Mars Wars - Abyss of Elysium

by Abyss Of Elysium (Lit)

  All the rest saw a newly emerging reality through the eyes of the newlyweds. The gauntlet had been laid down. Now, because of them, there was no sacrifice too great, no payment too large to ensure the survival of all the rest. It was now no longer a duty to survive, it was a sacred pledge, every one to another – the bond had been made absolute by a profoundly powerful expression of sacrificial love.

  he operation immediately focused on training Suzanne and making the MAT ready for the trip. Francis all but demanded the opportunity to train her personally. Peter permitted this just to get him off his back and allow Francis to focus his nearly out-of-control emotions on something useful. Gorteau asked to be put in charge of readying the MAT for the trip, centering his genius on making the vehicle reliable and covering the huge and growing contingency list.

  Francis and Gorteau picked their team members and set to work immediately. Gorteau’s team met inside the cramped MAT hangar.

  “The exact distance from the MAT hangar here on the plains of Elysium to the front door of Shturmovoi on the Lake of the Sun is 2,065.278 kilometers in a straight line, give or take a few centimeters,” Gorteau began lecturing his crew. “Now this vehicle’s range under the very best of conditions is less than half that, by some 600 kilometers. Obviously, it’s not a straight line to the actual meeting which will likely be near 1,200 kilometers, give or take an unknown or two.”

  The physicist walked over to the MAT and tapped on its’ power system hatch, now open for service.

  “Right here is our problem,” he said, continuing to tap the open hatch, “…power. Never in the designers’ wildest dreams did they count on this proposed expedition across the Martian desert up to and even beyond its designed limits. But now we have to do whatever it takes to make it to the agreed upon rendezvous across the Martian equator on the southern fringe of the Amazon Plain, halfway to Shturmovoi, at the crater Nicholson. There the Soviets will meet our ambassador and transport her to their base.

  “Our challenge, meanwhile, is this: We must not only provide enough energy for the MAT to reach some 25 percent beyond its rated capacity, but to make it safely back home as well.”

  “How is it that their vehicle is so much better than ours?” a MAT technician asked.

  “I am not certain how you would define ‘better’, young man, but I would qualify that by stating that their SAR Craft has a considerably longer range than ours. When properly outfitted it can attain some 2100 kilometers, just barely enough to reach BC1. SAR is a Russian acronym, by the way, which unless you spoke fluent Russian would not make any sense even if I spelled it out to you. So we’ll just call them SARs.”

  “How do they have so much range?” the technician asked.

  “The size of the SAR is roughly 45% larger than our MAT,” Gorteau replied, snapping a photograph and schematics of the SAR onto the large computer display before them. Inside the vehicle, the available room is well over twice our own vehicle but much less comfortable than our MAT. The extra room of the SAR also went into the power pod storage, which requires that it be considerably larger. In addition, their power source is not nearly as sophisticated as ours and requires roughly twice the size and mass as one of ours. They actually power the SARs with an old variant of hydrox fuel cells while we power ours, as you know, with Lithium Argon Palladium, or LAP pods. But the SAR carries three power pods while the MATs carry only one. Given all of that, the SAR is a lumbering beast with a somewhat slower pace and over twice the total mass as our more sophisticated MAT.”

  One of the technician’s eyes were staring off into space as he was obviously thinking things over with some intensity. Gorteau caught his gaze immediately and fell silent, respectfully waiting for him to complete the thought. Finally, the tech’s eyes relaxed and focused on Gorteau.

  “I’m sorry,” he said shaking his head. “Just thinking.”

  “That’s precisely why you were invited to this planet, young man,” Gorteau responded. “Now, unless your mental diversion involves women or taxes, will you please share your silent deliberations with us?”

  “Well, I was just thinking, sir, why can’t we carry more than one pod strapped to the sides – perhaps two or three?” he began.

  “Yes, yes…” Gorteau replied, but was interrupted by a young female technician.

  “And why can’t we send along a few solar panels to charge the LAPs while Suzanne is gone?”

  Gorteau smiled widely and opened his arms to the assembled technicians. “I just want you people to know that you are fantastic! With your minds, your deepest creativity, we can do this!”

  Then his face returned to the introspective instructor at the core of his being. “Now, let us calculate. I need detailed numbers and projections. I need a probable route and backups from the satellite photos. I’ll need projections on power usage under the worst of conditions and the best and I’ll need an average as well.” He looked at the tech who suggested the strap-on LAPs. “From you I’ll need a design and structural calculations on strapping the power pods on the MAT.” Then he looked to the tech who suggested the solar panels. “And from you I’ll need a complete set of best and worst case calculations on solar recharge – rates, atmospheric dust anomalies and variations as well as suggested placement angles for ideal solar incidence. I also need volunteers to engineer the charging system including inverters between the LAPs and a variable rate charge controller with automated backup.”

  He then looked at his assembled technicians. “Now, who will volunteer to handle life support calculations for this mission?” As soon as the first hand went up, Gorteau nodded and replied, “Report immediately with your MAT life support files to Ashley’s office. She’s waiting for you.”

  The mission developed by combining the best ideas from the assembled colony. It was determined that Suzanne would depart in the MAT re-engineered to make the run south across the Elysium desert, crossing the Martian equator into the Amazon Desert where it would rendezvous with a Soviet SAR. At the rendezvous point the solar panels would be unrolled to help recharge the power pods in Suzanne’s absence. With luck, she would then have enough energy to make it back to BC1. But even in the worst case, Kerry had an agreement that if she were anywhere within range of a standard MAT he would be permitted to lead a rescue party if necessary.

  As careful as the plan was, no one had any illusions of the true nature of its risk. Suzanne would be traversing territory totally unseen by human eyes, mapped only by satellites, through deserts and terrain that was constantly shifting and changing in the ceaseless Martian winds. While the charts and maps were good, they were by no means perfect and the argument over the best route and the contingency routes was long and bitter. But in the end, the mapping task was accomplished, the vehicle was made ready and the mission clock ticked down to its final hours before departure.

  While the engineering and technical tasks were being developed, Francis briefed and trained Suzanne as best he could on the diplomatic and political mission that lay ahead of her after her perilous drive across the Martian plains. She expressed openly that, to her, it was intimidating, confusing and seemed deceptive, at best. Yet Francis was able to warn her of the full range of possible outcomes, from the disastrous to the best. Meanwhile, against her objections, Brinker handed her a .32 caliber handgun for personal protection. Kerry insisted that she take it and keep it close. While neither one actually fired the weapon, Brinker and Kerry showed her what to do if the time came to use it. The whole ‘diplomatic’ scenario was so abhorrent to Ashley, that as soon as she discovered the approach of Francis and Brinker, she refused to have any part of it. Peter, after considerable discussions with Francis, finally, but reluctantly, agreed that it should be developed that way, if only to prepare and train Suzanne for all possibilities. He did, however, let them know how embarrassed they were going to be at the incredible level of paranoia they had cultivated between themselves when it was all over.

  irov’s nightmare seemed destined to last throughout all e
ternity. He awoke often in his black coffin for periods of time he could not judge. His injuries seemed to him to be severe, and he was in incredible pain while the cold itself sapped the life from him. Between the pain and the cold, Kirov wished only for death and its merciful release.

  Then, the light assaulted him – intense, bitter light that streamed down through the open lid of his box. And with the cutting brilliance of the harsh light, the horrific, repulsive face of Kravchenko peered down at him with a sneering scorn.

  “Ah, Dr. Kirov. We must talk!” he said, his voice mired in sarcasm. With that, he and an accomplice lifted Kirov roughly out of the box and wrapped him in a blanket. “Warm yourself, comrade! We shall talk,” Kravchenko said, cruelly tossing him onto the floor. Then he pulled up a metal chair and sat in it backwards, peering down at Kirov who lay on the floor, barely able even to shiver from the cold. Intense pain radiated from every cell in his body. Through his swollen eyes, Kirov could hardly see his torturers’ faces staring down at him.

  “I know what you are thinking, comrade. You are wishing to die. But I cannot allow that. Then with whom would I entertain myself? Our great leader Dimitriov has agreed that I can decide when it is that you should die. Oh, yes, I know; you think we need your great genius to run the power plant. Well, my friend, your own intelligence has deceived you. It seems that you have designed the plant to be so easy to run and maintain that even I, a mere bureaucrat, can do it! What a fool you are, Kirov. You have made yourself expendable, and I have been the one chosen to do the expending.” Then Kravchenko laughed loudly, pressing the sharp heel of his boot onto one of Kirov’s eyes, causing fresh blood to run down his cheek.

  “But you have great uses to us, still Comrade Kirov,” he said. “For example, I am to be the cat and you are to be the mouse. I shall toy with you until I am ready to feast on your flesh, then I shall, you know! But until then, I will keep you just warm enough to keep you alive. I must say, I have not had such a good time since arriving in this boring red hell.”

  “What do you want from me?” Kirov whispered through clenched teeth. He meant to convey anger, but it would not come from his mouth; just chattering, whispered half-speech through his crusted and beaten lips.

  “Ah, yes,” Kravchenko responded, “the motive! I just love geniuses like you, my dear Kirov. Never a dull moment! Now, what do I want? I want to know about transmissions to the American base. You know about any? Microsecond bursts? Sent in code? I can give you a date or dates, if you wish. I can detail the text of the decoded messages, if you wish. It matters not. I can keep you alive for as long as you wish to remain in this state. Or, you can get it all off your chest, and then I can let you die. It’s really your choice.”

  Kirov closed his eyes to block the harsh light; to block out even the shadow of Kravchenko. He wished to die. Indeed, it would be glorious just to die and end this pain and horror. He could not bear another beating, another broken bone and certainly not another moment in his cold black coffin designed for the near-dead. He could feel Kravchenko’s foot grinding once more against his eyelid, but mercifully, it was just enough pain to slip him yet again into unconsciousness.

  30

  heir sol began well before sunrise. To many at BC1, sunset and sunrise happened on the same watch. On the sol of Suzanne’s departure south across the Elysium plains toward the equator, and the meeting with the enigmatic Soviets at the crater Nicholson on the Amazon Plain, the lights at BC1 had burned all through the night. Suzanne was the only one sleeping – ordered to get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  The MAT itself was now fully prepared. It was weighed down with the two additional power pods, over 300 square meters of solar cells rolled into four tight bundles, oxygen bottles, carbon dioxide absorbent, food, water and backups of all computer and communications gear.

  Toon had rigged up the only available satellites – the navigation systems - to decode written text from the onboard computers for direct communications with the MAT. Without it, BC1 and Suzanne would have been completely out of touch once the MAT disappeared over the horizon. But with it, she could communicate with BC1 all the way, even while at Shturmovoi.

  The Soviets would not permit use of their satellites to communicate or even relay signals for reasons they said were "classified", a decision which almost caused the mission to be cancelled altogether. But Toon responded immediately and his work-around system was deemed to be satisfactory.

  At 0600 the Soviets were notified through their satellite constellation that the journey was about to begin and the rendezvous point was verified. Without a successful rendezvous, there would not be enough life support to recharge the batteries by solar power and return to BC1. In other words, her life was completely dependent on the success of the meeting with the Soviet SAR at the appointed time and place.

  The Soviet SAR and one man crew was also equally dependent on a timely meeting, for their own life support system had just enough capacity to wait there six hours, no more. If there was a slip in schedule for any reason, Suzanne would die.

  Peter stood by Francis as they made a final close inspection and walk around the MAT. “This old buggy was never designed for this,” Peter whispered quietly to Francis. “And she’s going to be traversing 1200 kilometers of terra incognito. We can call this off right now, you know.”

  Peter could feel Francis’ red, sleep-deprived eyes boring into his. “Your decision,” Francis replied mercilessly.

  “That’s all I get for reassurance from you?” Peter asked, near exhaustion.

  Francis stopped his inspection and turned to face Peter. “I know what you’re after, Peter. So I’ll give it to you. This trip is going to be dangerous and is not without its significant risks, which may well result in Suzanne’s death. You know this, I know this and she knows this. But without some kind of teaming arrangement with the Soviets, we’re probably all going to die. So we take the risk, and Suzanne assumes the burden. Your decision was a good one, my friend, and under the circumstances, the only viable one,” he concluded with a sharp nod of his head and a prolonged blink.

  Peter looked down and thought for a moment. “But you don’t trust the Soviets…”

  “Look, Peter, we’ve already been through this,” Francis began. “No, I don’t trust the Soviets. But here, trust and logic are incompatible. We have to take this chance to see if I’m wrong or not. If they’re not here to kill us and take our food and air, then we desperately need to team up with them. If they’re really our enemies, then maybe Suzanne can pick that up while she’s there and we can mount some kind of defense against them. We need to know this before we just open our doors and give away our lives to whoever walks in. Our back is against the wall - their back is against the wall. Now what do we do? This uncertain plan, is unfortunately, the only way to find out.”

  Peter stood listening with his arms folded. He nodded and looked away and took a deep breath. “Then we roll in an hour.”

  Francis put his right arm on Peter’s shoulder. “Yes, my friend; we roll in an hour. And you are doing the right thing.”

  “What about Covenant?” Peter asked unexpectedly.

  Francis looked as though he were taken off guard by the question. “Huh? What about Covenant?”

  “What do you think happened to Covenant? Is he in on this?” Peter mused.

  “Peter, your lack of sleep has caused your brain to go into overload,” Francis replied reassuringly. “First, Covenant is probably dead on the desert somewhere. If the Soviets are after our goods and they had him, then they wouldn’t need Suzanne. And even if he wanted to go to Shturmovoi, there is no way he could get there. Even the SAR just barely has that kind of range. And even if it got all the way here, how could it return without resupply?. No matter what the scenario, there’s still some available logic here. Peter, the probabilities are endless. Don’t torture yourself with them. Let’s stay focused on the knowns, which are overwhelming enough.”

  Peter looked back at him and shook his
head slowly, “You’re right, of course. I just hate big puzzles with too many pieces. They make me crazy.”

  “I know what you mean,” Francis replied in all sincerity.

  Fifty minutes later, Suzanne climbed into the MAT which was packed so tightly that there was barely room for her to fit. Kerry gently strapped her in and kissed her through the open visor on her helmet. Then he lowered the transparent faceplate and latched it into its closed position. She looked back at him and managed a weak smile.

  “No crying in the helmet. Not allowed,” he warned, since once sealed, ‘…no tissue can be applied to the affected areas…’ as the NASA manual stated clearly.

  Suzanne nodded and continued to smile, looking back into her husband’s eyes. “I love you,” she mouthed silently to Kerry as he returned the same.

  Allowing a respectful two seconds to pass, Brinker said, “Com check,” into his microphone to Suzanne.

  “Clear. I read you loud and clear,” she replied. Kerry closed the door to the MAT with a pop, allowing her to tend to business. Then he walked briskly out of the hangar.

  Peter watched Kerry walk away, then looked at Brinker and winked, nodding slowly. His list of worries matched Peter’s nearly exactly and they had coordinated Suzanne’s departure from BC1 carefully. If Covenant was alive and did plan a surprise, they would be ready for him.

  “All personnel out of the Hangar,” Peter ordered. Once clear, they could begin the process of depressurizing it so they could safely open the doors to the outside.

  Peter walked up to the door of the MAT and pointed to the instruments inside. The green lights indicated the MAT was safely sealed. Peter offered his best smile and a thumbs up which Suzanne returned. He then walked out and sealed the inner hatch just as the air began to bleed out of the hangar.