Being an astronaut really was a shitty job. Why hadn’t anyone bothered to tell her that? Then again, would she have even wanted to hear it if they had?
Sol 100, NASA base
Lance powered up the screen, which flickered before revealing the face of a young woman. It was Ellen Blake, who seemed to be the most important person at the MfE base since the banishment of the traitor. At the same time, he wasn’t entirely sure about this since he didn’t fully understand the organizational structure of Mars for Everyone yet. Some kind of base democracy existed, but there still had to be someone who actually fulfilled the role of commander. That originally had been Ewa, but now Ellen had apparently assumed leadership.
“Hello, Ellen,” Lance said, tugging a thin cable from the screen to the loudspeaker.
“Good morning,” she replied. “Is that you, Lance?”
“Sorry about that.” He stepped to the right to be in the camera’s line of vision, and waved. “We still have a few things to get ready here.”
“But we’re still set to start at three?”
“Yes, nothing’s changed. Mike’s been in the kitchen since early this morning. He’s promised us a feast.”
“We have three cooks at work,” Ellen said, “but we have a few more hungry mouths to feed.”
Lance nodded. Fourteen people were living at the MfE base, while there were only four here. In a few months, they would have five. He gnawed on his lower lip and hoped everything was going well with Sarah’s baby! The mother wasn’t showing any signs of taking it easy. “A pregnancy isn’t an illness,” Sarah had declared. And so she was out somewhere on the Mars surface with Sharon, checking out the station’s exterior.
“Worried about something?” Ellen asked. “You look distracted.”
Is it really all that obvious? Lance grimaced. Today they wanted to celebrate their first one hundred days on Mars. He needed to choose to worry less. One hundred sols, so a little over three Earth months. He could hardly believe that time had moved so slowly. It felt to him as if they should already be celebrating their first anniversary. Year 1 of the new calendar. Humans might someday reach year 1,000 on Mars and remember the legendary quartet that had established the new civilization here. Lance smiled and shook his head.
“No, no worries,” he said. “Just musing a little. Do you think that someday we’ll hear from Earth again?”
“I don’t know,” Ellen replied. “We don’t even have a clue about what happened there. But we should be able to figure that out during our lifetimes.”
“You mean by going back to see?” Lance asked.
“Yes, with Spaceliner I. If I have understood its technical capabilities rightly, they should be able to fuel up with methane produced here on Mars and fly back.”
“The question is, will they want to?”
“We’ll see,” Ellen said. “They should be landing here in seventy sols.”
“After what I’ve heard from Rick Summers, I’m not sure if I’m happy about that or not.”
“That’s enough of your pessimism,” Ellen said. “Today is a holiday. I just wanted to ask if things were still on target for three o’clock.”
“Yes, we’ll see you then. I promise to be in a better mood by then.”
The MfE astronaut ended the transmission.
Lance plugged the cable into the loudspeaker. He then glanced around. Transforming the conference room into a party mood would cost him more than a little sweat.
“Just water for me, please,” Sarah said.
He actually should have guessed that. Lance reached for the water carafe and poured a glass of cold water for the mother of his child. He then circled the table, filling the other three glasses with champagne. Sarah and Sharon were already in their chairs. On the large screen, he could see the MfE crew members, who were in the process of filling their plates from a buffet far away from the NASA base. He didn’t recognize all the faces. Ellen was there. Besides her, he knew Theo, the German guy, and Andy, the programmer who had almost been killed by the banished former commander, Ewa Kowalska, who was now somewhere in the Mars desert.
Lance sat down and waved at the camera. When would Mike finally come with the food? His stomach was growling already. Three o’clock in the afternoon wasn’t one of his typical mealtimes. Mike, who was also the official leader of their small group, had strictly forbidden them from peeking at his cooking efforts or even to help him. Lance pushed his utensils to the side. A white tablecloth covered the table. The plates and glasses were the standard cafeteria models. Nobody had thought to send any fine china with them on their voyage. Under normal circumstances, they would by now have been celebrating the halfway mark of their mission and be starting to look forward to returning to their nearest and dearest on Earth.
But all that was over. For Lance, not just because their home planet was no longer communicating. There would have been no going back for him anyway, to his old life in which he had planned to marry his long-term girlfriend. He had now fallen in love with Sarah and was about to become a father. He still had a hard time believing it. He was happy, yes, but the responsibility also made him anxious.
Lance felt a draft of air. The door to the adjacent room opened, and Mike stepped inside. He was carrying a large pot and looked thoroughly proud of himself. With a flourish, he set the pot down on the hot mat Lance had put in the middle of the table. Mike then lifted the lid. Steam wafted out of it, filling the air with a delicious aroma that made Lance’s stomach growl even louder.
“A vegetarian lasagna from a family recipe,” Mike announced jovially. He had been born in the U.S., but his last name, Benedetti, reflected that at least one of his ancestors had come from Italy.
Mike pulled a large spoon out of his back pocket, picked up Sarah’s plate, and scooped some of the pasta onto it. “With fresh tomatoes from our own garden,” he added loudly.
The lasagna smelled really good. It was still steaming on Sarah’s plate.
“Just a second,” Mike said suddenly as he spun around and dashed out of the room.
A minute later he returned with a small container. He opened the lid and reached inside before sprinkling something from it across Sarah’s plate.
“Homegrown basil,” he said. “You can admire the plant in our garden.”
Lance had to hold back from diving right in after Mike filled his plate. The commander had earned the first toast.
Mike sat down and raised his glass. “To our celebration,” he said.
Short and sweet, lucky us, Lance thought.
Ellen then spoke up via the screen. Lance returned his knife and fork to the table. Was there going to be a speech now? The food was growing cold!
“I’m glad that our collaboration is going so well,” Ellen said. “Despite the unfortunate incident early on.”
“It wasn’t your doing, and all of you had to bear the brunt of it,” Mike replied.
Lance had noticed that his commander’s interest in Ellen was more than professional. If he’d noticed, it must be evident to everyone else. He decided not to say anything contrary about it. The two MfE men who had taken him and Sarah by surprise at the NASA probe had tried to kill them. It wasn’t only Ewa’s fault that things had been bumpy at the outset.
“But before anyone here starves to death...” Mike looked at Lance, “bon appétit.”
Finally. Lance didn’t need any additional urging to devote himself entirely to the delicious lasagna. Mike had outdone himself.
“The cheese,” Sharon asked, “is it from Earth?”
“Yes,” Mike replied, “it is the real thing, Parmesan from Earth. On our hundredth day, I thought I would spare us that fake cheese made from protein and fat.”
“Then we should memorize this taste,” Sharon said.
“I’m afraid so. If MfE’s animals don’t die out, we’ll someday have real sheep and goat cheese again. However, anything produced with cow’s milk will eventually vanish from humanity’s collective memory.”
If only the only thing they were losing was cheese! Lance thought. He would never again eat a juicy steak! And yet all the sustainability arguments against raising cattle didn’t really apply to Mars. The methane that the animals produced would have actually helped make Mars more inhabitable. However, it would be best for him to focus on the lasagna in front of him. Otherwise, his imagination would run away with him again.
Once the meal was over and the dishes had been cleared away, the party officially began. Even with the MfE crew joining in on the screen, it felt a little odd. After all, there were only the four of them. Mike turned on the music. Lance only knew about half of the songs. Most of them seemed to be from the 2020s, which must have been about the time Mike had been in school. Lance danced first with Sarah, then with Sharon, and then once more with Sarah, alternating with Mike. He eventually joined his colleague on the chairs at the edge of the dance area, while the two women continued to move tirelessly to the rhythm.
“You didn’t happen to bring a little grass along, did you?” he asked Mike.
Since soft drugs were legal in many nations, Lance had occasionally smoked various things. It was so relaxing. The fact that he was about to become a father weighed more heavily on him than he had guessed it would.
Mike shook his head. “What are you thinking? Much too risky! If they had caught me with that, my replacement would be sitting here.”
“What was his name again? Andrew? I always liked you better.”
Lance could only vaguely recall their training. Andrew had been a lanky, red-haired Irishman. For some reason, Lance had found him unlikeable, although he couldn’t remember why at this point.
“What do you think happened to him?” Mike asked.
“Maybe he’s sitting on the porch with his wife right now, enjoying a nice red wine,” Lance guessed.
“You think so? What about the communication lapse?”
“It was just a theory. It would be nice for him. I don’t particularly want to conjure up any disaster scenarios right now.”
“I get that,” Mike said, stretching out his legs.
For a few minutes, they just sat there, watching the two women. Sharon’s sense of rhythm and movement was remarkable. It had to be her Brazilian heritage. Someone from the MfE base occasional waved at them through the screen.
“What do you think about the Chinese?” Mike suddenly asked.
Lance was slightly annoyed. Couldn’t they push topics like this off until tomorrow? “No clue,” he replied.
“I recall that China had planned a Mars mission that was supposed to arrive before we did. They wanted the prestige,” Mike said. “But then they ran into delays, and when we landed, they officially terminated their mission.”
“I know, but they seem to be on their way now,” Lance said.
“And with a crew of six instead of four people. It’s as if two extra people managed to save themselves by slipping on board the ship at the last minute,” Mike added.
“You mean they saved themselves from the catastrophe on Earth? Too bad they’re not responding anymore. They could have told us what happened there.”
“Maybe it’s better this way,” Mike said.
Lance nodded. Sometimes it’s best to not know too much, he thought.
7/23/2042, Spaceliner 1
“Is it safe here?” Isaac asked.
“Just look around,” Chad replied. “Where could anyone hide a microphone?”
They were standing in a bare storage room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of metal. Isaac pointed up. Three pipes belonging to the life support system ended here. The narrow door opened and Jean stepped in.
“She took care of the life support,” Chad said, pointing at the former captain.
“Yes, my new job regularly takes me into the bowels of the ship,” Jean said. “I especially checked the vents to this space yesterday. They’re clean.”
“Apparently you have greater freedoms as cleaning lady than as captain,” Isaac said with a laugh.
“I can at least get around more easily and can get to know the ship from a different perspective.”
“And you don’t have to deal with ‘Ricky the toady’ anymore,” Chad said. He was the one who had set up this meeting in the cramped storage room. It hadn’t been easy considering that their duty rosters happened to magically be such that they were never off at the same time—as if someone was deliberately trying to make it more difficult for them to be in contact. Chad had been forced to swap shifts to make this work.
“How is the mood in the lower ranks?” he asked.
“Not as bad as we’d hoped,” Jean replied. “The Senator’s decision to double their salaries means that the people are on his side. They haven’t realized yet that, Earth having fallen silent, money has lost all meaning.”
“I’m afraid that you aren’t missed in the officer ranks, either, Jean,” Chad admitted. Summers had left him in his position for some unknown reason, perhaps to keep him under better control.
“The scientists are skeptical,” Isaac said, “but that’s nothing new. They always think that everyone in leadership is incompetent. And they’re right about that. Of course, you were the exception, Jean. Just imagine this. Summers came to us the day before yesterday with a grand idea. He had read somewhere that the Mars moon, Phobos, would crash into the planet in a few million years. He asked if we couldn’t speed up that process since the collision would generate a large amount of heat. This way we could possibly make the polar caps melt faster, which would, in turn, enrich the atmosphere. John calculated for him how much dust would be stirred up by that collision and explained how it was more likely that the end result would be an ice age. I’m not sure, though, if he found us all that convincing.”
Chad shook his head. This was typical of the ideas that only an amateur would come up with. Making the Mars surface more habitable was a task that would take at least a thousand years.
“And how are things in the command center?” Jean asked.
“Neither of the two Ricks are messing around up there, luckily. Everyone is doing their job as if nothing’s happened. The ship is on course, and if nothing else comes up, we’ll land on November 14.”
“Yes, my two deputies are reliable. I was involved with their hiring,” Jean said. “I’m happy that I didn’t accept the company’s initial recommendation.”
“But they aren’t really speaking their minds,” Chad declared. “I sometimes provoke things a little, but they’re keeping their heads down.”
“It sounds like the example Summers made of me has been effective,” Jean said. “Anyway, guess what I discovered recently while I was cleaning one of the cabins.”
“Illegal porn magazines?” Isaac asked.
“A bug on the underside of the bed. It was in the engineer’s cabin—Terran Carter’s.”
“Did you remove it?” Chad asked.
“I’m not stupid. That would’ve immediately alerted whoever had installed it that something wasn’t right.”
“Did you look around in the other cabins? Maybe that wasn’t the only bug.”
“No. Normally the passengers clean their own cabins, just like you two do. But Terran had spent a couple of days in sickbay, and the cleaners had to take care of his room. You should check under your beds, too.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Chad said. “More than once, I’ve wondered where the administrator is getting his information. I thought he might have a spy in our ranks.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive possibilities. Just be careful,” Jean warned.
“It could be that we’re all bugged—even the Senator,” Isaac said. “I think that if we want to shift the general mood, we’re going to need proof. Do you think we could convince Terran to cooperate with us?”
“Do you have an idea?” Chad asked. “I could talk to him about the bug.”
“If he works with us, we could prepare some kind of message that would lead us to whoever is listening on the other en
d,” Isaac said.
“Good. I’ll speak to him about it. We can meet again once I have his response.”
Sol 101, NASA base
Lance pointed his toes and stretched. He moved his arm to the side to where Sarah should have been lying. They had slept together last night, and he’d hoped perhaps he could convince her to give lovemaking another go this morning. But the bed was empty. She must have already gotten up. He listened for the sound of the shower. He could have joined her. But all he heard was the ubiquitous noise of the life support system. Lance sat up and reached a hand up to his temple. He had a headache! He must be slightly hungover. He had only drunk a glass and a half of champagne, but that had been his first alcohol in some weeks. Could he have become a lightweight so quickly?
He gingerly massaged his temples. The pain was real. He reached for the storage chest under his bed and found an opened package of pain killers. He was about to pull out a tablet when he thought better of it. They were going to have to learn to suck up the little aches and pains without medicine so that their supplies would last longer for the serious incidents. Standing under the shower might also help disperse his headache. Or he could try a little pure oxygen. A few days ago, Sarah had raved about how quickly pure oxygen helped with her headaches.
She didn’t seem to be bothered by the typical pregnancy complaints. He had never seen her suddenly throw up, and she didn’t have any strange cravings. There was also no sign of a baby bump. Lance recalled what she had looked like lying next to him. The dark triangle against the white sheets. She had been gorgeous. His eyes couldn’t drink in enough of her until Sarah had eventually asked if he had any other activity in mind. Boy, did he!
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