“Open the probe door,” Nelson ordered.
“Probe door open.”
“Ten seconds.”
Nelson had nothing but memory to guide him now. He knew that the aperture was slightly below and several centimeters to the right of the camera and that there would be only a centimeter of clearance on either side of the rover. He closed his eyes and imagined the brightly lit opening and steered the rover toward it.
“Five seconds.”
He visualized the rover climbing into Greenhouse and faintly considered the possibility that the rover was banging against the metallic exterior of the probe.
“Three . . . two . . . one.”
Nelson hit the switch to stop the vehicle. If it went too far, it would damage the scientific instruments inside Greenhouse. If it did not go far enough, it would be mangled by the probe doors as they closed. His eyes were still shut. He imagined the rover sitting on a platform in the center of the probe.
“Close probe door.”
“Probe door closed.”
The closing of the doors would activate a sensor indicating whether the rover was in position for soil transfer. They waited for the signal, but nothing happened.
“I’m going to nudge her forward another centimeter,” Nelson said, his voice was flat, without emotion.
They waited again and after a few seconds the message INITIATE SOIL TRANSFER appeared quietly on their screens; the appearance of the message implied the rover was properly docked. Nelson breathed a sigh of relief that was audible over the intercom. He closed his eyes and listened to the others speak excitedly about the events that had just taken place.
Satomura watched a replay of the rover’s short trek across the planet’s surface as he waited impatiently for the results of the soil analysis. He could detect the telltale signs of a lava bed. The rocks were porous and when viewed through a filter that blocked out the reddish tints of the atmosphere they were dark brown and black. Many of the rocks showed signs of erosion. Data from the mass spectrometer finally appeared on the screen. It confirmed his observations. The rocks were basaltic. This was in line with findings from earlier missions. The entire length of the sample proved to be similar in composition. And since it was a lava bed, they would probably find similar soil several meters deep. He smirked at the thought of this. What would one expect so near a volcano.
The probe continued to transmit data for nearly an hour beyond its expected life span. Satomura jumped from one analysis to the next. He uttered odd and, to Tatiana’s mind, unseemly sounds whenever he found something unexpected. After some time he turned his attention to the biological analysis of the core sample. Temperatures at the surface were too high to support organic molecules. They would denature in a matter of seconds. But if there were life in the clouds, some evidence of that life would eventually fall to the ground. Satomura was studying the spectrograph for elements that might make up the decomposed remains of a life-form. Many of the elements were present, but not in the mixtures he would have expected. Still, he told himself after several hours of scrutiny, the hypothesis had not been disproved. They were simply looking in the wrong place. As he stretched he noticed that he was alone in the room. He could not remember the others leaving. A glance at the clock revealed that he had been working for nearly thirteen hours since the probe had landed. The others must have left hours ago. He did not feel tired, but decided it would be best to retire, since his crew mates would be waking shortly, and he did not want them to think that he had been up all night.
Reluctantly, he shut down the terminals and made for his quarters. He fell onto his bed fully clothed. His thoughts were racing with possible interpretations of the data. He looked up at the ceiling and, after some time had passed, focused on a tiny green light and began to meditate.
Unaware that Carter was watching him from the edge of the portal, Endicott injected premeasured amounts of nutrient into the hydroponic containers. The gentle sounds of a piano filled the garden. His movement was automatic and seemed to be guided more by the music than by his own will. The high-pressure sodium lamps above him glowed faintly. Normally the room would have been more brightly lit, but he had turned the lights down. The dim light helped him relax. He was thinking of Brunnet. He told himself that there was really nothing he could have done differently. Had he known there was going to be a flare, he could have set up in the shelter; but the flare hadn’t been detected until it was too late. No one actually blamed him. The radiation had caused Brunnet’s death. He couldn’t have left the wound open; although he knew that if he had, Brunnet might still be alive.
Endicott re-created the events in his mind in search of alternatives that he might have overlooked. If only the appendix had not been perforated. He knew it was best to put such thoughts to rest. But the manner of Brunnet’s death and his own role in it was not the only thing that troubled him. He had lost a companion. Nelson and Carter were not Brunnet’s equal. He found it difficult to talk with them. And now more so than ever. Because he couldn’t help thinking that perhaps they blamed him in some way. It was best not to think about it, he reminded himself. He focused on the solitary tomato plant in the garden. The stem was supported by an intricate cage of wire that Endicott had constructed himself.
“It’s gettin’ late,” Carter said.
Startled by the sound, Endicott jumped and felt his hand strike the wire cage as he turned around to confront the intruder. He turned back in time to see the cage hit the deck. Two of the tomatoes broke open and splattered red juice across the floor. It looked like blood. He knelt on one knee to inspect the damage.
“I’m sorry,” Carter said as he approached to assist.
“Please,” Endicott said. “I can handle this.”
“Of course,” Carter replied.
Endicott looked around for a towel, but there weren’t any in sight. He thought about asking Carter to fetch a towel, but that meant Carter would return, and he would rather that he just left. For a moment he was at a loss as to what he should do. Carter was between him and any towel that was to be had, and he did not want to seem rude. Carter might report the incident. The medical consultants back on Earth were considering a psychiatric evaluation, and an outburst would probably be enough to convince them to proceed. He did not see the need for the evaluation. His reaction to Brunnet’s death was not abnormal. He simply wanted some time to himself. If an evaluation was conducted, he feared that others might find out. He did not want that on his record, and he certainly did not want it to become public knowledge. He decided he would have to make a greater effort to interact with Carter and Nelson. He was guilty of avoiding them, even more so than before.
“If you could find a towel . . .” Endicott said.
“Right,” Carter replied, and disappeared through the portal. He carefully undid the wire that held the plant to the cage and removed the plant as if he were removing a stillborn from its mother’s womb. It was fragile. Far more fragile than its Earth counterpart. He was examining the end of the broken stem when Carter entered the room with a white towel.
“What are you looking at?” Carter asked.
“The stem,” Endicott replied simply. Then added in way of explanation: “The lignin and cellulose content is considerably less than that of the same plant grown on Earth.”
“So it is,” Carter replied. “Here’s the towel.”
“Thank you,” Endicott said. He took the towel and wiped the floor with it. The towel turned red, and he thought of Brunnet. He paused in thought.
“What is it?” Carter inquired.
“Nothing,” Endicott replied.
“It’s Jean Paul, isn’t it?”
Endicott was startled by the suggestion, and at first did not know what to say. “Why do you think that?”
“I’ve seen it before. My line of business has a high casualty rate. I’d say you’re handling it pretty well. Most people don’t. Those were the ones I took out and got drunk.” He grinned as if it were a joke, but they both kn
ew it to be true. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry about the shrinks. I’ve taken care of them. Told ’em you were doing fine. That you just needed some time to yourself. Tom did the same.”
Endicott was at a loss as to what to say. He wanted to express his appreciation, but at the same time he did not want to admit anything. He was genuinely surprised at Carter’s support.
“It was nothing,” Carter said, stepping back to leave. “You would have done the same for us.”
“Yes, of course,” Endicott replied.
“If you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me. Guess I’ll be going now.”
Endicott wanted to stop him, but he did not have the nerve. It was what Carter had said about doing the same for them. He realized that it was probably not true. He probably would have insisted upon psychiatric examination if it had not been himself, and he would have been confident that he was taking the correct course. But would it have been? Now he wasn’t so certain. He sat down on the floor with his legs crossed and closed his eyes and smiled as he considered what Carter had done for him.
Tatiana tiptoed into a dark room. She turned and locked the door behind her.
“Are you there, Dima?” she whispered over her shoulder. “Yes, I am here,” a deep guttural voice replied.
She cautiously took one step forward, her arms outstretched. Several meters in front of her was a panel of tiny lights she recognized as indicators for the environmental-control system. They illuminated only a small corner of the room. Her heart was beating fast. She wondered if he would be waiting in the bunk. She could have turned on the light, but she did not want to be seen. Nor did she really want to see him. It would make it too real. She hesitated for a moment. As she stood there, peering into the dark, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. She pushed the concern from her mind. The thought of Dmitri nearby excited her.
“Where?” she asked to be certain.
“Over here,” he said.
She turned to her left at the sound of his voice. Within arm’s length there was an unmistakable masculine form, a V-shaped torso and long muscular legs, stepping forward. The sharp, defined lines meant only one thing. He was not wearing any clothing. She took a deep breath and held it. She stood rigid, frozen in place, as his arms surrounded her. She could feel his warm, hard skin through her clothing.
“I’m glad you came,” he whispered into her ear.
“I told you I would,” she said.
“I thought you might have changed your mind,” he said, kissing her behind the ear. “It is late.”
She pushed back gently and shook her head. “Not so fast.” “It has been seven months,” he offered apologetically.
“Yes, so it has. A few more minutes should not matter then. Should it?”
“Where is Vladimir?”
“I took care of him,” she replied. She had left Vladimir curled in a ball at the edge of the bed with the covers wrapped tightly around him. “He will sleep soundly.”
“You are wicked,” he whispered. “Perhaps that is why I like you so.”
“You like me so,” she said, pressing her body against his, “because I am the only female aboard this ship, and you can’t wait another year and a half for your wife.”
“She is taking advantage of my absence.” He could feel her nipples harden against his chest. “So why should I not take advantage of hers?”
“I wouldn’t want to say anything that might change your mind.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he said, pressing his mouth hard against hers as he pushed her back against the door.
He grabbed her shirt and ripped it open. As she struggled to pull the shirt off, he took her breasts into his hands and kissed them. With trembling fingers she reached down and unbut-toned her pants and pushed them down below her knees, where they fell to the floor. She could feel the cold door against her back.
“I want you,” she said.
Mars Orbit Injection
Colonel Tom Nelson pulled tightly on the restraint straps that held him secure in the contoured chair designed to protect him against high g forces. The Liberty was about to pierce the upper layers of Mars’s thin atmosphere, a maneuver that would reduce its approach speed. He checked the command console to make certain the ship’s trajectory did not require a correction. From the portal it looked as if they were going to crash into the very edge of the planet. The console contained a graphic that displayed the Liberty’s position with respect to its desired flight path. Two lines indicted upper and lower safe limits. Nelson verified that the oblong symbol, which represented the Liberty, was between the two lines. He scanned the vertical and horizontal position displays and lingered upon the attitude-direction indictor, which gave the pitch and yaw of the ship. His eyes dropped to the scale that indicated their current velocity. They were traveling at 26,332 kilometers per hour. The event timer clicked five seconds. Nelson gripped the arms of his chair to brace himself.
The sudden roar was deafening. He was thrown back hard against his seat. The g force plastered his body into the contours of his chair. His face became a distorted rubber mask that vibrated uncontrollably, and his lips turned white and peeled back, baring his teeth and gums. Unable to move, he could feel the ship shake and tremble. It felt as though it were coming apart. He could hear the metal screech as the hull bent under the impact. The sound was loud and sudden. Air rushing past the umbrella-like aeroshield burst into flames and engulfed the ship in fire. He could see the flames through the portal.
He attempted to read the numbers on the center screen, but they jumped and vibrated so fiercely they had disassembled into jagged lines. It did not really matter. There was very little he could do. He simply wanted to reassure himself that the ship was still on course. He started to keep track of the time by counting the seconds. One one thousand, he said to himself. Two one thousand . . .
Then suddenly a great weight was lifted from his chest, the ship stopped shaking, and the howling ceased. Nelson looked down at the event timer. Six minutes and twenty-three seconds had passed. They were still alive. The Liberty had plunged into the Martian atmosphere and emerged intact. They had come within forty-five kilometers of the planet’s surface. He scanned the flight deck to make certain that all systems were functioning properly. The screens were clear of warning messages, and the ship appeared to be on course.
“Abort check,” Nelson said.
“All systems check,” Carter responded.
The Liberty was in a highly elliptical orbit that would, if left unaltered, pull the craft back into the atmosphere. A main engine burn was necessary to raise its perigee to 480 kilometers. Its apogee would remain at 32,000. They felt a gentle push as the reaction-control system fired jets of hydrazine to align the Liberty for the burn. As the ship rotated, the Martian surface rolled by on the monitors. The ground was reddish orange and cratered. They could make out mountain ranges and canyons and what looked like dried-up riverbeds. The sight filled them with awe. Carter pointed at a volcano and attempted to lean forward to get a better look but was pulled back by his safety straps.
“Engine ignition armed.”
“Roger. All systems go,” Carter replied.
“We are go for burn.”
“Ten seconds to ignition.”
Nelson could feel his heart beating as he waited and watched the final seconds tick away. If the main engines failed to fire, they would fall back into the Martian atmosphere, but this time they would not emerge. The ship wouldn’t have the necessary velocity to escape the planet’s gravitational pull. It would crash into the surface. They felt a slight jolt as the engines fired. Moments later the computer indicated the Liberty had achieved its parking orbit.
Carter whistled loudly as he unstrapped himself from the pilot’s chair. His eyes were wild with excitement. He was looking for signs that the others shared his enthusiasm when his attention was diverted by a low-to-high whistle originating from the communications window. Carter opened the channel.
“Comrades, we have arrived,” Komarov said in a booming voice. “Our ship is intact. All systems operational. How did the Liberty handle the aerobrake?”
“Everything appears to be in order,” Nelson replied. “Won’t know for sure until we run a full diagnostic. It was a little bumpy there at the end.”
“That was to be expected,” Komarov said, as if he had done it a thousand times before. They could hear the others talking excitedly in the background. “We, too, will have to run diagnostics. And afterward we will celebrate. We are only a few days away from being the first men to set foot on another planet.”
“Go easy on the vodka,” Nelson said. “I wouldn’t want you to find pink elephants on Mars.”
“Pink elephants?”
“Just an expression,” Nelson said, deciding an explanation would take too long. Besides, he wasn’t certain if Komarov would take it as an insult. Nelson watched the window disappear into an icon, then turned to face his men, his pulse still beating hard. “Gentlemen, we’ve got work to do.”
“Augustus, you chose your guardian well,” Satomura said, looking down through the portal at the dusty red planet, with a plastic container of warm sake dangling from his tired hand. It was Augustus who had made the Roman deity Mars the personal protector of the emperor.
Satomura pressed his nose up against the glass and pulled back when his breath began to condense and obscure his view. He wiped the portal with his sleeve, then shook his head and scrunched his eyes together to steady the planet. It was scarred with deep, long gashes that stretched for thousands of kilometers across the surface. The gashes were the dried-up remains of dead rivers. He could see Valles Marineris, an intricate labyrinth of canyons that carved a bent path along the equator. “Noctis Labyrinthus,” he mumbled, “Tithonium Chasma, Coprates Chasma, and Candor Chasma.” He pointed with his long fingers at Candor Chasma. It was there they would land. He could see the V-shaped tributaries and layered rock that suggested the canyon had once housed an ancient lake. He knew the area well. After the others had retired for the night he would pour himself another coffee and peruse the maps of Mars, filling his computer screen with shaded reliefs and photo mosaics. And when he had finally decided upon a site he would don his goggles. Footprints would appear behind him as if he were actually on the surface. He took another drink from the container.
A Step Beyond Page 12