A Step Beyond

by Christopher K Anderson

  “To hear him talk it’s almost a certainty.”

  “That would be incredible.” He noticed that Tatiana was stroking her forehead, which he interpreted to mean her mind was elsewhere. He grew uncomfortable. He had been preparing for this moment for the past several days, and now that it had arrived, he felt that everything he had planned to say seemed inappropriate.

  “Vladimir,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “We are not here to discuss the fossil.”

  “Yes,” he agreed hesitantly.

  “We are here to discuss us.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you should start.”

  “Yes,” he said, then became silent as he wondered how he should start. He wanted to tell her that he blamed himself more than her, but then he wasn’t sure that she really knew about Japan. To mention the affair if she did not already know about it would certainly make matters worse. She would be furious. He was growing confused as he tried to think of what he should say. He would tell her that he could forgive her if she just stopped seeing Komarov. That above all else, she had to stop seeing him. “I want us to work things out,” he said.

  “And so do I, Vladimir. I have been thinking of you so much lately and cannot bear to see you suffer so. I wish none of this had ever happened.”

  He studied her curiously, his face contorting with thought. “Do you really mean what you say?” he asked.

  “Yes, every word.” He noticed that there was some hesitancy in her voice.

  “You will renounce him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You admit sleeping with him, then?”

  She paused before responding. He could tell that she was trying to make up her mind as to what she should say. If she were to lie, it would be now, he told himself. She almost appeared frightened. It was clear that she did not want to upset him.

  “There wasn’t really anything going on,” she said. “He made several advances, yes. But I never gave in. We are good friends, that is all.”

  Vladimir’s face underwent a terrible alteration. He raised his fist over his head and sent it crashing down onto the table before him.

  “You are lying!” he exclaimed vehemently. “You can’t fool me with your lies. You are sleeping with him. The American, Endicott, has as much as told me so. Admit it. Why can’t you admit this?”

  “Vladimir, I . . .” she began.

  “Don’t even bother. The guilt is written all over your face. What do you see in him? He doesn’t care about you. He just wants you for sex. Can’t you see that?”

  “He doesn’t mean anything to me.” She was trying hard to remain calm.

  “He doesn’t mean anything to you,” Vladimir repeated sarcastically. He knew that his anger was out of control and that he would regret what he said later, but he was unable to stop himself. He was pacing back and forth. “Then why the hell are you sleeping with him? How do you suppose that makes me feel? Answer me that.”

  “Vladimir, listen to me, I’m not sleeping with him,” she said. “Yes you are,” he said. “Endicott wouldn’t make something like that up.”

  “You must have misunderstood him.”

  “The deception is over, Tanya.”

  “I . . .” she faltered.

  He watched her with a growing sense of distaste. She pulled her falling hair back behind her ears and with one hand held it there. Her lips quivered with half-formed words. He took this as a sign of her guilt, and at that instant he imagined Komarov having sex with her. By the time he spoke, his face was bright red with fury.

  “You disgust me,” he declared. “I thought you were different, but I was wrong. It’s all over between us. I will not be married to a slut.”

  He spat upon the monitor and walked away, calling her names that he knew she must have heard. He went to get the vodka that he kept in his compartment. After he had time to calm down and had finished several drinks, he became upset with himself for having lost his temper. He did not know if she would forgive him. The thought filled him with despair, and he decided to drink until he passed out so that he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

  Within an hour after the cameras had captured the geyser spewing water fifty to sixty meters into the Martian sky, Satomura and Tatiana were aboard the blimp heading for the site. Satomura extracted a laptop from his backpack and plugged it into the main console. Looking over at Tatiana while his programs loaded, he could see that she was distracted.

  “How did it go with Vladimir?” he asked.

  She spoke for nearly fifteen minutes. Satomura listened as he typed, only once stopping her to ask for clarification on a seemingly trivial point. When she concluded, he closed the laptop and stared out at the red cliffs that dominated the western horizon. He appeared to be keenly interested in their shape.

  “I had hoped it would’ve gone better,” he finally said. Tatiana waited as long as her patience would bear. “What can be done?” she asked.

  “We must be careful not to upset him further,” Satomura replied. His helmet hid almost his entire profile. The only portion of his face visible to her was the pockmarked tip of his long, rounded nose. “His condition is delicate. You must stop sleeping with Dmitri, of course. Your husband seems to know when you are lying.”

  Her immediate reaction was indignation. It was none of the old man’s business with whom she slept. But the firmness in his voice, the certainty that left no doubt he was correct, prevented her from protesting immediately. During all the time she had spent with him, no matter how disagreeable or self-centered he might have been, she had never known Satomura to be wrong. His helmet remained perfectly still, waiting silently for her response.

  She did not care for Dmitri in the way she cared for Vladimir. Dmitri was a very handsome man with a winning way about him, but she did not love him. Ending the affair would not cause her any great grief. What troubled her was how Dmitri might react. His persistence in his lovemaking caused Tatiana to think that he might truly love her. But even if he didn’t, he would still take offense. It was his nature. The very thought of him angry with her concerned her greatly. He was a powerful man, and he was her commander, and if he so wished he could do considerable damage to her career. He might even threaten her physically. Oddly enough, it was his power that she found most attractive about him.

  As if guessing her thoughts, Satomura said, “I have spoken with Dmitri.”

  In her surprise, she did not know whether to be frightened or relieved.

  “What did he say?”

  “He agreed, under the circumstances, that it would be best,” Satomura said.

  She wondered if he had agreed willingly, and made a mental note to press Satomura for details later. For now, she was satisfied, and actually quite relieved.

  “Of course,” she said. “You are right.”

  “Good,” he replied, and clapped his hands together.

  Other than the tapping of Satomura’s keyboard, the remainder of the flight passed mostly in silence. Tatiana brought the dirigible to a halt when it was two hundred meters out from the geyser. It was spewing water nearly sixty meters into the air, and the disturbance it produced in the atmosphere caused the dirigible to rock. Most of the water turned to ice before it struck the ground. They could hear a deep rumbling sound.

  “Magnificent,” Satomura muttered.

  “I want you to land well outside the radius of the falling debris,” Komarov interjected over the intercom.

  “A distance of fifty meters . . .” Tatiana began.

  “One hundred,” Komarov countered.

  “That should do nicely,” Satomura said, pointing at a spot not quite one hundred meters out. Tatiana directed the dirigible toward the site.

  Satomura jumped out of the dirigible and ran toward the geyser without waiting for Tatiana. He stopped at the edge of the geyser, a falling mixture of water and ice, and placed his arms akimbo. Some of the water that struck the ground bubbled up and boiled away before it could free
ze. The ice had formed tiny spheres, inside of which the water was still liquid. A misty vapor rose from the ice. The water was actually boiling and freezing at the same time. Satomura was not surprised. The phenomenon resulted from the combination of low atmospheric pressure and subzero temperatures. He knew now that the ice they had collected on their first visit was not just permafrost. It, too, was from the subsurface river, which meant his chances of finding life had diminished, since he had already examined similar samples. He took a step backwards, not to move out of danger, but to obtain a better view of the entire geyser. Tatiana tapped him on the shoulder.

  “The ship is secured,” she said, annoyed that he had left her to do this by herself.

  “Good,” he responded. After a momentary pause, he swung both arms majestically over his head and held them there, his whole body trembling. “What do you think of it?”

  Tatiana glanced up and rapidly took several steps backwards, her look of annoyance transforming to one of astonishment.

  “Aren’t you a little close?” she asked.

  Upon hearing Tatiana’s concern, Komarov ordered them to retreat to a safe distance. Satomura spun rapidly around, his eyes wild with excitement, and marched over to Tatiana, who had moved back another several meters.

  “We must collect what we can,” he blurted.

  Tatiana watched with amazement as he disappeared into the mist and returned several minutes later with two collection bags full of samples. Water that had clung to his suit was bubbling, and a cloud of vapors surrounded him as if his suit were smoldering. He placated Komarov by telling him that the ice in the ejecta was too small to do any harm. Tatiana wasn’t certain that the ice was harmless, but she did not say anything.

  They worked continuously for several hours, Satomura running into the mist and back, while Tatiana carried the bags to the dirigible. The ice in the bags was murky, and when Tatiana pointed that out to Satomura, he said that it was a promising sign. She held a bag up to the sun, but did not see anything of interest. Since they were able to collect the water at the surface, there was no need to set up the drill. They both felt the drill wouldn’t have been sturdy enough to withstand the pressure. The geyser had gained over ten meters in height by the time they had filled the last bag.

  As they made their way back toward the dirigible, they were startled by how dark the sky in the distant horizon had become; neither had noticed the darkening before. It almost appeared as if a rainstorm were brewing in the distance, something they knew to be impossible; and after a few slow steps the possibility of a Martian dust storm occurred to them. They broke into a run.

  Satomura shouted instructions in between gasps for air. “Dmitri, check the weather southeast of you!”

  He was climbing into the dirigible when the response came back. “High winds,” Komarov said excitedly. “One hundred and seventy-five kilometers per hour heading northwest. Temperatures are rising. The surface is completely obscured. It looks like a dust storm, and it’s heading straight for us. Hold on.” The sound of rapid typing could be heard in the background, then a momentary pause as they waited for Komarov to read the data displayed by the computer. “It will reach the lander in approximately one hour and forty-five minutes.”

  “Shut the hatch!” Tanya shouted. Satomura slammed his knee against the metal handle of the hatch and cursed out loud. His eyes watered with tears. With a groan and a curse he grabbed the handle. Through the open portal, he caught a glimpse of the geyser, reddish pink against the darkening sky, spurting as if it were a burst artery.

  “We’re going up in five seconds,” Tatiana announced. Pulling back with what strength he could muster, Satomura drew the hatch shut. He dropped limply into his chair, and as he rubbed his knee he considered the dangers of being caught in a dust storm. He knew that the force of the wind was not as great as it would have been on Earth. In fact, it was one-tenth as strong because the atmospheric pressure of Mars was less than that of Earth’s. But there was still much to be concerned about. Dust entrained by the wind would be highly abrasive and could damage the hull of the dirigible. It would obscure the surface and might even interfere with the mechanics of the ship. But what troubled him the most was that the winds might increase in speed. They had been known to exceed four hundred kilometers per hour. This was the equivalent to a forty-kilometer-per-hour wind on Earth, which was too high for the dirigible to fly through safely. It was also too high for the lander. And since the dirigible would be flying against the wind, their progress would be slowed. He knew that the canyon might actually intensify the winds.

  “We should be able to reach the lander with about ten minutes to spare,” Tatiana said. “That won’t give us enough time to deflate the dirigible.”

  “Nor will it give me enough time to prepare the Gagarin for departure,” Komarov said. They were scheduled to leave the planet in two weeks. “I’d better alert the Shepard.”

  When Nelson came on-line several seconds later, Komarov instructed him to pull up the transmission he had just sent him.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “It is a satellite image of a dust storm, and it’s heading northwest at approximately one hundred and seventy-five kilometers per hour,” Komarov said.

  “It probably won’t get this far. Dust storms are normally confined to the southern hemisphere. But just in case, we’ll batten down the hatches. It shouldn’t last for more than a few days.”

  “It looks as if it’s getting larger,” Komarov said. “I am comparing the first photograph with one that has just come in. I estimate that its north–south axis has increased by five kilometers.”

  “You’d best get to work. Good luck, Dmitri.”

  During the interval prior to the storm’s arrival, Komarov and Nelson performed emergency EVAs to secure equipment and tie down the protective tarps that covered the landers. Carter coordinated their activities from a laptop in his bunk, while Endicott reported on the storm’s progress. They tried to reach Vladimir, but he did not respond to their call. The horizon grew more menacing with each passing second.

  Tatiana could not get the dirigible to achieve its maximum speed and suggested to Satomura that he dump some of the samples to lighten their load. He sorted through the samples and threw two of the bags out. Upset but knowing that he would not part with more, she told him to throw out whatever else he could. Their speed increased slightly, but not enough to make her feel any more comfortable. Every time she glanced out the side window the storm appeared closer. By the time the dirigible was in sight of the camp, the winds had picked up another twenty kilometers per hour.

  Tatiana pointed at a small figure, which she knew to be Komarov, standing next to the Gagarin. Komarov stepped forward and waved his arms over his head. The sky above him was a mixture of colors, a whirlpool of yellow, maroon, and dark gray.

  “Get on the ground,” Komarov shouted. “You only have a few minutes.”

  “I’m taking her down,” Tatiana said.

  “Take as many collection bags as you can,” Satomura said. “To hell with the collection bags,” Komarov said. “Just get the hell off that thing.”

  When the ship touched ground, Tatiana kicked the door open and jumped out. Satomura was right behind her, with several bags in his arms. The dust was swirling at their feet. They took a few minutes to secure the dirigible and then walked quickly for the lander. Now that they were off the dirigible the winds posed less of a danger. They could stand upright in a two-hundred-kilometer-per-hour wind as if it were a mild zephyr. Komarov helped them into the airlock.

  As they rested against the walls of the chamber to catch their breath, they heard the first sounds of the storm. It began with a low whistle. Gradually, the whistle grew louder and became high-pitched.

  “Two hundred kilometers per hour and still increasing,” came Endicott’s voice over the intercom, and all eyes turned toward the monitor on which he appeared. “It is growing fast. I have several satellite photographs, each taken fifteen minutes
apart. I’ll display them on the monitor.”

  The Valles Marineris Canyon dominated the lower half of the picture, running horizontally, east to west. They recognized Candor Chasma, at the northwest tip of the Marineris system, and the mesa inside Candor upon which their lander was perched.

  “This picture of the storm was taken just minutes before you first noticed it. If you look southeast of the landing site, at the very edge of Candor Chasma, you can see where the surface features are blurred. Dust from the winds is obscuring the surface.”

  The second picture depicted a storm system that had grown nearly twice in size from the first. The storm continued to grow in the third and the fourth, and by the sixth it had reached the edge of the mesa. The mesa was completely covered in the seventh.

  “It looks as if it might be going global,” Satomura said.

  “The models I’ve run have the storm dissipating within a few days. But it does have sufficient force to lift the dust into the lower atmosphere. You might be right.”

  Endicott removed the photograph and replaced it with a mosaic of the western hemisphere. The small corner of the planet they occupied was blurred, as if someone had smudged it with an eraser. “This mosaic was generated just five minutes ago.”

  Satomura rudely stepped in between the two cosmonauts and placed himself directly in front of the screen. “Overlay wind and pressure patterns.” Seconds later the photograph was covered with dotted lines, animated arrows, and neon numbers. Satomura traced the patterns with his fingers as he hummed a tune that no one recognized.

  His lips twitched to form a brief smile before he spoke. “The local winds and the tidal winds appear to be augmenting each other. This could produce a runaway situation. Notice the tornadoes to the south. I suspect we will have the opportunity to observe the development of a global dust storm firsthand. We must make haste. There is much work to be done.”

  Komarov was not in any hurry. He instructed the crew to take their time and be thorough as they cleared the airlock of dust.

  Carter opened the package of mixed Italian vegetables and poured its contents onto his plate. The vegetables sounded like balsa wood. Resisting the temptation to pluck an uncooked piece, he added water, stirred, and placed the tray inside the microwave. He turned the timer to three minutes and switched on the nearest monitor to view the latest news from Earth.