“Sorry if we gave you too much of a fright,” the Executive Officer said. “It’s a bit of a tradition here when greeting new crew. It gets stepped up a bit with each incarnation. I hope we didn’t go overboard with you.”
“Not at all.” Dylan mustered all the sarcasm he could.
Mars Station commander Juliana Cotto, an athletic, alert woman in her mid-fifties, drifted past her crew. She planted her hands on her hips, elbows jutting out as if daring anyone to come within poking range. With a stern expression and a slight Spanish accent, she said, “Commander Lockwood, I was under the impression you were underway in a space-worthy vessel. How did it come to pass that you drifted up to my station in a piece of junk?”
“It looks that bad, does it?” Dylan asked.
Commander Cotto turned her head to the right and squinted her left eye. After a long moment, she said, “Yes,” and let out a suppressed laugh. Her thin, graceful smile transformed her demeanor from disciplined officer to a compassionate human being. “I’m glad you made it here intact. I’m sure the detour to Mars hasn’t been easy. We set up quarters for you to rest. There’s a special meal in honor of your visit whenever you’re ready. I spoke with the station’s crew. We’re all prepared to give you whatever you need even if it means rationing here. And of course, we are at your disposal to effect repairs.”
“Thank you, Commander Cotto,” Dylan said. “We’re anxious to fix up the Jupiter Express right away.”
“Understood,” Commander Cotto said. “The first step is to cut away the mangled bits. My crew can manage that. You’ll want to be more involved when we start patching up and replacing parts. My advice is you get some R&R and let us handle the initial work.”
Dylan bit his lip. “I suppose you’re right, commander.”
“Wonderful,” Commander Cotto said. “XO?”
The executive officer said, “Alpha team, suit up. Get that pile of scrap metal at docking port two cleaned up so we can transform it back to a space-going vessel.”
“Yes, sir,” several crew members said in chorus. The XO and crew moved past Dylan and Musa.
“Terry?” Commander Cotto said.
“Ma’am,” replied a thin man wearing sergeant’s insignia.
“Please show our guests their quarters.”
#
Sergeant Terry Adams showed the Jupiter Express crew to small, private rooms. Each had a modest window affording a splendid view of Mars. The Executive Officer vacated his quarters next to Commander Cotto’s to offer Dylan a room commensurate with his rank.
Musa was quartered one level above. On this station, the most prestigious rooms were the ones closest to the planet.
“Lieutenant Commander Malik,” Sergeant Adams said, “the doc will be up to see you in a few minutes.” The sergeant glanced at Musa’s bandaged hand.
Chad and Ian were last to be billeted. The sergeant led them along the station’s inner ring.
“Ian, you could have told us about that little tradition,” Chad said. “They scared the wits out of me, and I was still on our ship. How much worse was it for Dylan and Musa?”
“What? Spoil the tradition? No way.” Ian gave him a wink.
“Dylan flew supply missions to the station. Why didn’t he know about the special greeting?” Chad asked.
“He flew in parts for the initial construction. Juliana, Commander Cotto, took command when the station became operational. The tradition was her idea. She thought rituals like that would help the crew bond. She was right,” Ian said.
“Dr. Tanner!” a voice called from around the curved hall. A man wearing tan cargo pants and a medium blue sweatshirt with Wharton Tigers emblazoned in red stumbled into view. “Dr. Tanner, I heard you’re on board.” The inner ring, closer to the spine than the main ring, had less centripetal acceleration. The man stepped too hard for the diminished artificial gravity and sent himself tumbling toward the ceiling. He grabbed onto a rail and stabilized himself. “Aiden Cooper,” he said, an arm extended toward Chad. “I represent Sankos on Mars Station.”
“Chad Tanner.”
They shook hands. Aiden’s grip was powerful. He had the build of a man who played football in his youth but allowed a decade of life to get in the way of maintaining his physique.
“And you must be Ian Weemes,” Aiden said. “Your reputation precedes you. I understand there wouldn’t be a Mars Station if not for your quick thinking.”
“A pleasure,” Ian said.
“Tell me, how is it that the CEO of Applied Nanomaterials shows up on Mars Station unannounced?” Aiden’s carefree smile stood in stark contrast to the bluntness of his question.
“Don’t worry, Aiden,” Chad said. “I’m not competing for your operations on Mars. NASA allowed me to ride along on an unrelated mission, and we ran into some trouble. We’ll be on our way as soon as we repair our ship.”
“Hmm,” Aiden said. “I’m glad you made it to safe shores. Hey, mind if I take a selfie with you?”
“Actually, yes, I do mind. I would prefer to keep my whereabouts secret. I wouldn’t want my competition guessing at why I’m out here. Can I count on your discretion?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” A jovial smile spread across Aiden’s lips. “I hope to see you at dinner.” The man nodded and ambled back the way he had come.
“What an odd man,” Ian said.
“You get used to him,” Sergeant Adams said. “Or not.” He led the pair a few meters further down the hall. “Here we are. Your home away from home.” He opened Chad’s door with the press of a button. “I hope you find it suitable.”
“Looks like a room in the Ritz compared to the cramped space we share on our ship,” Chad said.
“What’s this?” Chad pointed at a small basket in his room holding three apples. “Fresh fruit? I thought you were only growing leafy greens up here. It takes quite a bit of water to grow fruit.”
“Don’t go writing home about it, sir, because it’s classified.” Sergeant Adams chuckled. “Commander Cotto smuggled a few seeds aboard. We have a single Pink Lady apple tree in the hydroponic garden among the delicious, nutritious spinach and kale.”
“Your secret is safe with us, sergeant,” Ian said. “In fact, I’ll make sure the evidence disappears in short order.”
“Wonderful,” the sergeant said. “Chow is in fifty minutes, at eighteen hundred hours, Martian Standard Time.” The sergeant scooted back down the inner ring.
“Who would have thought,” Chad said, “that I would ever miss apples so much.” He went inside, opened the basket, and took a huge bite. Sweet, tangy juice flooded his palette. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
#
“Enter,” Musa said.
The door to his quarters slid open and a forty-something, African-American woman pulled herself in by the door frame and bounced twice before coming to a stop. “The half-g in this wheel takes some getting used to.” She chuckled. “It’s been two months. You’d think I’d have it down by now. I’m Doctor Hill. Lieutenant Commander-”
“Musa. Please, call me Musa.”
“Musa,” the doctor said. “I understand you were injured on the journey here.” She reached her hand for his bandaged one. “May I?”
Musa extended his arm.
“Let’s have a look.”
“Shouldn’t we go to your office?”
“If it makes you feel more comfortable, but quarters are just as sterile as the medical bay. We’re diligent about keeping the whole station contaminant free. The last thing we need is an outbreak.” The doctor unwrapped the bandage. “Good. The damage is limited to the proximal phalanges. That’s a clean slice, yet a jagged shape. How did it happen?”
“I got hit by a rock. It was going around forty thousand kilometers per hour.” He shrugged.
“Ah. A meteor.” She looked up from his hand. “That’s some miserable luck. Remind me not to hit the tables at Vegas with you.” Her cheeks dimpled into a pleased expression. “Your knuckles are all in
tact.”
“You’re going to fit me with artificial fingers?” Musa asked.
“I can do better than that. Your luck’s not all bad. We received a nanogenetic synthesizer on the last supply ship.”
Musa arched an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry, you won’t be my first. I performed over a dozen limb regenerations at Walter Reed.” She opened a kit attached to her hip, took his uninjured hand, and applied a cream.
“What’s that for?”
“It’s a local anesthesia.” She wrapped a flexible, copper-lined band around his wrist. “That bracelet will reduce nerve sensitivity.”
“Why are you making my good hand numb?”
“I need stem cells from under your fingernail. I’m sorry, it’s going to smart in spite of the local and the electric nerve block.”
Musa winced as she stuck a narrow needle under his fingernail.
“There we go.”
“What happens now?”
She put a drop of liquid bandage where the needle came out and rewrapped his injured hand. “Go have dinner. I’ll take the sample to my lab and engineer a nano-organism that’ll reprogram your cells to grow you a brand-new set of fingers. You’ll apply an extracellular matrix containing the organism three times a day. Keep the wound site dry and clean. It’ll take a few months, but the result will be indistinguishable from the original. I’ll send along a specialized medical sensor and upload the treatment protocols into your ship’s AI. Consult with it daily to check for complications.”
“It’s that simple?”
“Yes. It’s that simple. We’ll start your treatment tonight. I’ll fit you for artificial fingers so you can perform your work while the flesh and bone regrows. I’d usually adjust it once a week to accommodate the regenerating tissue, but that’s not terribly complex. I can show you how to do it.”
Musa beamed. “I thought I would have to wait until we got back to Earth and didn’t know if it would be too late by then. Thank you, doctor.”
“What a time we live in,” the doctor said. “A decade ago, you would have been stuck with the artificial fingers. A century ago, they’d have just called you stumpy.”
#
The station’s mess was situated on the outer ring, a location that afforded half of Earth’s gravity. Tables and chairs covered the room’s edge, made the floor by the station’s spin, while the Mars-facing wall was constructed of enormous transparent panels. Guests entered from a tube connected to the spine, descending a ladder to reach the apparent floor. The Jupiter Express crew arrived, and Ian was first in.
A burly man raised a drinking bag filled with a clear, golden, bubbly fluid. “Attention in the mess. We welcome Ian Weems, pilot, who navigated his damaged vessel millions of kilometers to the sanctuary of our station!”
“To Ian Weems,” the assembled station crew echoed. Someone handed Ian a drinking bag. Arms were raised in salutation. There was a special look in the crew’s eyes. They knew Ian. They respected him.
Ian raised his bag as well. “Thank you,” he said.
Next in were Musa and Chad. The burly man spoke again. “Attention in the mess. We welcome Musa Malik, flight engineer, who held his damaged vessel together so it might reach the sanctuary of our station!”
“To Musa Malik,” the crew echoed.
“We welcome Chad Tanner, engineer extraordinaire,” the burly man spoke.
“To Chad Tanner,” the crew again echoed.
Musa and Chad smiled graciously and drank the toast with the station crew.
After a few moments, Dylan entered the mess. The burly man stood and proclaimed, “Attention in the mess. We welcome Dylan Lockwood, mission commander, whose fine leadership guided the Jupiter Express to safety.”
Dylan accepted a drink.
“To Dylan Lockwood,” the crew said with a cheer.
Dylan stood tall in the room’s half-g and held his drink bag aloft. “To Juliana Cotto, station commander, who offered aid in our time of need.”
“To Juliana Cotto, station commander,” the crew said. Several of the crew were almost fanatical when raising their drink bag.
Dylan raised his bag again. “To Lieutenant Commander Davis Dawson, who is leading repairs on our vessel.”
“To Lieutenant Commander Davis Dawson,” the crew echoed.
“Finally,” Dylan continued, “to this crew, who graciously offered their assistance and offered to share with us what little they have, that we might continue our journey.”
The crew silently raised their bags.
Commander Cotto spoke. “We’ve been saving some real food for a special occasion. Having guests from Earth seems just the right time to bring it out. From the smell of it, I suspect the chef has outdone himself. Please, join us and let us celebrate your safe arrival.” She pushed off and drifted to Dylan then said in a voice intended only for him, “I know you’re anxious to resume your journey. We staged everything we thought helpful near the docking port ahead of your arrival. Commander Dawson’s team has things well in hand for now. You’re welcome to head over any time you like…” She pursed her lips. “If you’ll take my advice, I suspect you have a difficult journey ahead. Allow your crew, and yourself, some down time. Let us take care of your ship a while longer.”
Dylan bit his lip. Since when do I put the success of my command in someone else’s hand? He thought for a moment. There’s something about her. She’ll get this done. “All right, Commander Cotto. We are happy to accept your hospitality.”
“Juliana. Please, call me Juliana. Won’t you join my table, Dylan?”
Dylan looked around. Each of his crew members was seated with a different group of station crew, laughing and exchanging stories. “It would be my honor.” He extended his right elbow.
“There are still gentlemen in the mid twenty-first century.” She locked elbows, and he escorted her to the commander’s table, skipping in the low gravity.
The next hours were spent enjoying exceptional food and even better company. The Mars Station crew had become exceptionally close in their isolation, millions of kilometers from home.
After a while, Juliana said to Dylan, “Will you join me in my ready room? I would like to share a few thoughts with you.” The two excused themselves from the celebration and climbed through the station’s corridors, arriving at a cozy room at the bottom of the station’s spine.
#
The domed, transparent aluminum ceiling of Commander Cotto’s ready room offered a stunning view of the red-brown vistas of Mars. Dylan whistled. “Juliana, you must have the most impressive office in the solar system.”
“I can’t complain,” she said, smiling. Juliana had a desk but opted to push up toward the ceiling which pointed toward the planet below. Two pulses from a mini-thruster built into her belt stopped her motion a meter from the thin barrier separating her room from space. The light of Mars cast an orange-red glow on her face.
Dylan took a position beside her. She sure does look majestic, lit up by Mars like that. “Thank you again for taking us in. I know y’all will be making sacrifices until the next supply ship arrives.”
“Look, Dylan. Washington decided to read me in on some aspects of your mission. My guess is, NASA would have ordered us to give up the supplies anyhow. It was kind of you to ask me first.” Her eyes fixed on some distant feature of the planet outside. “They didn’t say why it’s so important to get to Jupiter, but they did tell me that’s your destination and that the Chinese are trying to beat you there.” She lowered her chin and looked him in the eye. “They also filled me in on the first Chinese ship’s accident. Dylan, had I been in command of your ship, it may well have ended my career. I don’t think I could have left that Chinese crew behind.”
The stars blurred as water welled up and pooled in Dylan’s eyes. “I felt downright horrible, but Juliana, this mission is that critical.” He shifted his gaze to the Martian planetscape. “I had my orders.”
“Yes, you did,” Juliana said. Her v
oice was compassionate, understanding. “You did what you had to do, what our oath demands. I know you can’t talk to your crew about the burden of that decision. Dylan, you can talk to me, if you want to.”
Dylan regarded her athletic features made soft by the dim light. Mars reflected in her round eyes. Why is it so easy to talk to her? “That was the hardest command decision of my life,” he said. “It’s in my nature to help people. I hate that I couldn’t help them.” He was quiet for a moment then continued, “The Chinese wouldn’t have had much empathy for us.” He touched the scar above his eye. “I know that from personal experience. They’re raised in a different culture with different values.”
“You’ve had run-ins with China, but how many of the one point four billion Chinese have you met? They’re not all bad. I suspect they’re mostly good. They’re people trying to live a happy life.”
“That makes me feel better,” Dylan said with a sarcastic smirk. “I thought you’re trying to cheer me up.”
“I’m trying to help you come to terms. You can’t do that without facing the truth of the situation.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Dylan said. “About facing the truth. About the Chinese. For the most part, I’ve encountered their military and high-ranking government types. The crew of their ship wasn’t a bunch of farmers and poets.”
“I know. Military or not, I wouldn’t have seen the crew as Chinese. I would have seen them as people in distress, far, far from home.” She looked toward Mars again. “Like I said, it probably would have ended my career.”
“You know what bothers me?” Dylan asked then shook his head.
“Go on, Dylan. What bothers you?”
“We diverted to Mars anyhow. We could have saved them had we matched velocity when we first got word of their accident.”
Juliana rested a hand on his elbow. “You could never have known, Dylan. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Of course, you’re right. That doesn’t make it any easier to sleep at night.”
The two floated together over Mars, silently watching the planet roll by. They were interrupted by a voice from the comm system. “Commander Cotto, there’s an incoming transmission for Commander Lockwood.”
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