Mars Wars - Abyss of Elysium

by Abyss Of Elysium (Lit)

  “Hmmm…” he said to himself audibly, turning to follow Ashley. Kerry had been a surprise from the beginning and now there were even more surprises from him.

  “Hmmm, what?” Ashley asked.

  “Forget it,” he replied. They would inevitably and certainly discuss it later, as would everyone else.

  They walked without speaking for over a kilometer. Peter was just happy to be out of the domes and loved the sheer openness of being outside. He knew this walk was doing him some good. But he was puzzled as he walked. Ashley was in charge of their life support systems and was the most vocal of all the colonists against making unnecessary treks outside which inevitably wasted precious life support gasses. If it were not very important, they would not be here. Ashley would never violate her own life-or-death policy by taking him for a walk, however therapeutic it may have been.

  Finally, she stopped. They stood a long distance from the nearest structure on the rock-strewn desert under a clear open sky.

  “Well, here we are,” she said, turning to look at him, smiling sweetly through her clear visor.

  Still puzzled, he looked around him. The colony had receded behind them in the expanse, but they were still a considerable distance from the launch site in the vast open space between the two. It was mid-afternoon, and the sun hung at an angle in the dark rosette colored Martian sky.

  “Okay. Here we are…” he replied with a puzzled look, going along with the secret.

  “Peter, you need to see this,” Ashley said firmly. “It’s very important that you see this and understand it.”

  “Okay,” he said, now more puzzled than ever, standing on the empty, rocky Elysium desert, looking at the love of his life through her visor. Her smile was now utterly gone. Her face was rigid - not hard, but intently serious. Then he realized the full severity of the situation she had led him to.

  “Tell me,” he said in a near whisper.

  “I want you to show me the earth,” she said.

  He stared back at her blankly.

  “Show you the earth…” he repeated, still lost.

  “Yes, Peter, show me the earth,” she said tensely.

  “I can’t,” he replied flatly.

  “Why, Peter?”

  “Because it’s lost in the glare of the sun,” he replied, feeling altogether like a schoolboy on a fieldtrip. As he spoke he looked for just an instant at the small yellow orb at the blackened zenith overhead. Instantly the electronic visor darkened to a solid opaque gold, then dissolved in two seconds to transparent clear again as he looked back to her. He could see her face, as if by some magic, in his helmet when the visor cleared.

  “No, Peter,” she said. “It’s not there any more. The earth doesn’t exist. It’s gone. You can’t see it because it isn’t there anymore.”

  He looked back to her as if she had lost her sanity. Then he impulsively looked back to the sun for a longer moment as if to assure himself it, too, was not an illusion. He looked back to Ashley as his visor cleared slowly.

  “Peter. Look around you. Where are you now?”

  His eyes shot down to the ground under his feet. “Mars,” he replied, eyes locking with hers, his mind spinning.

  “Peter, what’s that over there?” she asked, pointing to the colony.

  “BC1.”

  “Wrong. Wrong! It’s no longer just BC1, because it’s become everything. It’s all there is.”

  “What’s the point?” he asked neutrally.

  “Peter, who am I talking to?” she asked with none of the intensity going out of her voice.

  “Why do I feel like I’m taking a test for which I’ve not prepared?” he asked with no humor, staring back at Ashley with a look that could only have been interpreted as demanding an answer.

  Ashley withstood the unspoken demand and mirrored his gaze.

  “Peter, the earth is gone. Even if it hangs in orbit around the sun, it’s gone! It can’t help us anymore. We must stop thinking about it. We must focus now on the world that spins under our feet. Over there is our universe,” she said, pointing to the colony. “It’s tiny, it’s frail, and right now it’s in critical condition. But it’s all we have. And it offers our only hope of making it.”

  “No… no,” he responded. “You know that may not be true. They may fix things or the Singleton may have departed early and may show up later,” he said of the re-supply ship that had been scheduled to depart two weeks after the signals were lost.

  “Peter, we can’t focus there. We have to focus here. It doesn’t exist. Please try and understand that!

  “And, who are you Peter Traynor? You… you are the single person who decides whether we make it or not. We’ve all joined together and chosen you as our leader. If you fail, we all fail. If you die, we all die. If you give up, then we all give up with you. But if you can figure something out, then we all live. I hate to say this, my dearest love, but the full weight of the survival of this planet and everyone on it, perhaps all who remain as a part of the human species, rests solely on your shoulders, and yours alone.

  “Because of that fact, Frances and I decided you had to see it from this perspective, from this exact angle. Because, baby, if you don’t get it, we can’t. And if you don’t see it, then we all die.”

  He looked into her eyes through the visors and saw tears welling up in them.

  “I don’t want to die, Peter. I don’t want to die… and none of them do either. We’re all counting on you.”

  Peter looked back and grasped her gloved hand in his.

  “No pressure, right?” he replied with a wry, flat smile and an audible sigh. “Okay I get it now. I see it clearly now,” he said. Then he touched his visor to hers and looked into her eyes as a tear fell over her lid and slid down her cheek.

  “What’s the number one rule in a space suit?” he asked.

  “Don’t throw up or cry,” she responded with a half-sob, half-chuckle.

  “No hankie…” he said.

  “Right,” she said laughing and feeling just a little foolish.

  “Let’s go home, ok?” he asked tenderly. She nodded as they began to walk back, hand in hand. Without saying a single word they made their way back to the airlock cluster where Kerry and Suzanne faithfully awaited them.

  As he walked, Peter thought about the importance of the words he had just heard and of the essential truth behind them. Their chances of making it were slim to none - but at least there was a tiny chance nonetheless. And the essential message was correct. The earth was gone; perhaps forever, and all they had was under their feet. It was simply all they had. The earth and the Singleton mission were all pipe dreams… all gone… all part of a history that from their vantage point might as well never had existed at all.

  Here on the desert of Elysium, the winter was coming; not with a vengeance, but with a purpose. It was their choice, to live or to die. To mine the deepest parts of their human intellect and creativity was all that separated them from extinction. And now it came down to a single leader, a single man. It was the test of all tests. Based on his capacity and his intelligence - they would all live or they would all die.

  25

  he next sol dawned over a community more emotionally dead than alive. Although the previous sol had been declared a holiday, this was a regularly scheduled workday and yet, hardly any one was actually showing up for duty. The Command Center was manned, but only because the watch on duty had personally rousted his relief. The malaise Julia Freidman had warned them about had set in with a vengeance.

  Peter forced himself to rise early, on schedule at 0415, and go to the empty dining hall where only Rat had actually preceded him, starting breakfast.

  “Your coffee, o’ king,” he said to Peter without his usual grin, thrusting a steaming mug toward him.

  “Rat, I want to ask you a question,” Peter said, leaning against one of the kitchen tables where Rat was beginning to lay out the morning’s fare. As he said this, Peter’s hand inched toward a piece of bread Rat
had just sliced off a hot loaf.

  Without altering his expression, Rat slammed his hand in front of the new loaf of bread. “No freebies, Dr. T,” Rat said. “We’re going on rations soon, I hear.”

  “And where did you hear that?” Peter asked, involuntarily annoyed at not having a taste of Rat’s delicious, fresh baked bread, as was his morning custom.

  “It’s the word going around,” Rat shrugged.

  “It’s a rumor,” Peter replied. “But it’s well placed. Rationing is sure to begin. I guess it’s just common sense turned common knowledge.”

  Peter looked at Rat’s face. He, like everyone else, was emotionally stretched to his limit.

  “Did you lose family?” Peter asked empathetically.

  Rat just nodded, trying his best to hide a trembling lip. “My mom is all. She lives in Florida near the Space Center.”

  “I’m sorry, Roman,” Peter said.

  Rat’s eyes began to moisten. He looked like he wanted to say something, but could not. Peter put his hand on his shoulder and looked into the cook’s eyes. “Did I ever tell you that you’re one of the best things that ever happened to this colony?”

  Rat just looked surprised, and then his expression changed as did his manner of speaking. It was Peter’s turn to be surprised.

  “Peter, I’m not a cook,” he said in a clearly different tone of voice and even an altered accent. His intonation changed from a New Jersey inflection to an unmistakably neutral one. Peter backed away a single step and looked at Rat in silence. Yet another surprise in a whole planet of surprises.

  “Let me guess,” Peter replied. “…Her Majesty’s Secret Service? Bond, James Bond, doing time as a cook on Mars – if you can make it there you can make it anywhere?”

  Rat laughed briefly, and then smiled. “No, actually not quite that spectacular. Roman Adkins Thomas is a name I made up, along with my degree and credentials. It was just cosmic irony that someone here discovered my initials were RAT, but in the end, even that worked to my favor. You see, my real name is Raymond Andrew Taylor and I was a launch manager at the Kennedy Space Center. I applied for the astronaut program and was rejected five times before I gave up. Then I decided I was going to go to Mars, no matter what. So I did extensive research into who was getting selected to get into the program and what set of credentials I needed to fit their criteria exactly. Then I bought them. Just to be sure I would be able to do it, I aimed for one of the grunt jobs – and I was selected. Only my mom knows the truth, and she was against it from the beginning. She said cheating and lying wouldn’t work and that I would be sorry for it. So now, here I am, a cook named Rat when I could be working in launch control or the command center. I did make it into space and even to Mars, but I pay the price every day and no one even knows who I really am. My mom was right, and now she’s gone.”

  Peter looked into his face, tears now streaming down Rat’s cheeks. Peter reached over and pulled the cook to him and embraced him. Then he released him and handed him his personal handkerchief, strictly forbidden in the health protocol. Rat accepted and began to wipe his eyes.

  “My first question is what do you want to be called?”

  Rat just shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been called Rat for so long, I got used to it. And I don’t believe very many say it the wrong way.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you that Raymond Andrew Taylor has the same initials?” Peter asked.

  A broad smile came over Rat’s face. “No. I guess not,” he replied with a subdued chuckle.

  “You’ve sinned against the establishment with your lying and cheating; are you aware of this?” Peter asked flatly.

  Rat just nodded in silence and looked away.

  “Ok, then. You’re pardoned forever. I’m the President and our constitution allows that. Now go your way and sin no more…”

  “Are you serious?” Rat asked.

  “Deadly. Do you want it in writing or just between you and me?”

  Rat smiled, looked to the floor then back to Peter. “Just between you and me is ok.”

  “Now, is it going to be Rat or Raymond? I’ll ensure that you’re called by whatever name you like.”

  “Rat’s ok. Besides, there aren’t any rats on Mars – except me, that is. And the only one you can locate is in the kitchen every day.”

  Both men laughed loudly.

  “One other thing,“ Peter said. “I can’t afford to keep you in the kitchen when there’re more urgent tasks to be done. From here on, you’ll stand kitchen duty in a rotation with everyone else and you’ll be assigned to the Command Center for training as a watch stander.”

  “Excuse me, Dr. T.,” Rat said. “I’ve actually come to like my job and people are used to me. How about me doing this job as I have been with the weekend watch at the Command Center? When you said I was one of the best things that ever happened to this colony, I assumed you were talking about my cooking.”

  Peter laughed aloud and grasped Rat by his shoulder. “You got it, Rat! This is quite a relief, actually! I can’t imagine eating something served up by Francis or Brinker, can you?”

  Rat laughed with him, then picked up the small loaf of fresh bread and handed it to Peter. “Can I get some fake butter for you, sir?”

  “Ok, but you can loose the fake New Jersey accent while you’re at it. I always wondered what exit you were from!”

  As Peter ate his bread, alone in the darkened dining hall, he reflected on the conversation he had just had with Rat. He had discovered a valuable, even essential, individual in the cook – one with feelings, emotions, energy and talents that, along with the rest, could mean the difference between life and death for them all. And it had been forged in just a few minutes into an unexpected bond between them that led him to an idea.

  “Francis, I need to talk to you now,” Peter said into his portable communicator.

  A full minute later, Francis’ sleepy voice replied, “No problem, Chief. You caught me sleeping in to the late hour of 0445. Gee, what was I thinking?”

  “Just let the coffee do the thinking for you and hurry up, will you?”

  “Any bread left?” Francis’ voice asked through the communicator.

  “You’re a little late,” Peter said, mouthing the last piece as he spoke. “It’s the sad price of sleeping in.”

  rilliant, absolutely brilliant,” Francis replied an hour later after fully and carefully hearing Peter out. “Julia Friedman will pin a medal on you,” he said of the BC1 psychiatrist.

  “That wasn’t your first response,” Peter replied with a sly smile, still unable to judge his friend’s full measure of sincerity.

  “Oh, well forgive thee me for not immediately accepting the idea of a spontaneous black tie party as the solution to the most serious problem of survival ever faced by humankind,” Francis replied drolly, looking around for Rat’s next service of hot bread, as he summarized what he had heard.

  “We’re to have a formal black tie affair to establish the mood as anything but serious, and then allow each participant, dressed in their best attire, to be interviewed for five minutes in front of the whole colony. Draw out their individual histories and ideas for how to use their position in the colony for a successful resolution. We get bonding, we get touchy-feelie, we get comradeship, we get ideas, we get synergy. Hey, it’s a shrink’s dream! But, unfortunately, it won’t work…”

  Peter’s smile disappeared instantly. “Why? One second ago you said it was brilliant.”

  “Cynical license. You know me. Peter, this group of individuals has lost it all – everything - and they don’t even know why. Worse yet, they inevitably face their own slow, horrible deaths, tens of millions of kilometers away from all they held dear in life. Now, you really wanna go to these people and suggest a formal party? They might just kill you as a mild form of entertainment for even suggesting such nonsense.”

  “And that’s the key, Francis: nonsense. Nonsense!” Peter said, passionately defending his plan. “Our whole sit
uation makes no sense. We’ve lost everything because of some bizarre circumstance that’s in the end, nonsense. So what better way to counter it than with nonsense? Perhaps we can use it to our advantage.

  “Listen to me. We use the party as leverage to pull them out of the pit of despondency, then strike to the heart of their hopelessness by giving them a hope in one another. There’s only one way to make that happen – everybody has to stand up and tell their stories to each other. We all have to have a stake in each other’s history and in the need to carry one another through this – not just ourselves as individuals. The currency – our only power, our only hope - is one another, with deep friendships forged overnight. And we can’t afford to allow our professional facades, our prideful independence and the insane factions between transients and colonists to kill that last hope.

  “We all made it here to Mars because we were so great, so perfect and so good as individual stars. But when we leave that party tomorrow night, we had dammed well better leave as family, in this thing together as a unified one, or we can just all go back to our rooms and die strangers. And let’s face it Francis, we’re indeed the only family there’s left in the known universe. The clock is ticking, friend, and we only have a single sol left to jump this train to a new set of tracks.

  “Do you know how many of our number committed suicide last night? Neither do I,” Peter continued, gesturing in the dark dining hall that should have been filling up at that hour. “We won’t know till we go knocking on doors later this morning. But I do know that for every human talent, every valuable person we lose from now on, whether we lose their lives or their energy or their commitment – it doesn’t matter, we lose just that much more ground before the train runs off the end of the tracks to extinction.”

  “Curse your weird brain, Traynor,” Francis said after a moment’s thought. “I hate it when you sound so right, so logical in the full light of… hell, even defending such a lame plan! Haven’t you got anything, anything at all, better to offer than this? I mean, is this… this pathetic excuse for an operational strategy all there really is between the human race and extinction?”