A Step Beyond

by Christopher K Anderson

  “Release me,” Tatiana demanded forcefully.

  “First, you must promise not to strike him,” Komarov replied.

  The whistle sounded again, and once again they turned their heads toward the intruding noise. As before, the request message blinked persistently at them.

  “Please, let me go,” said Tatiana. Her muscles had relaxed, and she was making an attempt to sound under control.

  Komarov looked down at Satomura, who managed to sit up but was still visibly in great pain. “Are you hurt?” he asked, without releasing her. Satomura replied hoarsely that he thought he would survive.

  Tightening his grip, Komarov returned his attention to Tatiana. The whistle sounded, but this time they ignored it. Satomura dragged himself outside the range of the camera.

  “I’ll leave him alone,” she assured him.

  “You must give me your word.”

  “You have it.”

  Although uncertain he could trust her, Komarov relaxed his grip because he did not seem to have any other choice. He could not hold her captive forever. Besides, the Americans would wonder what was wrong. She turned her back with an exaggerated air of defiance and marched out of the cabin. Komarov was concerned about how she was handling Vladimir’s death. He could tell that her pain was greater than she let on. It was as if she blamed herself. He brushed the wrinkles from his shirt as he sat down to initiate communications with the Liberty. Before opening the link, he glanced at Satomura, who was now against the far wall, curled into an upright fetal position.

  “Gagarin here,” Komarov said, opening the link.

  “What the hell happened to you,” Carter blurted, then grinned as he divined the embarrassing truth. “Looks like you came out the wrong side of a catfight.”

  “Never mind what happened to me,” Komarov replied sternly. “What is it that you want?”

  The screen split in two and Dr. Endicott, with an apologetic nod, appeared on the other half. He appeared nervous and greatly irritated and did not greet Komarov upon seeing him. The Russian was so struck by the unusual behavior that he motioned Satomura to watch from another monitor. With a feeble finger, Satomura reached up to open a window on the screen that still held his earlier calculations. Exhausted by the effort, he leaned back against the wall.

  “I have been watching the weather,” Endicott said.

  “Yes?”

  “And there appears to be another dust storm heading your way.”

  “We are in the midst of a global dust storm,” Komarov replied, even though he already knew what Endicott was about to say. “The entire planet is engulfed in dust. What do you mean another storm is heading our way?”

  “Another local storm.”

  “A local storm?” Komarov repeated with disbelief. “How can that be?”

  “The barometric conditions are such that—”

  “Never mind. How soon will it arrive?”

  “Three hours and forty-seven minutes.”

  “I see.” Komarov paused to consider what this might mean. “Can you land before then?”

  “Not enough time,” Carter replied. “It will take at least that long to prepare the lander. And then I’d have to wait until the next launch window. I need at least six hours.”

  “We’ll have to wait until the storm passes, then.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Carter replied.

  “And how long will that be?”

  “Difficult to say,” Endicott said. “It could be several days.” “We only have three.”

  “I know,” Carter replied. “I think they’ll go for a rescue on the final day, regardless of conditions.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I’m not sure. But what other choice do they have?”

  “They could minimize their losses. It is what I would do.” “Nonsense. You’d do the same damn thing that I’d do, and you know it.”

  “Let us hope the storm subsides.”

  “Yes,” Endicott responded, “that would be best.”

  Komarov shut down the comm link and turned to say something to Satomura, but hesitated when he saw that Satomura was still crumpled in the corner.

  “What do you think?” Komarov said after a while.

  “I would not worry,” Satomura replied. “He appears determined to rescue you.”

  Komarov laughed out loud at this, even though he was terribly annoyed at Satomura’s smug remark. “Yes, I think you’re right,” he said.

  “Average wind speed?” Carter asked.

  “Two hundred and fifty,” Satomura replied.

  “I can’t land in that,” Carter said. “How much time?” “Fifteen minutes are left in the window,” Komarov replied. “Any chance it might calm down?” Carter asked.

  “There’s always a chance,” Satomura said doubtfully. “Can you upload the map?”

  “I’m not sure the software is compatible.”

  “Give it a try,” Carter said. He flipped several of the switches

  on the panel before him. “I’m going to initiate the launch sequence.”

  “I cannot permit a launch under these conditions,” Nelson said.

  “There may be a clearing.” Carter waited for Nelson to object, but the radio remained silent. The storm had maintained high winds for three days, and it gave no sign of weakening. “Separation in twenty seconds.” A launch clock appeared on the upper half of the computer screen. “L minus thirteen minutes and forty-five seconds.”

  “I can’t permit this,” Nelson said.

  “Tom, goddamn it, this is our last chance. If I don’t pull them off the planet in the next eight hours, they’re going to die.”

  The distant sound of a keyboard was followed by a message on Carter’s heads-up display indicating the supply ship had initiated the separation sequence. Carter returned his attention to the Russian lander.

  “Two seconds to separation,” he announced.

  Several small springs gently pushed the lander away from the supply ship. Carter rotated the lander with small bursts of hydrazine from the reaction-control system.

  “You should have the map,” Komarov said.

  A window appeared on the console to Carter’s left. He bent forward, as close to the map as his safety belt would stretch. The map was shaded with different contours that represented different wind speeds, and almost at once Carter spotted what he was looking for.

  “I see a possibility,” he said. “Take a look at six degrees south, seventy-four degrees west. Winds speeds are less than fifty klicks per hour.”

  “It’s too far,” Komarov replied.

  “Seventy kilometers max,” Carter replied. The contour crossed the tip of a peninsula at the northernmost point of the mesa. The peninsula was long and narrow and looked like a bent index finger.

  “There is not enough room to land,” Komarov said.

  “That’s my problem,” Carter replied.

  “It is less than ten kilometers across at that point.”

  “I said that’s my problem.”

  “Can the rover make it?” Tatiana asked doubtfully.

  There was a pause. “It should be able to. The storm may pose a problem, however. Visibility is less than a few meters.”

  “For crissakes,” Carter interrupted, “this is our last chance. As long as the purge valve checks out, I’m coming down.” He looked at the monitor and clicked upon the button that said descent in Russian. He knew the button by its position on the screen. “Initiating descent sequence. L minus nine minutes and counting.”

  Komarov ordered his crew to prepare for EVA, and several minutes later Nelson broke his silence and wished Carter good luck.

  “Ten seconds.” Carter kept one eye fixed on the sensors for the main line, his hand hovering over the abort switch. “Five seconds. Four. Three.” The sensors indicated the purge valve was operating as it should, and Carter’s hand withdrew and wrapped around the controls as he braced himself for the ignition of the main engine. “One.”

  �
��I have ignition.”

  The main engine fired, and the lander began its short descent into the Martian atmosphere. From the monitor on his left, Carter saw a shroud of swirling red dust, then a pink glow that turned red as the gases outside the ship reached several thousand degrees Fahrenheit. The computer displayed a message indicating that the comm link had dropped.

  Komarov gripped the outer edges of the monitor as he waited for the link to be reestablished. Over his shoulders peered Tatiana, hardly breathing, her eyes fixed on the screen. A dotted line circling a three-dimensional, rotating globe displayed the path of the lander as it dropped into the Martian atmosphere. It was converging with another, much smaller line that extended to the planet’s surface. They could hear the tapping of Nelson’s fingers over the intercom.

  “Contact in nine seconds,” Komarov whispered.

  It was a long nine seconds, during which the only motion within the Gagarin was from the light of the monitors and a bead of sweat that had formed on Komarov’s brow. The monitor flashed brightly.

  “How you folks doin’ down there?” came the Southern drawl.

  “Contact reestablished,” Komarov said, not certain how he should reply to Carter’s remark. It annoyed him that Carter spoke so casually. “Your trajectory looks good.”

  “Roger,” Carter confirmed. “Eight-point-five kilometers above the surface. Releasing the drogue in four seconds.”

  Komarov could feel Tatiana’s nails dig into his flesh. This was the point at which Vladimir’s descent had gone horribly wrong. He reached back to touch her hand.

  “Drogue successfully released . . . all three chutes are open . . . I’m coming in.”

  “Winds holding steady at forty-seven kilometers per hour,” Komarov said.

  “She’s a little bumpy. I can’t make out the surface. Will come in using instruments. As long as I don’t land on a damn boulder, I should be all right. Extending landing legs.”

  “Your trajectory looks good.”

  “Visibility six meters max. Jettisoning chutes in five seconds.”

  They watched as the speed of the lander increased after the parachutes had been disengaged.

  “Experiencing a problem.”

  “What sort of problem?” Nelson asked over the intercom. There was an eerie silence. The monitor provided no insight. It displayed the same trajectory and the same settings. A frantic shout burst from the intercom. It took several seconds to realize it was Endicott. Finally, Carter’s voice, short of breath.

  “Ran into some turbulence. Almost lost control.”

  “Wind speeds holding at forty-seven klicks.” “One-point-nine kilometers from the surface. Firing retro-rockets.”

  Komarov enlarged the window containing the view from Carter’s outside cameras. He saw nothing but a red blur. He glanced at a monitor that displayed the conditions outside his own ship. The view was similar, only darker.

  “Initiating burn.”

  A message appeared indicating the lander’s rockets had fired, but Komarov waited for Carter to confirm the event before he squeezed Tatiana’s hand.

  “Thirty seconds to touchdown. The ship is handling well. Still don’t see the surface.”

  “You won’t,” Komarov said flatly. “Take her down quickly.” The monitor that displayed the view outside the lander went reddish black from the sand kicked up by the retro-rockets. A moment later, the lander’s altimeter stopped decreasing. Komarov released Tatiana’s hand to point this out.

  “I have landed.” Carter was unable to fully contain his excitement and spoke in bursts. “A perfect three-point. Thank God she found level ground.” They heard the sound of his safety belt being unbuckled, followed by a groan as he lifted himself, the rustling of his softsuit, and then a long silence. “Can’t see a damn thing out the window.”

  “Welcome back,” Komarov said.

  “Let’s hope we can get off this planet,” Carter replied. He had dropped his usual cockiness. “What’s the latest forecast?”

  “The storm is heading your direction,” Satomura said. “Gusts are peaking at four hundred kilometers per hour.”

  “Jesus.” For nearly a minute the only sound was that of Carter’s heavy breathing. They heard him suck in a large quantity of air and hold it. A full ten seconds passed before he spoke. “How long will it take to get you and your crew over here?”

  “Including detours . . . nearly three hours at top speed. But we won’t be able to push top speed under these conditions. Six or seven if we’re lucky. The rover carries enough fuel to run ten hours at full power.”

  “That’s cutting it pretty damn close.” “We’ll be there in six,” Komarov replied.

  The Final Challenge

  Astiff gust of 350 kilometers per hour tugged at Komarov as he descended the ladder. He was wrapped in a sheet cut from the tarpaulin that had protected the Gagarin. A rope joined him to Tatiana. When she touched the ground he guided her to the closest leg of the lander, where she instinctively wrapped her arms around the metallic limb. Several minutes later Satomura was at her side.

  “Stand upright.” Komarov’s natural impulse was to shout, but with the sophisticated acoustics of the headset there was only a hint of the fierce howling outside his helmet. He could feel the sand striking the lower half of his softsuit. He took a last look at the Gagarin. The undercarriage was barely visible. It was the same reddish color as the surface. He tightened the tarp around his suit.

  “Thirty-seven meters northwest,” he said, pointing into the cloud of dust. The rover could not be seen. He motioned with his hand, thrusting a finger emphatically forward. “Over there.”

  Komarov stepped into the cloud and disappeared. Tatiana and Satomura tightened their grips on the rope and followed quickly behind him. Their eyes were on the ground before their feet, with Komarov glancing upward every few meters to see if the rover had materialized. Seeing mostly dust and sand, they were grateful to find solid ground after each step. At ten meters, a rover-sized mound appeared slightly to their left, and Komarov, correcting his course, made straight for it. A gray tarp covered the rover. They grabbed hold of the ropes that bound the tarp and planted their feet.

  “Cut it free!”

  They slashed at the ropes with their utility knives. A liberated edge snapped at them. Watchful of the rope, they circled the rover and cut the remaining ties. The tarp lifted into the air, causing them to shrink back. It hovered above their heads, then flapped like a giant manta ray before disappearing into the storm.

  “Takashi, I want you in back,” Komarov said. The rover, an open-air buggy, was designed to seat two, and in their space suits it was impossible to squeeze three up front. Satomura was to sit upon the aft chassis, where they normally stored equipment and supplies and which was now vacant since they had not planned on using the rover during the final week of their stay. With Tatiana’s aid, Satomura lifted himself onto the back of the rover.

  “Tie me in,” he said, and retracted his helmet turtlelike into the safety of his tarp.

  Komarov grinned as the control console lit up, and a green bar extending its full length indicated the batteries were fully charged. He initiated the self-test. Tatiana strapped herself in next to him. To Komarov’s relief, all systems were operational. He knew, however, that this would at best be short-lived. The high-gain antenna, Tatiana had predicted, would probably be the first to go, for it was shaped like an inverted umbrella. In these winds she gave it less than ten minutes, which was five minutes longer than Satomura’s dire prediction.

  They were both wrong. A strong gust snapped off the antenna less than thirty seconds after Komarov had sent the signal to open it. With sinking hearts they watched the antenna tumble across the surface. When it disappeared they glanced at the low-gain, a tin can-like contraption fixed to a short rod. It appeared unaffected by the wind.

  “Are you there, Al?” Komarov asked “Can hear you loud and clear.”

  “We lost the high-gain.”

  “Are
you surprised?”

  Carter’s flippant response annoyed Komarov. “We’re going to have to reduce navigational traffic.”

  “Just point that thing northwest and step on it.”

  They both knew it was not that simple. Because of the low visibility, Komarov would have to rely on computer-generated topographicals to avoid the pits and crevices that lay between him and the backup lander. The onboard computer did not have sufficient storage to hold the data. If the low-gain failed, he would have to reduce his speed to a crawl, which meant they would never make the window. He touched the switch to activate the navigational systems. A top-down view of a three-dimensional map appeared. It contained the entire mesa. He keyed in the coordinates of the lander and requested the optimal path after altering the parameters to favor speed over safety. By the change in Tatiana’s breathing, he knew that she was not fully behind this move, but she said nothing.

  A tortuous and jagged path appeared between the two landers. He frowned. They would have to travel farther east than he had anticipated. He reduced the safety parameter, and the neon line snapped to a much straighter path. He was pleased with the output, and Tatiana was still quiet. They would arrive with nearly two hours to spare, which was the cushion he figured they needed.

  He glanced up at the cones in the dust formed by the rover’s headlights. The visibility was ten meters at best. He increased the magnification until only the first fifty meters of the path was displayed on the screen. The rover leapt forward as he pressed down on the accelerator, then bounced seconds later as it hit its first rock.

  “Easy,” Tatiana cautioned.

  “I didn’t see it,” Komarov explained, as the force of the rover turning pressed her next to him. She grabbed on to the control panel to maintain her balance. “Time is of the essence,” he offered in explanation. “You still back there, Takashi?”

  “A warning would be appreciated.”