Red Desert - Point of No Return

by Rita Carla Francesca Monticelli

  “It’s not the end of the world.” He tried to comfort me, even if he was perplexed by my attitude. “I’m sure you’ll be able to try again for the next mission, you’ll just have to be patient.”

  “They’ve taken me,” I interrupted him. I had started talking and should go all the way now.

  “They’ve taken you?!”

  I heard enthusiasm in his voice and then I backed off even more, leaning against the wall.

  “But it’s fantastic!” He followed me, pulled me to him and held me tight, lifting me from the floor. “We must celebrate!” He put me down again. “When do you leave?” he asked.

  “In eight months.”

  “Well, there’s still time.” He sighed. “When I saw your expression, for a moment I thought you were leaving in a few days. It won’t be easy to stay apart for a year and a half, but at least I have time to prepare.” He paused, as if he was imagining that waiting. “And anyway,” he exclaimed, coming back to himself. “This isn’t the moment to think about sad things. You’ve been selected! You’ll go to Mars. It’s terrific. Enough working for today: let’s celebrate!”

  “I won’t be coming back,” I had the courage to whisper. For a fraction of second a part of me hoped he hadn’t heard and considered the idea of turning down the mission.

  But Jan had heard.

  “What?” The enthusiasm in his eyes had completely vanished. “What are you talking about?” There was no astonishment, but a slight hint of anger in the tone of his voice. What I had just said should’ve appeared nonsense to him; it wasn’t so.

  “It’s an open-ended mission,” I explained. “No return spacecraft is expected, save for some extraordinary event … like, we find the Martians.”

  I stole a glance at him, to see how he reacted to my attempt to crack a joke. It wasn’t too late to let him believe I was making fun of him. Or to let him think I had just learnt what the mission was about. Or even to lie, saying that the mission’s typology had been changed only recently. I might still have saved our relationship. I might still have refused to leave and he would never have known I had lied to him, not for years.

  “You knew since the beginning.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  I looked at him, unable to utter a word. Each second that passed pushed me away from the chance to tell him any of those lies I had just invented. I realised that, even if I could have avoided telling him the truth, I wasn’t able to openly lie to him.

  I nodded.

  Jan threw a punch against the wall beside me. I started, but remained where I was. I deserved all his rage. His hand was bleeding. I’d have liked to help him, but I feared his reaction to any movement of mine.

  “They proposed it to me the same day we met in Brussels,” I said.

  He looked at me, a severe expression in his eyes. Since the day we got together, we had never fought. I’d had the chance to see his self-control while facing bad news or people who did their best to annoy him, and now he was really applying himself to listening to what I had to say, without shouting at me.

  “At the beginning I saw it as something highly unlikely. I didn’t believe they would ever fund, or even authorise, such a mission. And, as it took shape, part of me kept on not believing, or thinking, hoping, this day would never come, the day I would have to make a choice.”

  “A choice between me and the mission,” Jan said, completing my thought.

  I nodded again. I almost hoped that he’d fly into rage and hit me. The total absence of love in his gelid gaze frightened me more than anything else.

  Instead, Jan backed off and turned to look through the glass wall. “I’ve always known you were hiding something from me,” he said, at last. “I felt that. You were too vague. Whatever the reason, I’ve always known it wouldn’t last between us, even though I tried to do everything so that you wouldn’t leave me, so that you’d love me.”

  “But I do love you!” I exclaimed.

  He turned quickly. “Not enough. Otherwise you’d have no choice to make.”

  He was like that. He always put feelings ahead of everything else. He didn’t understand that there were more important things. I knew that, but I tried to justify myself anyway.

  “It’s not that simple. We’re talking about going to Mars. Living on Mars! How can I give up becoming one of the colonisers of another planet? To enter the history books? To explore a new world? I love you to death, Jan, but we’re talking about something that goes beyond me and you, beyond our feelings. Try to understand.”

  “I understand perfectly.” He gave a nervous laugh. “It’s convenient for you to have a great enterprise to undertake, because you can justify running from your fears once more. In the end you aren’t so different from your father.”

  I felt wounded more by the hatred in his voice than by what he had just said. He wasn’t entirely wrong. I was more afraid of building a life with him than I was of starting an interplanetary journey with no return. I was aware of that, but I didn’t want him to believe I was so weak.

  I ignored his accusations. “You could join me,” I barely murmured.

  “Join you?” His tone was sarcastic.

  “Yes,” I exclaimed with vehemence. I had just found the solution to my problem and I felt confident about myself and my beliefs again. “You should obtain the final decree of the divorce in six months. If we married then, you’d have the priority in the selection of the crew leaving for the next mission, in two years … or four.” We had to become the first colonisers but, if everything went well, others would join us in one of the next launch windows. It all depended on the government funds, but it was a concrete opportunity.

  How is it that I hadn’t thought of it before? There were fifteen of us to be selected, including a married couple. As such, the selection’s regulations imposed they had to join the mission together or neither of them could have been chosen. It was the same rule whereby Francis had accepted the mission command only if he could have taken his wife Michelle with him.

  If Jan and I were to marry before my departure, he could participate ex officio in the following selection and, save some serious physical issues, he would be included in one of the next launches.

  It seemed such a brilliant proposal to me and I couldn’t help but smile with hope, while I suggested it. But he didn’t change his expression, apart from a rapid grimace, which he controlled soon after.

  “So … let me understand,” he said, after having listened to me in silence. “After you have lied to me for all these years, after you clearly told me that a planet hundreds of millions of kilometres from here is more important for you than me, I should marry you and then wait two or four years, alone, to join you to die on Mars?”

  In a moment that idea, which had seemed to me the best in the world, proved itself silly. In vain I tried to say something, but I knew he was right. He had been happy with me joining the mission to Mars, not because he was interested in travelling in space, but only because he understood how important it was to me. I couldn’t expect him to have the same dreams as me. After all, I had fallen in love with him precisely because his dreams were deeply different to mine.

  There was a long silence, and then Jan spoke. “I’m going to pack my bags. I think I’ll go back home, to Belgium.” He headed for the door.

  “Jan?”

  When he turned to me with a last severe gaze, my eyes were already full of tears.

  “Farewell, Anna. I hope you find what you’re looking for, whatever that is.”

  Although covered by a thin layer of red dust, its white structure stands out in the middle of Ophir Planum. Leaving the edge of the canyon and driving north-east for forty minutes, I ended up in front of it, exactly on the route I had traced on the map displayed on the rover’s main screen. I had almost forgotten about its existence, but, as soon as I saw the habitat that should have hosted the crew of the Hera more than thirty years ago, my breath failed me.

  It is still there, in one piece. Untouched. It
has never been reached. Nobody has ever stepped through its airtight door. For twenty-six years it hasn’t sent any signals. The reason is immediately clear to me as soon as I get close enough. A piece of parabolic antenna lies on the ground, maybe broken by the prolonged action of wind and sand. I understand, with no little disappointment, that this cannot be the destination of my journey.

  Who knows if the remaining systems are still working? Life support would be really convenient; I could recharge my oxygen reserves. With a little luck I might even find some carbon dioxide filters.

  I turn off the engine and wear my suit. A few minutes I’m outside. Through the augmented reality I read the data provided little by little by the on-board computer’s sensors. There isn’t any electromagnetic activity, but the system could be on standby since it hasn’t received any transmissions for decades. But the technology is obsolete, so I don’t have any suitable equipment through which I can interface it, and even if I did, the antenna is out of order, so a wireless connection is impossible anyway.

  As I get closer to the airlock entrance I notice the presence of an external control panel. It’s turned off and encrusted with dust. There are some faded coloured buttons bearing partially deleted signs. I push one of them at random, and then another, but nothing happens.

  I’m wasting my precious time, I know I should come back to my rover right now and resume my journey, but I insist on staying here. My survival instinct is getting the better of me. My hope of being able to obtain something useful out of this place forces me to make a further attempt, before giving up for good.

  I look up. Perhaps I could go up on the roof and reach the transceiver connected to the antenna. If I got it back in service, somehow, I could let the system believe it’s receiving a signal and reactivate it. I wish Robert were here right now. Even if he were high, he would be much better than me in carrying out such repairs.

  A metal stepladder is installed on the wall in front of me. I climb it. Once on top, I immediately spot the device I’m looking for. It isn’t far from the edge of the roof, but as I’m heading to it I notice something wrong. The remaining roof surface is covered by solar panels, so inclined to gather the maximum irradiation throughout the year. But they are covered by a thick layer of dust. The automatic maintenance system, which should have kept them clean, must have stopped working a long time ago.

  I get closer. Most of them are in place, but their efficiency must be reduced or almost zero in these conditions. Moreover a few of them are visibly damaged, maybe by the same weather elements that have broken the antenna. I follow the wiring with my gaze. The conduits are fragmented. The external casing of the batteries’ housing is crossed by deep cracks.

  There’s no doubt. The hab doesn’t have electricity, it’s dead. I cannot hope to reactivate the system. I cannot even enter to get some filters. Anyway, how can I know they would be alright for the life support of my rover?

  ‘Why am I wasting my time in this place?’

  I look around. From this high position, I have a view of the enormous plain, and on the opposite side, by the horizon, I spot the verge of the canyon system. Some writing appears, indicating the precise distance to the main reference points.

  All at once, while I’m looking in that direction, a glare hits my eyes. I quickly move my head to take me out of the trajectory of the beam. I’m dazzled and for some instants I can’t see properly. I increase my helmet’s filter and try to locate the origin of the light.

  There’s something down there, a few hundred metres from the hab. Something glassy or perhaps metallic. I zoom in. A rectangle appears in the middle of my visual field, where the image is magnified and an object takes shape. It’s partly planted on the ground and has got an undefined shape, but it’s covered by a metal sheet, about two metres wide, as suggested by the displayed data, which is detached from it. One end is raised and the strong wind makes it vibrate, sending a reflection of sunlight in my direction from time to time.

  I already grasp what it may be, while the helmet unit analyses the object’s shape for some seconds, until it finds a match. Then its stylised image rises before my eyes and places itself on the back of a fuselage’s sketch.

  That of a shuttle.

  I drove all night long in a partial state of shock. In the end I could barely recall those bends in the snow and then the motorway. I crossed the border with Austria and then with Italy. It was almost morning when I began to see in the distance the suburbs of the Milanese metropolis, wrapped up by a thin mist.

  Milan was where my father had lived for the last ten years with his family. In the end he had left his country to stay closer to his older son, who attended university in Italy, and then he’d decided to stay in order to offer better opportunities to his youngest children. It was where I had gone to meet him, for the first and last time, but then I had discovered he had left for a short vacation and had tracked him down in Germany.

  I had found him thanks to a private, very discreet detective, handsomely paid to forget me, after having done his job. I was certain nobody could trace it back to me.

  Once at Linate Airport I returned my car and entered the air terminal. I was exhausted. I hadn’t eaten for at least twelve hours, but I wasn’t hungry at all. My flight to Stockholm would leave in the late afternoon and I therefore had much, too much time at my disposal.

  I kept on repeating to myself that in less than a week I would be away from all this. I could pretend it never happened. I just had to let this day pass, go back to my city, say a last goodbye to my mother’s house, now empty, and the day after I would fly to America. Then I would spend the following days together with the rest of the crew for the last preparations.

  I knew that nobody would discover me in so little a time, but nonetheless I kept on looking around me, suspicious.

  While I was sipping herbal tea in one of the bars, a pair of policemen sat at a table beside mine. I couldn’t avoid staring at them. One of them turned to me and our eyes locked for an instant. I turned to the opposite side and started looking for nothing inside my handbag.

  “Madam?”

  I started on hearing a voice so close to me. It was the policeman; he had risen from his chair and was standing in front on me.

  “Are you alright?”

  I couldn’t understand what he wanted from me. I looked at him, aghast and trembling. I must have been pale.

  “Yes …” I babbled. “Alright.”

  Then I realised he was observing my clothes, not my face. I lowered my eyes and noticed with horror a bloodstain on my white down jacket.

  “Are you sure you are alright?” he insisted. His voice had become suspicious. His colleague had stood up and was joining him.

  “Oh, you mean this!” I exclaimed, cracking a nervous smile and gesturing. “No, don’t worry. My nose bled … earlier. Unfortunately I don’t have a change of clothes with me.”

  The policemen looked at each other. I was trying to interpret their gazes. I had to stay calm and behave normally, but I felt like I was about to vomit. I could only think about my wool gloves, stained with my father’s blood, which were in the handbag laid on the seat beside me.

  “It’s quite a lot of blood,” the second policemen commented, doubtful. “If you want, we will take you to the infirmary. Your blood pressure must be quite high. It isn’t something you can underestimate.”

  When I heard his words, I relaxed. He was just worried I was really sick. He wasn’t thinking I had assaulted someone with a paper cutter.

  “Thank you, officer.” This time my expression was no doubt much more relaxed. “But it happened to me yesterday night. I’m fine now, believe me. I’ll pay a visit to my doctor tomorrow. Thanks again,” I rapidly concluded.

  I felt I hadn’t been very convincing and their perplexed gazes seemed to confirm that. The silence that followed seemed never-ending to me.

  “You’re welcome, madam.” The first one had spoken, adding a reluctant nod.

  Then the policemen
returned to their coffee.

  I’ve stopped at few metres from the precipice. This is the right direction, but I can’t really go any further in the rover. Standing on the edge of the canyon, I try to identify a point where the slope becomes gentler, so that I can drive on it with my vehicle. Looking down, I realise that the situation is far more complicated than I’d hoped. The rock dips down for some hundreds of metres, where it meets a kind of ledge, and then it dips down again, as a canyon inside a canyon. The deepest point in the zone is over two thousand metres deep.

  I must not be dejected. It’s essential that I remain calm if I want to find a solution. I’ve come this far. I cannot get discouraged now.

  My eyes follow the conformation of the terrain eastward. It seems to go on unchanged for kilometres. Even when magnifying the image to see further, no big differences appear to me, not from this position. Heading in the opposite direction would mean going back, although it is a different route from the one I took to come here. With more detailed maps I could have saved some hours, but all I have derives from satellite detections that, taken from above, have a poor perspective.

  I look at the sun. It is still high, but it’s almost three o’clock in the afternoon. It goes down quickly near the equator and in a few hours the night will fall on Valles Marineris. And it will be cold, too. I have a seventeen-hour oxygen reserve at my disposal inside the rover, in the warmth, plus seven remaining in my suit, but actually only three before the night comes. I can’t walk anywhere in the dark and I can’t descend the cliff with my vehicle.

  I turn my gaze again to the immense space opening up at my feet. Thanks to the training I’ve become a decent climber, but how deep can I descend in three hours? A lot, if I had a rope long enough, but certainly not two thousand metres.

  I knew from the beginning it was folly; I would’ve probably died in the attempt. I could wait for the sunrise, burning out fifteen hours without doing anything, but then would the residual ones suffice? I don’t want to spend the remainder of the day waiting for my death. I must do something. Use this time. Survive to tell what I’ve seen. Perhaps it could be enough.