The Imperative Chronicles, Books One and Two: The Mars Imperative & The Tesserene Imperative

by Mark Terence Chapman

  There were broken pieces of metal and evaporating fluids everywhere. He sighed. No hope of fixing this one. Well, at least I won’t waste a bunch of time fiddling with it to try getting it to start.

  Quickly losing his optimism, James trudged back around to the front segment of the Cat and opened the cowling for the front motor.

  At least this one’s still in one piece. It can’t be too badly damaged—it did almost start.

  He started poking around looking for anything loose that he might reattach. The ubiquitous reddish-brown dust covered everything, making the search even more difficult than the darkness, the EVA suit gloves, and the strain of the situation already made it.

  I can’t see a damn thing in here. If only I could blow away all this dust. He chuckled at the image of himself huffing and puffing from inside his sealed helmet. Then he was struck by a thought. Wait a minute. That might work!

  He walked back to the passenger compartment and popped open an access panel on the side.

  Yes!

  He turned the knob to close off the airflow and detached one of the large oxygen canisters that served to make the compartment livable.

  Thank goodness for the low gravity. This thing must weigh a hundred kilos on Earth.

  It still massed enough to make the task difficult, but James managed to drag the tank and the attached feeder hose around to the front of the Cat. Turning the airflow knob and holding the feeder hose, he was able to “pressure wash” the interior of the motor compartment until most of the dust was gone and he could see what he was doing.

  There. Much better. Of course, this only helps me if I can figure out how to fix the motor.

  He took a closer look, shining the flashlight this way and that. The thin air sparkled above the motor, where traces of dust drifting lazily downward reflected the light.

  James grimaced. I can’t see anything. I’m just wasting my time here. He buttoned up the engine cowling, returned to the cab, and got back in the driver’s seat.

  It’s worth one more try. Maybe I jiggled something that fixed the problem. He hit the starter again. Still nothing.

  James sighed. “You didn’t really expect that to work, now did you?”

  So, what next? Both motors are out and the radio antenna’s gone, so I can’t call for help. No one’s expecting me for several hours yet, and then they’ll wait a while longer to see if I straggle in on my own. So there probably won’t be anyone out looking for me until at least dawn.

  Well, I don’t have anything urgent to do at the moment; I guess I might as well put the O2 canister back and turn in for the night. Maybe things will make more sense in the morning.

  As James discovered, lifting the massive canister back into position was a far cry from taking it down in the first place.

  Just a little higher…. “Damn!” The cylinder slipped from his grasp and nearly crushed his foot. Come on, Jamie! Concentrate!

  He tried again. Again it slipped when he tried to secure it. It took three more attempts and a fair amount of sweat, but he finally managed the feat.

  It’s about bloody time!

  He slammed the access panel and returned to the passenger compartment. Once inside, he stripped off his EVA suit and climbed onto a cot.

  It figures. After three months of doing nothing but helping the other areologists, I finally get my first solo assignment. Then not only do I come up dry on ore, I wreck a very expensive piece of equipment and maybe kill myself in the process. Way to go, Jamie.

  Will the oxygen hold out until they find me? I hope I didn’t use up too much hosing down the motor. I may need it later.

  Despite his concern, he was too tired to check how much he had left. His last thought before he drifted off was, I’ll worry about it in the morning. I can’t do anything about it until then anyway.

  * * * *

  James awoke at dawn to a craving for coffee—not synthcaf, coffee. Suddenly that wonderful birthday breakfast of the previous week was more a frustrating memory than a pleasant one.

  He sighed. Even coffee isn’t going to help me get home.

  James took stock of his situation as he munched a protein bar and watched the sky brighten from black to indigo. Okay. I have almost five hours of air left if I divert the oxygen from the passenger compartment to the cab up front. That’s plenty if I can get the Cat working again, or if a rescue party finds me right away. Assuming they haven’t left yet, it’s about a four-hour drive from camp to here. But if they have to retrace my route and then double back to figure out where I went off course, I’ll be in big trouble.

  He shrugged. I can’t do anything about the air anyway, so I might as well take another look at the motor. Maybe I’ll see something in the daylight that I couldn’t see last night.

  Without much hope that anything had changed overnight, James put his EVA suit back on, went outside, and opened the cowling again.

  Cross your fingers. If you can’t figure out how to fix the problem now….

  James triple-checked everything he’d examined before and peered into any crevasses he might have overlooked in the dark. Nope…nothing… nada. This is hopeless. Zip…zero…zil— Wait a minute. What’s that?

  Tucked away in a shadow was a loose green wire.

  No way in hell—not a loose ground wire. You’ve gotta be kidding me!

  James located the Cat’s toolkit and secured the wire. You’d better hope that was it, because there’s no time left to try anything else.

  Now feeling a real sense of urgency, James closed the cowling and jumped back into the cab’s airlock. He held his breath as he hit the starter. Please, God, let it start.

  The motor purred sweetly. Thank you!

  James had overcome one obstacle, but he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  The oxygen situation will be tight. I’ve only got a bit more than fours of air left, but I can’t worry about that now. The most important thing is to get back onto my original route so a rescue party can find me. I should still be able to crawl out of here on one motor, but it won’t be easy with two damaged wheels. I still have to contend with all those boulders out there. Jeez, it almost looks like giants have been playing marbles here.

  He engaged the motor. It applied torque to the four front wheels. Two of them spun, seeking purchase, while the other two—one on the boulder and the other on the ground—gripped and began inching the crippled vehicle ahead.

  “Come on, baby, you can do it.”

  The wheel on the boulder slipped off the far side, dropping the front end of the Cat back onto the ground, and allowing all four wheels to contribute. The Cat went from inching along to crawling. The front section pivoted up over another rock, pulling the other two segments along behind it. Then the four unpowered wheels under the passenger compartment of the middle segment went up and over the rock while the front segment dropped back down. Finally, the four wheels in the back—two good, two smashed—with the now deceased rear motor, were dragged over as the middle part pivoted back down.

  They may call these things “cats” because of their caterpillar-like means of locomotion, but they sure manage to land on their feet like a feline. I’ll have to remember to send a nice thank-you v-mail to the folks at Interplanetary Motors when I get back to base. If I’d ended up flat on my back down here, there’d be no hope at all of getting home.

  Eventually, James managed to return the Cat to the smooth and reasonably level surface he’d been traversing before. Once there, he was able to get the vehicle up to twenty-three KPH—less than half the speed it could achieve with both motors operating and on twelve good wheels.

  Hey, it’s still a lot better than walking.

  The biggest problem now was air. It had taken more than an hour to get back on the “road,” and at half speed he still had at least a six-hour drive remaining and only three hours of air left.

  All I can do is get as close to base camp as I can and hope for the best.

  * * * *

  An hour passed
. James was still more than five hours from base with less than two hours of air left. Then the power gauge for the forward fuel cell glowed amber: low on power.

  “No! Come on! How could that happen? I had plenty of power the last time I checked, and the fuel cells weren’t damaged. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Oh.

  Of course. With the forward motor doing all the work, there’s twice the drain on that fuel cell.

  James frowned. “So now what? There has got to be a way to get this beast home. I’m not going die three hours from camp!”

  He mulled over the problem as he drove. Finally, the forward fuel cell was depleted and the Cat whined to a halt. James closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he let it out slowly.

  Well, that’s that. It’s too bad I can’t use the rear power cell with the front motor. That would— James’ eyes shot open wide. Wait a minute! There is a way to reroute power between the two motors. What was it Jankowski said? Crap. I’ve got to start paying more attention during his lectures.

  Oh, yeah! Flip the cutoff switch like thus, and toggle the power distribution setting like so, and…voilà!

  The power gauge for the forward motor spiked upward. Only a third of a charge left, but that should be enough to get me the rest of the way. Whew!

  He triggered the starter and the motor started right up.

  Am I ever going to get back? It’s been one thing after another. What’s next? A meteorite through the front motor? Alien attack? He shook his head in mute disbelief.

  Amazingly, nothing else went wrong mechanically and he continued to putter along.

  “Come on, damn it!” James felt the need to hear the sound of a human voice; even his own. “Where the hell is that damn rescue party? Have they even noticed I’m way overdue?”

  He peered through the windshield willing the cavalry to appear, charging to the rescue over the next ridge.

  Unfortunately for James, the only horses in the area were under the hood of his Cat, and they weren’t being much help.

  * * * *

  One hour passed, then another. Then the hissing of the O2 feed to the cab ceased.

  That’s it. No more air. What’s in the cab won’t last more than a few more minutes, and I’m still three hours from safety.

  “Any bright ideas?”

  Yeah; just one. Stop talking! You’re using up all the air.

  Come on! Think of something. Anything. Are there any spare oxygen canisters attached outside somewhere for backup? James couldn’t think of any.

  Damn. There must be something I can do.

  I could get out and walk, but that won’t help. I can still go faster in the Cat.

  James froze for a moment. Get out and walk? Wait a minute! I still have air in my EVA suit! Idiot! He checked his gauge—more than two hours of air left! He breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he’d live a bit longer.

  He shook his head and chuckled. When I get back, I’m going to have to see about getting a brain transplant.

  As soon as he started to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen in the cab, he sealed his helmet and went on internal air.

  It’s still not enough to get me the rest of the way home, but where there’s life there’s hope, and I hope to keep living. Every little bit helps.

  There has to be a way to increase the speed of this thing. Is there any cargo I can dump? He thought for a moment. Sure! I can detach the cargo section of the Cat. That’ll lighten the load by a few hundred kilos.

  He snorted. Only one small problem with that plan: that’s where the last remaining fuel cell with any juice is located. Lot of good it’ll do me to jettison that! Keep thinking, Jamie. There has to be a way.

  Without the radio antenna there was no way to transmit a signal to one of the communications satellites to contact the base, but there was still some short-range line-of-sight capability. His suit had a built-in radio, but it was less powerful than the one in the Cat.

  If I can just get close enough to camp, or to the rescue party, maybe they’ll hear me.

  He toggled the radio and took a deep breath. He’d have to open his helmet to talk and that meant losing air each time. It wasn’t something he could afford to do frequently and he’d have to get through the entire message in one breath.

  He spoke quickly. “Base Camp 9, this is James. Mayday, mayday. Antenna’s gone; I hope you can hear this. I’m inbound to camp on my original route. Repeat, inbound on my original route. Don’t have enough oxygen to make it all the way. Running on half power. Mayday.” Out of breath, he slammed his faceplate shut, turned the air back on and took a deep breath.

  Every fifteen minutes he repeated the message, crossing his fingers each time.

  Every call meant losing more air from his suit. To minimize the loss, he turned off the flow of air two minutes before the designated time, so he’d use up most of the remaining O2 in the suit before opening his helmet.

  It was a struggle to force himself to wait the full duration between calls. The closer he got to death, the stronger grew the temptation to call more frequently.

  Stop it! You know better than that! Calling more often will hurt more than it helps. Get a grip! Still, the temptation nibbled at his brain like an itch he couldn’t scratch; it was slowly driving him nuts.

  Another hour went by: four more maydays. The strain of his situation was giving him a massive headache and making it hard to concentrate. He knew it wasn’t from excess carbon-dioxide buildup. His suit’s CO2 scrubber would take care of that.

  I’ve got a little over an hour’s worth of O2 left, and a two hour drive. The math’s not looking good. How long can you hold your breath, James? He snorted in derision.

  I swear, it’s Phobos all over again. I’m going to have to learn to carry more air with me. This is getting ridiculous!

  He issued two more maydays on schedule. Then a third. Finally a fourth.

  That’s it. That’s the last one. Just a few minutes of air left and at least eighteen to twenty klicks to go. It looks like I won’t be around to see my twenty-fifth birthday.

  And I guess I won’t get to find out how serious Janice’s interest in me might have been.

  The air in his suit had been getting progressively fouler the last few minutes. Now it was unbreathable. James’ headache was intense; his lungs burned. There simply wasn’t any oxygen left, no matter how much his lungs demanded it.

  I did my best, but I’ve run out of rabbits to pull out of my hat. No cavalry this time, no last-second rescue, no happily ever after.

  He stopped the vehicle. No sense wrecking the Cat after I pass out. I’ve made enough of a mess already.

  Good-bye, Mom, Dad. I tried to make you proud of me, but I messed up. I’m sorry.

  Good-bye Daniel, good-bye Kim, good-bye, Janice.

  James closed his eyes. He had one final thought before drifting into eternal sleep.

  Jankowski’s gonna kill me when he finds out what I did to his Cat!

  CHAPTER 14

  Engineering Marvels: Space Trains—Space trains are used to ship refined ore between MARS and Earth. The mining companies on Mars use steel smelted locally to fabricate shipping containers. Then the miners fill them with various refined minerals and use one of the two Martian SPACE ELEVATORS to raise the containers to an ORBITAL DOCKING FACILITY, either ODF BARSOOM or ODF MOREAU. From there, the ODF uses its CENTRIFUGAL FORCE to “SLINGSHOT” a series of interlocked containers from orbit at more than 11,000 KPH on a trajectory to Earth.

  With no crew and no engine, and traveling entirely on inertia, this is an extremely cost-effective way to ship cargo. All the mining company needs is a “tugboat” near Earth to retrieve the train, slow it down, and tow it to one of the ODFs.

  Similarly, space trains depart Earth orbit bound for Mars containing finished goods and foodstuffs not yet produced in the mining colonies. Only perishable and urgent goods are delivered via crewed ships.

  Cargo shipped this way takes anywhere from a few months to mor
e than a year to arrive, depending on the relative positions of the two planets in their orbits; however, there is a never-ending procession of containers in transit.

  — Excerpt from Encyclopedia Solaris, 2176

  * * * *

  James McKie opened his eyes. I’m not dead! At least, I don’t think so. Not unless heaven has a prefab ceiling.

  He turned his head to take in the rest of the infirmary. “Water,” he croaked.

  Great. Another hospital. This is turning into a bad habit.

  Dr. Paul Snow turned at the sound. “Ah, you’re awake. Good, good. How do you feel?” He poured his patient a glass of water, which James drained greedily.

  “Like I have a hangover without the fun part first.”

  Dr. Snow smiled and nodded his snow-white head. “Yes, that’s to be expected from hypoxia. But you’re going to be fine.”

  “What happened. How—?”

  “Very simple, my boy: your maydays. Joe Daniels was the radio operator on duty. He got a faint signal that he couldn’t quite make out, but he knew you were way overdue, so he kept fiddling with the radio to try to make the signal clearer. When your next mayday came in he was ready for it. He was able to decipher enough of it to know that you weren’t going to make it and to estimate where you were.”

  “Good old Joe. I knew he wouldn’t let me down.”

  “Unfortunately, figuring out where you were was only half the battle. The rescue team was still back in the hills looking for you. They couldn’t have gotten to you in time, so it was up to us in camp to do something. You were less than fifty klicks away at that point, but all the Cats were out. So we had a problem: how were we to reach you?”

  By this point, James was feeling well enough to try to sit up. Dr. Snow helped him lean forward enough to prop some pillows behind him.

  “I’ll bite, doc. I don’t see any wings on your back, so how’d you manage it?”

  “You can thank your friend Hector. He thought of the ATV we use in camp to run supplies from building to building. It isn’t pressurized and it was barely big enough to strap you on the back, but it was fast enough to get me out to you with a replacement air canister for your suit. Fortunately you were still breathing when I got there, though just barely. It’s not easy to perform CPR though a suit—”