The next job was to drape the flaccid Blimp itself over the Hut. Its main job was done and it had been fully tested; now its silvery fabric would provide extra shielding. It was large enough to be folded back and forth several times, but they deliberately gathered it into horizontal pleats, using cords running through special loops, to create a highly crenulated appearance.
Both rovers were jacked up and their back wheels, with their thick metal-mesh tires, were removed and replaced by a simple device: a sort of partially enclosed paddle-wheel with a movable, funnel-like spout near the top. Set spinning, these scooped up Martian regolith and showered it, like a snow-plough, over the Hut. Using shovels, the team helped make sure this was evenly distributed. A fold of airship material was lapped over each layer and taped into place, so that it retained the soil and prevented it from falling off. Orlov made sure that the Hut was covered by a sandwich over ten centimeters deep before they cut the motors.
“We’d better cover the Greenhouse, too,” said Lundquist. “A dose of radiation could throw all our results out—or even kill our samples.” The Greenhouse was his chief responsibility aside from his duties as physician. It consisted of a series of plastic domes which housed a variety of edible plants and vegetables growing in Martian soil to which controlled nutrients had been added, under a carefully monitored atmosphere. Future colonies would have to rely on agriculture for survival; also, certain plants had been selected for their ability to convert carbon dioxide into oxygen. An oasis of green would be psychologically uplifting, too.
Panting with exertion and streaming with sweat, at last they entered the Hut, which Lundquist had already brought up to full pressure. Tired as they were, they had to undergo the ritual of vacuuming their suits and belongings to remove as much of the insidious fines as they could leave in the airlock. A shower would have been better, but water was too precious.
Inside, and de-suited, some sank gratefully into seats, others went off to attend to personal matters. All obviously felt depressed that within a few days, their mission had slipped from high excitement into routine—and now into danger.
* * * *
Next morning the Sun rose looking no different from usual, casting the webbed shadow of the big S-band antenna across their camp, the sand pocked with thousands of tiny dark craters: their footprints.
Orlov activated the Orbiter’s instruments to transmit the telescopic image of the Sun down to them via the relay satellite currently overhead so that they could see it on the big screen.
There was no doubt about it now. A patch of the Sun’s photosphere, normally at 6,000º C, had heated to several million degrees. X-rays, ultraviolet light, cosmic rays, magnetic fields—all were way above norm. The speed of the stream of particles in the solar wind, normally up to 400 kilometers per second, would now be doubling.
“This one could reach a thousand rem. Maybe even twice that,” said Lundquist. “You realize we deliberately planned this mission during a period of low solar activity, to try to avoid this? It’s damnably bad luck. But the Sun’s no respecter of persons....”
“What would a dangerous dose be, again?” asked Verdet gloomily, like someone probing at a sore tooth.
“A maximum of six hundred rem is recommended. But, don’t forget, that’s the amount to be absorbed by your skin over your whole career in space. You may remember that one reason for the choice of a, well, mainly middle-aged crew, was that none of us intended to have any more children.”
Minako, as a meteorologist, seemed far too interested—indeed, excited—to be worried. “This will be affecting radio communications from Earth,” she said. “If the flare was aimed at Earth they would be seeing the aurora at night, too.” She looked round at Aurora. “Oh, yes! How appropriate.”
Aurora smiled weakly. Minako continued: “But it’s not, whereas we are in a direct line. I doubt if we’ll get any aurorae here—the magnetic field is too weak. But it might be worth looking, all the same.”
From the expressions on their faces, Aurora knew she was voicing a thought that had occurred to many of her colleagues. “You know, looking at this sight I can’t help thinking of that alien ‘movie’. That was speeded up, of course, but those sunspots, the bright faculae—those writhing prominences....” She tweaked the controls so that the glare of the solar disc was darkened but the beautiful foliation of the magenta-pink flames dominated the screen.
Orlov, who had been selected for his expertise as a pilot and engineer and had only basic training in astronomy, said, “I am sure this is stupid question, but is no way our Sun could become nova like one which destroyed that planet?”
From his suddenly assumed thick accent it was obvious that he was really talking to make conversation. Minako apparently took him seriously. “No. Our Sun will probably never become a nova. In five billion years’ time it will expand into a Red Giant, and will swallow up the inner planets, including the Earth and Mars. But by then humanity will have changed out of all recognition—if it still exists at all—and will surely have found other homes out in the stars. If the Sun were ever to become a nova, it would be after the Red Giant stage. But current thinking is that it will become a planetary nebula for fifty thousand years, then a White Dwarf—and stay that way just about forever.”
“Oh, good, so we can all breathe easy!” said Beaumont with an attempt at a grin. He obviously found her serious answer and earnest manner amusing.
Minako stared at him, reddening.
To change the subject, Verdet said, mopped his brow, “I’m not breathing so easily—is it me, or is it getting hot in here?”
“Yes, that is the problem with having to shield the living quarters. We can’t use the normal temperature-control system on the outer skin,” said Orlov. “We’re shielded from sunlight, but we’re all producing lots of watts inside. We’ve got the emergency air-conditioning unit working at full blast. I’m afraid we’re just going to have to put up with this until the danger is past.”
Now that the subject had been raised, everyone suddenly felt several degrees hotter, and some began to discard clothing.
“This could get interesting!” muttered Beaumont. Aurora glared at him good-naturedly.
The “incoming message” alarm sounded from the comm desk. Distorted by crackles and bleeps, and at times almost inaudible, the voice of Mission Control wanted to know if they were all safely under cover. Orlov reassured them that they had done all they could. While his message, repeated several times in case of communications problems, was on its way, another message came though:
We know you won’t be able to act on this for a while, but here’s an update on the analysis of the data you’ve been sending. At least it’ll give you something to occupy your minds!
Nothing new on the appearance of the constellations. You’d have to travel at least a hundred light years to see noticeable changes in, say, the Big Dipper, and at that distance the Sun would be lost in a naked-eye view. You have to appreciate that we’re not normally geared up to looking at this sort of problem—our space probes travel only light minutes, or light hours at most.
But another team has been looking at the geography and geology of the alien planet—as much as could be seen. And...well, are you ready for this?
They think it’s Mars! There are differences, apart from the obvious ones—the vegetation, the presence of the city, and so on. And some geological features are not the same as they appear to us. But the experts say that the chances against those which do match up appearing in the same positions on another world are, well, astronomical.
They say the figure-of-eight city encircles two of the smaller volcanoes on Tharsis: Uranius Tholus—that’s the one in the foreground—and Ceraunius Tholus, the bigger one, looming behind it. That would make the city really vast; it would cover an area of hundreds of square kilometers.
Needless to say, not...[a burst of static]...agrees with this analysis, but I have to say that it looks pretty convincing. The constellations wouldn’t look any dif
ferent than they would from Earth at the same period, as you well know. Present thinking is that there must have been a brief Martian civilization—or a colony from another star, maybe?—millions of years ago, and all trace of it has since been obliterated by volcanic activity, the flash floods, the erosion of dust storms, and so on. Only the main volcanoes are still in the same place. Oh, we think there’s an impact crater missing on the flank of Ceraunius, though we might be seeing a lake there instead.
All that doesn’t bring us any closer to explaining the binary star, of course. We’re still working on that....
Meanwhile, I’m putting my money on the next mission landing close to Uranius Tholus, with an archaeological team on board.
Good luck with the SPE, you guys. We’re all rooting for you.
Mission Control, out.
This news did indeed give the team something else to distract them from the solar storm, and there was much discussion. Then Minako, who had been preoccupied with her meteorological monitor board, looked up and said: “It may be due to the solar flare, or it may not, but the weather on Mars is getting stirred up too. We’ve only been getting wind speeds of around ten meters per second lately, but that’s going to rise to fifty, sixty—maybe even higher.”
“Will that matter?” asked Lundquist.
“Probably not. If the speed is high enough it might cause ‘saltation’—you know? Sand grains skip across the surface and propel smaller ones into the atmosphere—which is why the sky is pink. We might be in a bit of a fog for a few days. Interesting!”
Her face was as animated as anyone had ever seen it.
As if on cue, the view on the big screen, which Aurora had flipped from the seething image of the Sun to an outside camera, showed a dust devil rising from the desert. Two or three others swirled into life, and together they marched in formation across the landscape, twisting and interlinking, like weird genies released from their bottles.
* * * *
Three hours later, the view had been almost entirely obliterated, and, when the dust clouds did clear briefly, the landscape rocked as the camera was shaken on its mounting.
Something metallic flicked into view and vanished, but appeared again, and again.
“The Blimp! This stronger wind is getting under it and lifting it. I hope to God the gusts don’t shake it right off,” said Beaumont.
“Damn, damn! I should have anticipated this, and fastened guy ropes to anchor the Blimp,” said Orlov angrily. “I was in such a hurry to get us under cover.”
Now they could hear and feel the wind buffeting the Hut.
“I’m surprised at its power,” said Aurora in a pacifying tone. “Oh, I’ve seen the numbers. But somehow you can’t believe that such a thin atmosphere could have the strength to create this much effect, Well I can’t, anyway.”
“It has the strength to lift thousands of tons of fines high into the atmosphere,” said Minako rather scathingly.
Suddenly from one edge of the screen there fountained a huge shower of red soil. A large area of metallized fabric appeared and began flapping like a pterosaur’s wing. The airship was shaking loose, and minute by minute their shielding was being torn away.
LIFT-OFF
“I’m going outside,” said Aurora firmly.
“You can’t possibly. I won’t allow it. It would be sheer suicide,” said Lundquist.
“I agree. I forbid it also,” said Orlov, equally firmly. Beaumont was likewise shaking his head.
“Oh, fine, so we all get a heavy dose of radiation and contract cancer,” said Aurora. “Very sensible. Very clever. Don’t you see? I’m the only one who can go outside, because the chances are very good that my body will be able to counteract any adverse effects.”
“You don’t know that,” argued Lundquist. “The effects of radiation are very different from those of bacteria, or injuries. I’m still against it.” But his voice was becoming less confident.
“I don’t see why. It seems that my body is able to protect me, period. Anyway, if I’m willing to take the risk and everyone is helped, who are you to stop me? I’m going.”
Suiting actions to words, she marched into the airlock.
Orlov moved to stop her nevertheless, but Beaumont laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m afraid she’s right. I’m the last one to want her to go into danger, but it’s her decision, and it’s probably the only hope for the rest of us. I think she has a good chance....”
Lundquist capitulated. “Even so, I’d better make sure you have this.”
He held out a clip-on radiation meter, which Aurora took.
Two minutes later the monitor screen showed a space-suited figure looming through the ruddy haze, head down and walking with stumbling steps.
* * * *
The Sun glared balefully, a red eye in a blood-colored dust bath. Aurora was still amazed, despite her scientific education and knowledge, at the apparent thickness of the dust being raised all around her. Above her, the sky pulsated with curdling billows of chocolate brown, of rust red, of burnt umber, while flickering shafts of sunlight—amber, gold, orange—spotlit her intermittently. Even at that stressful moment she experienced a brief flashback to the concert with the Gas Giants.
The wind tugged at her suit, and it was hard to walk. She trudged to the area where the Blimp was being torn free. Already quite a large section of shiny metal tank was exposed intermittently as the fabric flapped in the wind.
Almost weeping with the effort, she pushed one of the water-filled elevators back into place—a task which would have been impossible under Earth gravity and was difficult enough even here. Then she grabbed a corner of the main Blimp and pulled a whole layer, the length of the Hut, free. The wind snatched it viciously from her hands, but she caught it and managed to attach a length of nylon cord, taken from one of the rovers’ lockers, to the exposed layer.
Lacking any pegs, she tied the cord around the biggest rock she could handle, then piled other rocks around and on top of it, building a small cairn. She repeated this process at other points, then got a shovel and began covering the Hut with regolith again. Finally, and feeling she might collapse at any moment—this job really needed at least two people—she folded the final layer of metallized plastic back over the top and secured it, so that hopefully it would hold the soil in place and prevent it being blown away.
Over the next few draining minutes, her consciousness occasionally seeming to dim, she fought her way right round the Hut, ensuring that everything was as secure as she could make it.
At last she staggered back to the airlock.
The inner door to the suiting-up chamber slid open after several eternities, and she almost fell through. She slumped into the nearest chair.
“OK. You were right. I should have stayed in here in comfort,” she joked feebly, peering up through a deep red fog at Lundquist, who was standing over her looking concerned. He reached for her arm to take her pulse.
“Oh, go away, cool it, Bob. My mum always said ‘hard work never hurt anybody’. Think how fit I’ll be tomorrow after all that exercise.”
Her eyes closed, and instantly she fell asleep.
When she awoke, with a jumbled dream-image of the usual gowned figures still in her head, she was in her own cot. She got up, feeling sore and stiff but otherwise well enough, and made her way to the tiny bathroom.
* * * *
A little while later, as she entered the Refectory, heads looked towards her, then quickly away. Her fellows had obviously been deep in discussion.
“You’ve been dead to the world for over twelve hours!” said Lundquist. His face fell, and his voice was grave as he continued. “Sorry. I could have phrased that better. But you may as well know: I’m afraid you’ve absorbed over two thousand rem. That’s a lethal dose, Aurora. I’ve given you an injection, and you certainly seem all right so far. The only thing we can do now is wait—wait, hope and pray.”
“I have prayed for you,” said Orlov, his face ash
en. Then, obviously to take their minds off the subject, he added, “Things have been happening while you’ve been asleep. For one thing, the solar storm is over. And so is the one outside—though the air’s still pretty hazy. But that was expected. What wasn’t is that we’re going to move on.”
“What? Move where?”
“Yes. Mission Control has given us our marching orders. You can watch the recording if you want to, but in a nutshell they say they’ve been looking carefully at our reserves of consumables—propellant, food, oxygen—and that we have enough for a small hop. Care to guess where they want us to go?”
“Not Uranius?”
“Got it in one. Those two volcanoes are way up in the northern hemisphere, of course—too far to travel by rover, even if we had the fuel. Mission Control have picked out a landing site for us, just to the west of Uranius Tholus, on a smooth area just before the ground breaks up into the cracks and grooves of Ceraunius Fossae. They’re having some problems with the launch vehicle for the next mission, and don’t want to waste our last few weeks on Mars having us perform routine tasks when we could be taking a look at what might be the site of that double city. So, tomorrow we move. Today, we pack.”
“We’re leaving the Hut as it is, I suppose—and the Greenhouse and other experiments?” asked Aurora.
“Yes, we have no option. We can take a few of the smaller items with us, but that’s all. We’ll have to take the S-band antenna, of course. So let’s get to work. Not you of course, Aurora, if you don’t feel up to it.”
“No, I’d rather help than laze around here.”
Aurora started to get up, but then a wave of giddiness swept over her. She dropped back into her seat.
Lundquist was at her side in an instant.
“You stay here,” he said, taking her wrist.
Aurora refused to go back to bed, but found herself confined to the Hut while the others packed up what portable equipment they could and loaded the Lander. She watched them on the monitor and kept in radio communication.
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