Marsquake!

by Brad Strickland

  The bespectacled Mickey Goldberg elbowed Roger. “It’s ice, Rog. I don’t think Sean wants a fuss made over this, if you scan my meaning.”

  Sean grinned. Roger and Mickey had both been in on the rescue effort, and they both had served out terms of confinement to quarters as a result, but he had been the ringleader. That was why his suit had been confiscated. Now he said, “Right, no fuss. Next time we have outside assignments, I’m just going to slip into the suit and go out with everyone else. I’m not going to make a big production out of it.”

  After school Sean had to put in a two-hour stint in the greendomes. With the autumn light fading, the artificial lights stayed on longer, but even so, the crop yield would be lower over the coming months. Sean was part of a team assigned to plant, care for, and harvest soybeans, and he spent his time making sure the slatted water cylinders that supported the plants were operating correctly and that the water evaporating into the air was being recovered by the recycling units. The hydroponic method had been strange at first to Sean, who was not used to seeing plants growing without soil, their dangling roots constantly bathed in a mist of nutrient-bearing water, but now the seedlings looked quite normal to him. He checked the oxygen and carbon dioxide levels as well. The growing plants in the domes absorbed carbon dioxide and gave off oxygen. So far, their output wasn’t enough to keep the colony’s air supply fully oxygenated, but they helped. And one day, if nothing happened to prevent it, the colonists would breathe air produced by growing things, just as people on Earth did.

  Late that afternoon Sean finally couldn’t stand it any longer. Roger, Mickey, and Alex were all busy, but he hunted down Jenny and said, “How about going out with me?”

  She looked at him without understanding for a moment, then grinned. “You got your suit back!”

  “Yeah,” Sean said. “I’ve got a couple of hours. I want to get outside for a few minutes, anyway. Want to go?”

  “Sure,” Jenny said. “Meet you at the northeast airlock in half an hour.”

  Sean hurried back to his quarters, donned the suit, and then threaded his way through the corridors to the airlock. He felt a little disappointed that no one seemed to notice that he was wearing the pressure suit for the first time in six months. But he had said he didn’t want a fuss, so he couldn’t complain.

  He was in a hurry, and after so many months on Mars, Sean no longer lurched and stumbled because of the low gravity. He had become an accustomed Mars walker, and when he ran, he did so with a strange skiing gait, speeding along without bounding up into the air.

  Jenny was waiting for him, her blond hair gleaming in the harsh glare of the corridor lights. “Took you long enough,” she teased.

  They put the helmets on, made sure the seal was tight, and tested their suit radios. Then Jenny opened the hatch of the control panel and fed in the code key to open the lock. The inner door opened, and they stepped through and waited as pumps pulled the air out of the chamber.

  The outer door was marked bright red—a warning that it opened directly onto the surface of Mars. When it did open, Sean followed Jenny out, feeling the crunch of the Martian surface under the soles of his boots. The pale sun rode low in the western sky, and long shadows stretched across the reddish orange surface. Jenny pointed a gloved finger.

  Looking orange in the fading light, finger-long spears of ice thrust up from shadowed corners. Sean nodded, realized that Jenny couldn’t see the gesture, and said aloud, “It’s getting pretty common.”

  “More and more,” Jenny agreed.

  At one time Mars had been so dry and the atmosphere so thin that surface ice never appeared in this latitude. But slowly, slowly the colonists were enriching the air and an automated system was shooting ice meteorites into the area around the South Pole. Now the air was just dense enough so that the ice could form without immediately evaporating to nothing—and the air bore just enough water vapor for that to happen.

  To the north Olympus Mons rose in dim, purple majesty, its peak lost in streaked, wispy clouds of ice. Sean took a deep breath. He had missed this. He had missed it more than he had thought.

  The suit’s sensors detected the cold, and he felt a warmth creeping over his skin. But being outside, being free, being trusted again—well, the warmth was as much inside him as outside.

  CHAPTER 2

  Less than a Week later Sean, Jenny, and Alex were tossing a ball around in the Town Hall dome when a group of adults began to shout in anger. Alex dropped the ball and turned in surprise. “What’s up?”

  “Lets see,” Sean responded, taking the lead. He shouldered through the crowd, rising up on his toes to peer ahead. It looked as if five or six people were being held back, their arms pinned behind them, and they were still yelling at one another. Then Sean saw that it was two groups—two people on one side, four on the other. “That’s a lie!” one of the people being held yelled out. It was Chris Wu, a seismologist. He struggled but could not break free of the colonists who were holding him back.

  On the other side, a thick-set, gray-haired man named Foster was trying to pull away from the hold that restrained him. “Asians started it!” he shouted, his face red. “Think you own the world! Ought to lock you—”

  “That’s enough!” One of the men holding Foster said, “Get Wu and Shimata out of here. Cool down, everyone!”

  “What’s going on?” Sean asked Marie Sessions, a woman he had worked with in the greendomes.

  She shook her head. “Argument about the wars on Earth. Foster accused Wu and Shimata of sabotaging the construction program here because they’re loyal to the Asian bloc on Earth.”

  “That’s crazy,” Jenny said from behind Sean. “We’re within a few days of being on schedule! It’s the weather and the areology that have slowed us up, not sabotage!”

  “Tell Foster that,” Marie said.

  Foster and his two friends were being hustled out of the dome to the north, while Wu and Shimata had been taken off to the west. Sean looked around at his friends as the crowd broke up. “This is just great. Marsport can’t afford this.”

  Alex looked disgusted. “Ellman says we’re too immature to make it on Mars. You ask me, it’s the so called adults who’re being childish.”

  Sean nodded his agreement. He, Alex, and Jenny found a table and sat down. The dome was still packed, but the crowd had begun to talk in little more than whispers, with small groups clustering together, gesturing, pointing. “An animal would have better sense than this,” Sean said. “It takes a human to go out on a limb and then saw the limb off behind him.”

  “You know what I think?” Jenny asked. “I think we’re not busy enough. Back during the summer, when we all had to scramble to build up food and water supplies, we didn’t have this stupid quarreling. Now that we’ve got time to think …” She shrugged.

  Alex nodded his agreement. “Because when we stop to think, it looks like we can’t make it.”

  “But that’s not true,” insisted Sean. “If we can get through one Martian year, we can get through another. And if we can make it through two years, then nothing can keep us from staying here for good.”

  Jenny touched his hand. “In six more months, the Magellan will be here from Luna,” she said. “They’ll be bringing things we can’t make on Mars, and some agricultural supplies that will let us diversify our crops. But they could take back more than six hundred of us. I wonder how many will go this time?”

  “Depends on how well we get through the winter,” Alex muttered. “But I know one thing: I’m not going back. Not to Earth, not to Luna. This is home now.”

  “Home,” agreed Jenny. Sean nodded. His friends were right. Whatever happened, he knew they had to hang on. Somehow they had to make Marsport work. But what if their worst enemy wasn’t the planet that had a million ways to kill them? What if the colonists themselves, with their differences and their arguments left over from Earth, were the obstacle that couldn’t be overcome?

  Amanda had once quoted an old, old
Earth saying to him: “We have met the enemy, and he is us.”

  If Marsport fell and faded, it would be their own fault.

  Ellman would never have allowed it, but Tim Mpondo, a younger, more trusting teacher, didn’t mind a student meeting. All twenty of the Asimov Project kids gathered around a holographic projector as Jenny called up a globe of Earth and pointed out the disasters that had occurred. “The supervolcano eruption disrupted the ionosphere over most of the Northern Hemisphere,” she said. “As you can see, vast areas of North America were covered in volcanic ash, and the ash that was blasted into the air caused a volcanic winter—more than eight months of extreme cold temperatures that killed crops and created a worldwide famine.”

  On the map a huge swath of the American midwest glowed reddish orange, a symbol of ash deposit. The area around Yellowstone was a brilliant yellow, marking the area of the eruption, where a caldera miles across had been blasted out of Earth’s surface. The bright tones faded to crimson, then violet, marking the places where the volcanic winter had settled. That included almost all of Canada, all of northern Europe, and half of Asia.

  Alex, standing beside her, said, “The demand for food and the old political disagreements led to outbreaks of wars. Here are the areas where the wars went nuclear.” Seven white areas began to glow in the hologram, and around them a sickly green shimmer marked territories contaminated by radiation. Alex said, “Biological wars were also fought. This shows areas of human pathogens—the release of biological organisms that cause fatal human diseases.” Parts of Africa, Asia, and South America began to pulse with a purple glow. “To that we’ll add plant pathogens, which destroy crops and increase famine.” Brownish orange smears appeared in Asia, southern Europe, and Central America.

  Sean, the third of the presenters, felt the chill in the room. The Asimov Project kids were all orphans, and none of them had particularly fond memories of Earth, but seeing so much of the planet’s surface wracked and contaminated was a sobering experience. Sean cleared his throat. “I don’t think any of us know just how bad things are on Earth. Politically, governments have collapsed all across the planet. Parts of the globe have been depopulated—the places closest to the supervolcano eruption and some of the places where the wars have been most intense. The famine has killed billions. Luna’s best estimate is that more than half of Earth’s population has died. Probably more will die over the next fifty years. If things stabilize, Earth may hang on to a quarter of the population it had eighteen months ago. But the survivors will be living in small tribes or tiny nations. There won’t be a world government or anything like it for centuries. Technology has probably dropped back to twentieth-century levels or lower. There’s no going back.”

  Elizabeth Ling was crying, and some of the others were sniffling too. “The point is,” Sean said, “that what ruined Earth is at work in Marsport, too. We have to hang on. We have to get rid of the feeling that we’re American or European or Asian. We’re Martians now. We’ve got to stand united.”

  From the back of the classroom, Tim Mpondo’s mild voice said, “And do you have any suggestions about how we do that, Mr. Doe?”

  “That’s what we want to talk about,” Sean replied.

  Jenny switched off the hologram, but she did not turn the lights up to full. “If the kids of the Asimov Project can get along, the adults should be able to get along too. The first thing is that we’ve got to be role models. I know that’s the reverse of the way things are usually done—”

  “Hey,” Mickey said from off to the right, “Mars is a different place. It’s ice.”

  Alex crossed his arms. “The other thing is, we need to get the colony busy again. We have too much time on our hands. Everyone needs something to get excited about, something to work for. We want the group to brainstorm on this. If we’re all pulling in the same direction, we’re all on the same side.”

  The lights came on, sudden and surprising. Dr. Harold Ellman had just entered the room, and he stood by the doorway. “And what are we doing?” he asked, scowling around the room. “Neglecting our studies?”

  “No, Dr. Ellman,” Mpondo said easily. “We’ve just had a joint sociology and history lesson. A group project.”

  “I see,” Ellman said sourly. “Well, it is time for natural science now, Lieutenant, and I have no group projects on board for that. So if everyone will move to a terminal, we will begin. I remind you that examinations are coming up very shortly, and some of you are in dire need of improvement.”

  As they went to their desks, Alex whispered to Sean, “I know one thing that unites us all. We’re all sick of Ellman!”

  Sean couldn’t hold back a grin.

  Amanda Simak sat in the observation dome listening to Sean. He could see the Martian landscape through the viewscreen behind her. The sun was setting, and shadows stretched long across the ruddy, boulder-strewn hills south of Marsport. The sky, deep blue in the west, already purple with twilight in the east, was streaked with glowing pink and red clouds, evidence of a heavier atmosphere laden with more water vapor than Mars had known in millions of years.

  “I see,” she said with a smile as Sean finished. “And how do you feel about this?”

  “I started it,” Sean told her. He walked to the screen and gazed out at the hostile world that was now his home. “For me the hardest thing is the news of biological warfare. A bioterrorist attack killed my mom and dad. It was stupid. It was pointless. But if I can get over that—” Sean swallowed. “If I can … forgive the people who were misled into that, then maybe other people can forgive. Forget. Whatever.”

  Amanda leaned forward, her hands clasped. “It isn’t that simple, Sean. I know why the colonists are upset. It’s not just old biases and prejudices, though they have a part in what’s happening. No, the real problem is fear.”

  Sean nodded. “Fear of what might happen. Fear of failing. I know that. But we’ve got to deal with it. The only way we’re sure to fail is if we don’t try.”

  Amanda rose from her chair and came to stand beside her adopted son. “I agree. You know the exploration of the Olympus tunnels wasn’t supposed to begin for another several months. Working outside during the Martian winter makes big energy demands.”

  “We know. But Lieutenant Mpondo says that the tunnels are deep enough so there’ll be some areothermal heating, and the atmosphere in them is heavier than on the surface too. We won’t be able to work without helmets, but we won’t need to use suit heaters all the time. Light is the main requirement. If we can start the program and rotate the colonists so that everyone gets some time outside of the domes—”

  Amanda put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve always said you have a gift for leadership, Sean. I think you’re right. When we’re cooped up in Marsport, it doesn’t seem as if we’re making any progress. Nothing much changes from day to day, not even the food. But if the colonists have a chance to get away for a while, to add to what we know, then they’ll have the feeling that we’re still striving, still coping.” She paused. “Very well. I’ll ask the council to approve an immediate beginning to the exploration program. We’ll have to watch energy consumption closely, but I agree with you. It’s worth the cost.”

  “What about the people who’ve been arrested?” Sean asked.

  Amanda took a deep breath. “We have nine in the detention dome now.”

  Detention dome. Marsport had not been designed with a jail, Sean knew. It had one now. He didn’t know if the need for a jail came from the stress and strain of trying to live on a hostile world or just from human nature, but there it was. “What’s going to happen to them?”

  “A tribunal for each,” Amanda said. “It will be a fair trial.”

  “Like mine?” Sean grinned. “No, I’m not saying that what happened to me was unfair. I guess I deserved it. But maybe we could let the nine prisoners have an early turn at exploring the tunnels? If anyone needs to get away from the domes for a while, I think they do.”

  Amanda smiled at him
. “I will note your suggestion and take it to the tribunals,” she said. “But between us, I think it’s a very good idea.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Another ancient Earth Saying that Sean had learned had to do with the best-laid plans of mice and men often going wrong.

  The first hint of the trouble came late at night. Sean was asleep, dreaming about flying over the rolling, rocky surface of Mars, when something snapped him into complete wakefulness. He opened his eyes in the dark, then sat up in bed. The bedside sensor detected his movement, and a soft blue-white nightlight came on, making the room visible in a ghostly sort of way, as if seen by moonlight. Sean frowned. What had happened? Something. A feeling, a noise—

  There it was again! A long, low rumbling, like thunder in the distance.

  Except Mars didn’t have that kind of thunder.

  The grumbling, booming sound could be felt as well as heard, a throbbing low vibration. Something tapped the wall. Sean looked toward the foot of his bed. He had carelessly tossed his pants over his computer chair. They were moving, swaying just enough so his belt buckle rattled against the wall. Then the pants slipped off the chair to the floor. Sean got up, feeling the floor vibrating under his bare feet, and hurriedly tugged on his clothes. He opened the door to find the others in his dorm wing coming out of their rooms, blinking, pulling on their clothes, looking apprehensive.

  “What’s happening?” Roger Smith asked, his head buried in his tunic. He popped out like a tortoise coming out of its shell. “Something explode?”

  “Nah,” Mickey said, his voice sounding a little more shaky than his grin would suggest. “There’s Sean. He’s not in chemistry class.”

  “Sounded like a storm,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes. “But it’s the wrong season.”

  Sean said, “Maybe a corridor blew. It could be air rushing out through a hull break.”