24
he sol of OT finally arrived.
OT was what the colony referred to in techno-geek slang for “Occultation Terminus”: the moment when occultation was to end; the sol contact was to be reestablished with earth. Few people had slept the night before. The broadcast attempt was to begin at 0900 that morning. But hardly any colonists had even left the dining hall after dinner the evening before. They all just sat there watching movies and talking in tight little groups as Rat served up seemingly endless rounds of synthetic coffee. Finally, after breakfast, the Colonists were all assembled in the dining room where a video and audio link to the Command Center was established. They could all see the communicators and Peter seated at the consoles to make the link.
Eventually, the clock ticked down to zero, and Peter made the call,
“Houston, this is BC1; BC1. How do you read, over?”
Static.
No answer.
“Houston, Houston, this is BC1. How do you read? How do you read? Over.”
The signals from space crackled and hissed. The screens around the command center depicted the random noise in complex diagrams, each analyzed exhaustively for something other than indiscriminate clatter - but there was nothing.
“Houston, this is BC1, BC1. How do you read, over?”
Nothing. The graphs danced in their colored gyres, illustrated by their complex Fourier transformations, orchestrated to give the illusion of shape and form in a formless, random void, but they gained no useful information from the deathly silence of space.
Five minutes passed with patient calling, calling, calling. But, there was only a deep, chilled silence abetted by the constant hiss and crackle of space noise. The earth was not transmitting anything.
Five more interminable minutes passed. Still nothing. Suddenly, Peter’s eyes widened and he sat forward in his chair at the console. He looked over to Jamie Powers, BC1’s Communications Chief.
“Jamie, if the Singleton had made it out of earth orbit and were en-route here now, could we establish a link with them?” he asked, referring to the next ship scheduled to depart for Mars from earth. His microphone was still live and the entire colony could hear his question. A hush fell over BC1 as every ear awaited the answer.
Powers looked as if he were taken totally by surprise at the question. “Hmmm, yes, they were scheduled to depart for Mars some sols ago. In that event, they’d be in our line of sight. Wait. Let me check,” he replied as his fingers danced over his keyboard.
“Yes, they’d be in range,” he finally answered.
“Can you try and establish a voice link?” Peter asked.
“I’m on it,” Powers replied, furiously hammering out instructions.
“Singleton, this is Mars Base BC1; Mars Base BC1. Do you read? Over.”
Static. Silence. Nothing.
“Is the antenna oriented properly?” Peter asked impatiently.
“Of course,” Powers replied with slight annoyance.
“Singleton, Singleton, this is Mars Base BC1; Mars Base BC1. Do you read? Over.”
Static. Silence. Nothing.
“Jamie, switch back to the earth’s frequency and try Houston again,” Peter ordered.
Power’s again readjusted the system.
“Houston, this is BC1, BC1. Do you read? Do you read? Over.”
Static. Silence. Nothing.
At 0915, his microphone still on and live throughout BC1, Peter stated, “Jamie, give me the low-down.” It was agreed before the procedure that fifteen minutes after the window opened a fairly complete analysis of the radio spectrum being transmitted from earth could be performed.
“Sir, I’ve probed the entire spectrum from television, to radio to radar to random noise, and the earth’s not transmitting any frequency that we can detect of any kind.”
“What’s the probability that the solar environment could block all transmissions?” Peter asked, more to inform the colony than himself.
“Zero, sir,” Jamie responded. “The solar environment is quiet.”
“What’s the probability that under normal earth conditions that we could detect no systematized radio transmissions from earth under these circumstances, at this distance, at this time?”
“Zero, sir.”
Peter paused. The fear welled up inside of him. He knew the odds of their own survival had just plummeted to beyond acceptable limits. He felt as if his next words were to be the words of a death sentence to all these people and himself. He prayed for wisdom, then turned to look in the camera broadcasting the Command Center image and said,
“As all of you can plainly see, the earth is not transmitting. We still don’t know why. Of course, we’ll man the communications station indefinitely, around the clock, looking for a signal, any signal. Until then and until we know more, we must have courage and do what we can to ensure our survival in the coming sols. May God have mercy on us all. But let me not end it there. God will have mercy. We will prevail. We will prevail because we must.”
The stress in the dining hall had finally exceeded the breaking point. One woman, Charlene Potempkin, scheduled for the next outbound trip, began to wail, out of control, “My husband! My husband! I want off of this God forsaken rock. I wanna go home to my husband…”
Brinker and several other colonists rushed to her side, and she clung to Brinker, sobbing as he led her gently to her quarters. Others began to weep; some openly, some silently, but there were few dry eyes in the room as the feeling of utter hopelessness began what seemed to be an inevitable slide into the ugliness of open fear.
Word of the depression quickly got back to Peter who ordered that the colonists enjoy a holiday rest. All except essential duties were canceled for the rest of the sol and evening. He ordered that Chaplain Gates conduct a prayer vigil in the dining hall after dinner for as long as anyone wanted to stay. The level of depression was so black, some genuinely worried whether the mood could ever recover.
Peter asked that his staff assemble immediately. Slowly, they filed into the Director’s conference room - now President Traynor’s Cabinet room - and took their seats. Most would not look into the face of any other individual for fear of revealing their own reddened eyes or seeing someone else’s evidence of pain.
Peter began softly, “I know this is a tragedy beyond description. It seems to confirm our worst fears, that something on earth has gone terribly wrong. But we must somehow find the capacity to respond and to survive. We must go on and make our way here. And not just for our sake, but for our children and theirs to come. I don’t and I will not accept dying as an option here.”
“You’re aware, of course, that any response simply delays the inevitable,” Robert Hernandez began, tossing a negative but realistic comment onto the table.
“Bob, we don’t know what that inevitable means yet,” Peter replied.
Hernandez just smiled and continued to look at the tabletop, scraping his thumbnail over its surface in small strokes. “Oh yes, oh yes, we all know what that means…”
“No! We do not!” Peter replied harshly, slamming his fist sharply onto the table and turning to Ashley who looked up at him with a smile of support. “Ashley, how many survival scenarios can you propose out of all the available options?” he asked.
“The scenarios are infinite, of course,” she replied, attempting to measure her response truthfully, but optimistically. “The outcome is predictable within a range of options and the life support can be extended if we’re creative.”
“And Dr. Friedman,” he asked of the staff psychiatrist. “Julia, tell me what it takes to be creative.”
She recognized his obvious lead and seized it without a moment’s hesitation. “A clear head and a spirit of enthusiasm are essential. Peter is right,” she continued. “We must do whatever it takes to recover from this malaise and stop focusing on earth and whatever problems they’ve had. We need to focus on Mars, on the coming winter of Elysium, on our problems, because that’s the only way we ca
n possibly survive what we’re facing. We’re the leadership here, and we need to do our job, which is to lead, not quit - to fight, not to give in. We need to teach them to live - not to give up and die.”
“You said it, Julia! You said it. Right on, right on!” Francis replied slamming his palm with a slap on the table.
Hernandez even nodded, and looked up with a resolute stare into Peter’s eyes. “We’re with you, Peter,” he said. “Lead on.”
n hour later, Peter sat alone at the conference table reviewing the life support data and various projection scenarios, his white long-john sleeves rolled up and sticking outside his coveralls. There were two soft knocks at the door.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
He saw Ashley enter the room out of the edge of his vision. If it had been anyone else, he would not have even looked up. But out of his deep love and respect for his wife and love of his life, he looked at her as she walked toward him. To his complete surprise, he saw she was suited up in her water-cooled undergarments, used exclusively as underwear only for the space suits. Tucked under both her arms were space helmets.
She smiled and sat on the seat nearest him, laying the helmets onto the desk. “Want to go for a walk?” she asked.
He smiled, not knowing exactly what to say “Have I ever told you that you look sexy in your little tubie underwear?” he quipped, eyeing the white undergarments laced with water tubes.
She just smiled in return and gave him a sly wink.
“I came in to ask you to go for a walk,” she replied cagily. “Not to engage you in a discussion of your permanent hormone imbalance.”
“Funny you should bring that up,” he began, slowly eyeing and following her form, tightly outlined by her undergarment that simply could not hide the bare facts.
“Focus, Peter… focus…” she said, continuing to smile. “Here we are fighting for our lives, and you…”
“…permanent hormone imbalance,” he reminded her, his eyes still busy scanning her body.
“How about that walk outside, dear?” she reminded.
He finally looked up to her eyes and engaged them resolutely. He raised both his arms over his head and stretched for a long moment, without saying anything at all. Finally, he spoke.
“Of course,” he said, “but then… I mean after we get back…”
She stood up and placed her foot onto his leg as he reached down and began to massage her toes though the thick layers of socks.
“Since when have you ever needed to negotiate deals?” she asked sincerely.
“Enough talk!” he replied standing, mimicking the famous line from a classic barbarian movie. Then he swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply. She responded with passion, gripping his hair in her hands. Then suddenly, she pulled away.
“We’re going for a walk, Mr. President. And I’ll not be detained another moment.”
He simply smiled and nodded in return. “At least promise you’ll share an air shower with me.”
“But of course,” she replied, adding, “See you in Airlock 7,” as she pointed to his helmet sitting on the desk and walked toward the door.
“A little fresh air might clear my hormone imbalance,” he said toward her retreating form.
Just as she ducked out the door, she turned to look at him and said with a wry smile, “I rather doubt it.”
Minutes later, he stood in front of his locker in the airlock cluster and, with Ashley’s help, slid his own snug-fitting, water-cooled undergarment on over his body. Ashley carefully tugged and arranged the garment so that none of the hoses would be kinked or end up in the wrong place on his body as he slid his space suit on later. Peter stood rigidly still while she did this, his legs spread apart and his arms folded, watching his beautiful wife and feeling her fingers caress his legs and at the same time pull up on the garment and tug it around into all the right places.
Her hands expertly reached behind his legs and smoothed the material up onto his back and down again to his legs. She repeated this motion several times. Finally, Peter said, “I believe we’ve used up about three times the normal dress-out interval.”
Ashley’s only reply was a nondescript, “Hmmmm…”
Peter reached down and pulled her up and next to him. He could feel the warmth of her body against his. Passionately they embraced and kissed. Finally, Peter pulled away as she laid her head onto his chest.
“I thought you wanted to go for a walk,” he whispered.
“Do we have to?” she replied in her best little-girl voice.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On the rain check.”
“Since when have you ever needed a rain check?” she asked sincerely.
“Figure of speech.”
“Not necessary,” she replied smiling, pushing away with her fingertips. “Besides, who would be the one to get to hold it?”
Peter laughed loudly and raucously, surprising Ashley with his response.
“What?” she asked. “What did I say?”
“Never mind, dear, let’s just suit up. We really need to hurry so we can get back as soon as possible!”
With that, the outer door to the airlock cluster opened. Through it entered Kerry and Suzanne Nikifortune, Lipton’s former Administrative Assistant.
For just an instant, it surprised Peter to the point of distraction. His head spun with a near instantaneous evaluation of what this could mean - allies or companions or challenge… His eyes shot to Ashley and hers back to his. He was annoyed with what he saw. It was wordlessly obvious that what she was thinking was not even in the same universe as what he was considering.
This momentary distraction immediately created an embarrassing pause as both couples faced one another. But Kerry, in his typically disarming style, broke the ice by saying, “You guys are having altogether too much fun. Somebody had to come in here and bust this hooliganism and disorderly conduct up, and we decided we were just the team to do it!”
Peter smiled an embarrassed grin and replied, “Busted, but too bad. Somebody needs to be having some fun around here. And we decided that we could maybe start a trend.”
Kerry returned the smile and briefly but gently ran his fingers across Suzanne’s hand. “Yeah, I would support that sentiment myself.”
Peter could peripherally see Ashley bore her eyes into the side of his head. It was not bad enough that her quick instinct had been right about Kerry and Suzanne, but now he was going to hear about it.
Just as Peter was about to turn bright red, Kerry interrupted. “Can we help you suit up?”
Peter chuckled deeply, thankful for the rescue only one man can afford to another. “Please,” he said resolutely as he finally turned to fully absorb the ‘See-I-Told-You-So’ look waiting from Ashley. Venus and Mars had collided - again.
In just 15 minutes, with the help of Kerry and Suzanne, Peter and Ashley pressurized their suits and stepped into the tiny airlock. It was optimally designed for one, but two could squeeze in with enough effort. In fact, it was preferable to go out two at a time to save precious life support gasses.
Peter and Ashley stood in the cramped airlock visor to visor, with no room to move. Peter could have stood facing the door outside, but chose to stand facing his wife. If he had to look at anything, he wanted to look at her.
After the inner door was sealed, Kerry cycled the rapid evacuator pump which recovered as much of the airlock gas as possible. Then he gave them a short count from five to zero. With permission from the command center, Peter cycled the other lock and the door to Mars opened wide as he turned to fully face its red countenance.
Peter was always struck with a consuming wonder at this image. From the first time he had walked on its surface until now, the vista of Mars’ red desert was compellingly beautiful and powerfully awesome. While Mars was always visible through the many windows of the colony, seeing the surface through the visor of a space suit was a completely different experience. It was so
much more immediate and wild. It was the closest any human could ever come to seeing and experiencing Mars face to face.
He took the first step outside backward, careful not to trip over the inner seal, then he held out his hand to Ashley as she stepped out. He could see her eyes scan the Martian desert as his had moments before, as she, too, experienced the planet for herself in much the same way.
Then, unexpectedly, she reached into her equipment bag and with bulky, pressurized gloved fingers she withdrew a long communication cord and walked over to the window where Kerry and Suzanne were waving at her from inside. She held the plug up so Kerry could see it, then plugged it into the outside receptacle. Kerry withdrew a headset from the wall, put it onto his head and plugged in. Peter could see them talking but could not hear.
After a half minute, Kerry nodded and pulled down a microphone and began speaking. Puzzled, Peter looked to Ashley who unplugged herself from the habitat wall then turned and plugged into his suit. Her voice snapped to life in his headphones.
“We’re taking this walk privately. We’ll be able to hear from them but they won’t hear us. I told them we’re going suit to suit.”
Peter nodded, then with his gloved hands, turned his outer communications switch to “XMIT OFF”. As long as it was in this mode, he could hear the colony, but they had no way of hearing him.
“Peter, I was talking with Francis last night, and he wanted me to bring you out here to be sure and show you something,” she said, her breathing also amplified in his ears by the sensitive microphone.
“I’m going to guess if I asked what, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”
“And spoil the surprise? No way!” she said with a smile.
“Lead on,” he replied with some curiosity.
Ashley began to walk away from the domes in the general direction of the Crippen Spaceport across the open desert. Peter turned and waved to Kerry and Suzanne who stood at the window and watched. They returned his wave and Peter could see Kerry’s hand draped over Suzanne’s shoulder as she held his fingers.
Mars Wars - Abyss of Elysium Page 28