation one hundred times more than we can handle.

  Within a day’s drive of the camp there was a lake whose water is so caustic you could clean your toilet with it and as salty as the water flows discovered on Mars. These extreme examples of life show that life can survive in the strangest place on Earth but until we find life elsewhere, the universe for us hovers between two states: the first, we are alone in the void, making us special and unique, where creation has been gloriously made for just us; the second is that life is ubiquitous and occurs wherever the right ingredients come together. Life may even be a natural phase of matter and energy analogous to the states of gases, liquids or solids.

  Water Bear

  If life were found on Mars and that spark of vitality pervades the universe, it becomes a far more exciting place in which to exist. Like the difference between living in a provincial town like Runcorn, or a dynamic city like New York. No one ever named Runcorn twice.

  Our assumptions of life are so adapted to our current environment that we instinctively expect it to need what we need, in particular sunlight and oxygen. It didn’t start like that and any planet or space rock with a source of energy and liquid water might be teeming with life.

  Those impressions in the rocks of Mars were not the first clues that sophisticated life could have evolved there. Although the seas and thick atmosphere are now long gone, something might survive. This is why the teams were exploring lava tubes on Earth, because they might be a rabbit hole to a Martian wonderland.

  The rocks before them were broken by large fissures. As they worked their way to the edge, they found that the debris from the caved-in roof formed stepping stones into the oval interior. As they descended, the bright light streamed around them but did not penetrate too far into the gloom. With a series of satisfying clicks, the helmet lights shot out into the darkness, darting around crazily as they peered into the void. This was a special tunnel, off the usual tourist trail and the preserve of researchers.