“Sure, I would like that,” Parker smiled. “I’ll help you link the Lander to the base structure. It will be nice to communicate with Earth again. What’s in the crate?”
“It’s the fish,” Lennon said.
Parker clapped and jumped. “Oh, I hope they are ok! I’m going to go set up the tanks.” She ran off, and in three hours, she had three of the tubs set up in the second room. The way the system worked was this: the fish would live in large tubs. Fish waste would fertilize the water, and then pumps would carry it up so that it could pass through large racks of plants. Their roots would suck up the rich nutrients and filter the water, which would return relatively clean to the tubs and the fish. If the system worked, it would provide meat and vegetation for food. There was a main water recycler, which was semi-independent of this system. The main recycler processed human waste and filtered out water so the crew could re-use it for drinking, cleaning, and cooking. Not a drop of water was wasted. All was recycled. The water recycler even harvested evaporated water from the air so that the air would maintain a well-regulated humidity.
The crate had only enough water to fill one tub half way to the top. As they poured the water from the crate to the tub, the crew collectively cheered as they saw tiny fish darting around. Lennon counted a small sample and determined that about fifty percent had survived, which was good enough for her. They would be breeding soon enough. The next few days, they would find the water stores that were waiting on Mars from the earlier mission, and would finish setting up the hydroponics and the water recycler. Things were going to be all right.
Day One Hundred and Ninety-Five
The remaining crew stared sadly at the single, lonely space suit in the Lander. For a while, no one spoke. Finally, Parker suggested that someone should say something before the crew stored the body out of sight.
“Lennon goes to church—she should do it.”
“What does going to church have to do with it?” Lennon argued.
“I don’t know, say something comforting.”
She took a deep breath. “Why don’t we all say something? I’ll start. I guess, from the first time I met him, he was like a big brother to me. He knew his job well and you could depend on him.”
“That you could,” agreed Dish, somberly.
“I’m going to miss him,” said Parker. “I miss his British accent. I miss his little pranks. ’Member when he sent that proposal to the engineers for the sliding doors, like they have in sci-fi movies? It was so well written that it took them a while to realize it was a joke.”
Dish chuckled. “I’m just gonna miss the guy. That’s all I have to say.”
“May he rest in peace,” concluded Matthews, “He was a good man.”
The crew worked tirelessly, energized by the victory of finding the Lander and the fish. They had successfully connected the Lander to the structure. It functioned as a command room, giving the crew the ability to transmit messages to the orbiter, which would forward them to Earth. The process also worked in reverse, allowing Earth to communicate with the small camp. Spirits rose, and each accomplishment invigorated the crew to work harder. One of the biggest boosts to morale was the discovery of a lone surviving rat, Rocky, inside the Lander. Now that he was in gravity, he dragged himself around like a tiny, fat, hairy little walrus, pulling himself around by his nubby legs.
Dish, shouting directions, helped Matthews to configure the water recycler. They added to new structures to their small colony. Those structures were a medical unit and a fully functioning ‘wellness area’ that included a latrine, shower, and the trampoline. The original room became Crew Quarters, and although the original intent was to have a separation between Men’s and Women’s Quarters, the crew had come to think of each other as family so they simply left separation wall incomplete. Separate existing ‘rooms’, instead, were formed with vinyl walls and cloth curtain doors. This gave a certain amount of much needed privacy to each person. Occasionally, crewmembers would get bored and move around. At one point, someone was sleeping in every room: Lennon in the Medical Unit, Parker in the “New Atrium”, Dish (who moved about strapped into a makeshift wheelchair made from caster wheels and a chair) in the wellness area, and Matthews in Crew Quarters.
Mars was really beginning to feel like home.
The Medical module was fantastic. Just as she had hoped, plenty of supplies were pre-packed. She even found a worktable that was made of an unknown plastic material—stainless steel would have been too heavy to send to Mars—large enough to handle just about anything she needed. The table required assembly. She did not mind. There were even drain pans on it, probably for the unlikely possibility that she would need to perform an autopsy—although she did not dwell on that thought for long.
She set her well-worn medical bag on the table and looked around. Some might call the room small; she considered it cozy.
She opened the bag and checked to see if anything needed replenished. Everything seemed in order until she opened a pouch on the side of the bag. She pulled out the sphygmomanometer—the device to measure blood pressure—and another small object fell onto the table.
It was a comb. A simple, black, plastic comb. Personally, she used a brush, but regardless, there was no reason for her to put a comb in the medical bag. She knew immediately that it was Abrams’ comb. She picked it up and examined it.
There was movement by the doorway. Lennon turned to see Parker standing in the threshold, her arms crossed. She looked at the comb and then at Lennon. Her eyebrows came together and her face darkened with the recognition of the comb. You took it, her eyes said, although she was silent. “They blamed me,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t take it,” protested Lennon.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Parker whispered, and left the room.
Lennon leaned over onto the table. Rocky squeaked and she moved over to his cage. “How did you get to be so lucky?” she whispered to him and touched the side of the cage. He shuffled over to her and sniffed at her finger. “Poor guy,” she said to him. “None of your friends survived.”
He let out a small chirp, as if he heard her, and then slid over to the watering tube, unconcerned. “I wish I could handle unhappy things as easily as you,” she commented. He flipped over on his back, squirming to scratch an unreachable itch.
Day Two Hundred
Because of the shelter of the cave, the sole window to the encampment was at that entrance to the inflatable shelters, by the airlock. The window let in very little light, and so auxiliary lighting was required. Most of the lights inside the structures were energy efficient LED lights, although certain areas, such as the medical room, had a high-output light that crewmembers could turn on if needed. Solar generated most of the power used by the camp, but a high-power wind turbine was in storage waiting for the crew to assemble it. Because of the dust, the turbine would provide far more power than the solar cells.
It was early in the morning and the LED lights were still off. Lennon had adjusted well to the new facility, especially to sleeping once again in a gravity environment. She felt that she slept quite well in the relatively lower gravity; on Mars, even the thin bedrolls felt like mattresses built for queens. Despite her comfort, she stirred, and her consciousness returned as she heard talking in the room next to her.
It was Parker. Lennon strained to hear, but she was unable to extrapolate any understandable words. The vinyl walls were surprisingly good for privacy, despite their thinness. Lennon sat up and stumbled out of the room and to the outside of the hanging cloth door that led to Parker’s room. She listened closely to what Parker was saying.
Parker was mumbling, and the volume was not sufficient to allow Lennon to identify more than a few random syllables. Lennon tapped on the aluminum pole that held up the vinyl wall of Parker’s room. “Parker?” she called.
“Ah. Lennon,” replied Parker.
Lennon peered through the curtain that functioned as a door. Parker was sitting cross-legged on h
er bedroll, hands in her lap. She had not bothered to assemble her cot, and instead the bedroll lay directly on the floor. The pieces of the cot were in an organized stack next to the bedroll. “Come in,” Parker smiled.
“What are you doing awake?” asked Lennon.
“Can’t sleep. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“About what?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘The devil made me do it’?”
“Of course.”
“What if he did?”
“Did you do something, Maria?”
“Lennon, you know everything that I’ve done,” she said with a smile.
Lennon did not know what to say. “What are you getting at, Maria?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” she repeated. She giggled, but Lennon could see her eyes watering. “Something’s wrong with me. I’m not in control.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think demon possession is possible?”
“I don’t know, Parker. Do you think that has happened to you?”
She laughed. “Let’s stop the games, Lennon. You know who I am.”
Lennon felt a chill. “You’re Dr. Maria Parker.” She looked into her eyes, but only saw emptiness, lack of focus or recognition. “Are you sleepwalking again?”
Parker chuckled slowly. Her voice was low and uncharacteristic, reminding Lennon of the time when Parker had suffered from nitrogen narcosis. Parker spoke. “Exulis… Peregrinus... Wanderer.”
“You’re on drugs again.”
“Oh, no, Lennon. Absolutely untrue.” Her voice was deep and husky, relaxed.
“Do you know where you are?” Lennon asked.
“Do you really not recognize me?”
“What is your name?”
“I have spoken it already.”
“Say it again.”
She closed her eyes. “Wanderer.”
Lennon struggled with a nagging feeling, an unsettling series of inquiries that pushed their way into her brain. Was Parker sleepwalking? Lennon felt as if she should leave, but she was unable to. “Am I talking to a demon?” she asked cautiously, pursuing a question that she wondered if she should leave unsaid. She was angry with herself even as she asked it—she was a scientist after all—but still she felt that the deep inside, she had to ask.
“You have spoken well, Rebecca.” Parker winked, and her mouth turned up at the corners, forming a wide grin.
“Parker, are you sleepwalking? You need to wake up.”
“I am tired of the games,” Parker replied. She yawned and her voice brightened. “I’m going to sleep.” She let herself lie down to her left side, keeping her legs curled up. She stopped moving. Lennon did a quick search of Parker’s room, but was unable to find any stolen medications. She covered Parker with a blanket and returned to her own room, concerned and nervous.
Matthews was in a good mood later that morning, moving about with lightness in his step and a cup of coffee in his hand. “Get some coffee,” he offered. “Our special rations are about empty. Pretty soon there won’t be any more.”
The aroma of the brewing coffee reminded Lennon of home and put a smile on her face. “Thanks, Matthews.” She poured herself a cup as Parker stumbled out of the sleeping area.
“You look terrible, Parker,” Matthews commented. “Didn’t you sleep?”
“Ugh,” she replied, and carelessly poured her own cup. A small amount of coffee spilled over the side. This annoyed Lennon slightly. After all, the stuff was not going to be here forever. Parker lifted the cup and sipped it, leaving it black. “I slept,” she began, “but I feel like I didn’t. I don’t feel rested at all. I even went to bed early.”
Lennon gave her a curious look but said nothing.
Parker continued. “I think I’m just anxious. I really want to go out.”
Matthews was silent, but Lennon noticed that he turned away.
“I’m still going out today, right Matthews?” Parker asked.
“Uh, yeah, sure, Parker. We need to find the pre-deployed water stores so that we can set up the rest of the Atrium and get basic facilities like laundry working. You can go out on a search if you want.”
“Who else is going?”
“Well, I think Lennon needs to stay.” He glanced at Lennon’s arm and then looked down. “No offense, doctor, but I think you should heal up as much as possible.”
Lennon did not like it, but he was right. Parker was more physically able than she was, and the water canisters could be considerably heavy. “None taken, sir,” she replied with a warm smile. “Good luck. I hope you find them quickly.”
After breakfast, Lennon helped them suit up and then shut the inner door behind them as they left camp. The camp was not unlike a station in the Antarctic. In fact, the design of the Mars camp came about after careful study of long term living in Antarctica. Other than a few significant differences—the necessity to pre-deploy supplies and the absence of an ability to resupply is a glaring one—the camps were eerily similar. If one ignored the gravity difference, it was difficult to imagine that he or she was not on Earth. Even with the ability to jump higher and lift larger objects, Lennon still had a hard time believing that she was actually here.
Dish scooted himself in, seated on the roller chair. He was recovering extremely well, and Lennon had made several notes about his health, wondering if the lower gravity had anything to do with his remarkable recovery from the injury to his spine. She wished that she had an MRI or X-ray machine to view exactly what had happened to him. As he entered the room, he looked like a robotic insect. He was strapped to a long brace that kept his spine from rotating or twisting. In each arm, he held a long rod, which he used to push himself wherever he wanted to go. It was slow work, but he refused to have anyone help him with anything but the most arduous tasks.
“Are they gone?” he huffed as he scooted towards her.
“Just left a few minutes ago.”
“She’s gone?”
“Yes.”
He relaxed slightly. “I sure wouldn’t go out alone with her.”
“Why do you say that, Dish?” Lennon prodded. “You don’t think she’s recovered from her earlier problems?”
“No way. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t trust her. You don’t act the way she did ’cause ’a drugs. I know you’ve seen it, Lennon. I see it in your eyes. You don’t trust her either.”
She ignored his observation, trying very hard to suppress her reactions so that she did not encourage him. She could not be part of anything that might split the crew up or cause dissent and distrust. She needed to remain clinical. “What do you think it is, Dish?”
“I’m tellin’ ya, that girl’s possessed. My grampa was a preacher. Did I tell you that? Used to throw em’ out. I’ve seen ’em, Lennon, and she has one.”
“I don’t get it, Dish. I thought you were atheist.”
“No I ain’t. I say that, but… I know there’s a God. It’s not that. It’s complicated. I just refuse to bow myself to anyone. My grampa would say it’s a pride thing, and maybe he’s right. But I think in the end, if what you think is right—why, I think that will be good enough. I think God has made us suffer and we just need to do whatever it is that we think is right. That’ll be ok.” He rubbed his leg, trying to keep circulation going. “What about you, Lennon? Why do you believe?”
“It’s just how it’s always been,” she admitted. “I’ve never known anything else. That’s just how things are.”
“You’ve never doubted it?”
“Everybody has doubts. But it makes sense to me. I just do what I’m supposed to do, I guess. I want to make God proud. I want to do everything I can to earn my salvation.”
“I thought you weren’t s’posed to earn it,” he smirked.
She smiled at the thought of his grandfather. Dish must not have slept through all of the sermons. “No, I suppose not. I ju
st feel like I need to do something.”
“You and me got the same problem, Lennon. Pride. I realized that I can’t do enough and so I just gave up. You keep fooling yourself to think you can do enough.”
“I believe, Dish. Our problem is not the same.”
“I believe too, Lennon. Trust me. I think one day you’ll find that you’re wrong about God. Heck, maybe I will too.”
“I hope so, Dish,” she said. “I hope you do return to God.”
He gave her a strange look and then spoke again. “You watch out for her,” he warned. “She hasn’t changed. She’s waitin’ for something.”
“Dish, is there anything specific that you want to tell me?”
“No,” he sighed. “She’s actin’ squeaky clean. I just don’t trust her. Just be careful.”
“Sure, Dish. I will.”
Matthews and Parker returned with three of the four water canisters. Dish—like many other test pilots—had a degree in aeronautical engineering and had taken over most of Abrams’ duties. While Matthews and Parker remained outside, he was barking out orders that explained how to connect the canisters to the system—although he had to issue many of the commands via radio as he watched live video of the astronauts on a small screen that he borrowed from the Lander. After the reservoirs were connected, Dish pushed himself out of the room to work on the water recycler. Soon, Lennon could hear the familiar sound of water filling the remaining tubs in the Atrium. She rushed to assist Parker and Matthews as they returned from the outside.
Parker was sweating and winded. Matthews’ face was flushed and tired. “That was a lot of work,” breathed Parker, “but wow, that landscape is fantastic. I can’t wait to get some proper samples.” She dropped a bag on the floor. It hit with a loud thud. “I couldn’t help grabbing a few rocks,” she explained. After she was clear of her suit, she picked up the bag and walked towards Medical.
“I feel like it’s Christmas,” she chimed over her shoulder with a grin. “I’ll be in the lab examining these.”
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