by Glenn Damato
A girl drops a round box of cookies into my lap. Butter cookies, at a time like this. Why not?
Jürgen scrutinizes we newcomers. “Listen up! We have key facts to put out and not much time to do it. These men and women standing behind me sacrificed their safety to get you here. We’re part of a larger team you’ll never meet.”
I chew. His words and the delicious cookies make a perfect combination.
Jürgen sweeps his hand horizontally. “You’re also part of a larger group.” He turns to Dr. Ordin. “How many did we start with?”
“Two hundred thirty-five pre-selects.”
“All of you were chosen with great care. Events of this historic significance don’t happen often. We have an opportunity to begin the world over again. Let me repeat that. We have an opportunity to begin the world over again, and to be free. We’re going to Mars.”
I stop chewing.
What does he mean, we? My brain is a jumble, it’s impossible to think.
Mars. Is he joking? Is he lying?
Ryder lets out a deep, masculine howl. “Oh, yes!” He jumps up and smashes his chair into the floor three times. He locks Jürgen and Mikki in a bear hug, then spins around, reaches over his chair and shoves his hand toward me. I take his finger-crushing grip and my fatigue and hunger vanish.
Alison covers her mouth with her hand. Others stare into the air, faces blank. Some just sit with their arms folded. Jürgen believes it, so everyone believes it. In a world full of lies, this is truer than true. I scan the oldies standing along the wall. In their faces, a quiet and fierce determination.
Mars.
This is real.
Does he mean me? I’m going?
I said I would do anything.
A life free from Harmony and the Autoridad. The idea of it sends the room spinning.
“We’re going to Mars,” Jürgen repeats. He’s sure of it. “We’re going to Mars, to stay. We’ll build a community, and our descendants will build a civilization.”
Ryder stomps both feet on the ground. Mikki rubs the back of his neck with her left hand.
“We can start fresh and learn from past errors. If you do this . . .” Jürgen stops. Except for muffled sobs, the room is still. “If you do this, it won’t be for the usual reasons humans take risks. It won’t be for fame, or power, or glory, or survival. We have another reason. The need to live free and control our own destinies.”
Questions fly from all directions. Has anyone ever been to Mars? How do we know Harmony isn’t there right now? How many are going? How much time would we have to say goodbye to friends? What if something goes wrong?
Jürgen opens his mouth and silence falls. “Okay. What to expect. We leave soon and there is no turning back. We will be the first humans on Mars, and there will be no outside assistance of any kind. I will not bullshit you. There is a likelihood you may die. So decide if this is what you want. If you don’t, just walk out of this room. You’ll be fed and released from the hospital in a few days.”
A girl with short blond hair mutters, “Some other time.” She makes her way through the door.
Eric crosses his arms and says to Jürgen, “We need to know more.”
Too many people shout questions at once. A slender man with a thick mane of silver hair steps forward. He has to be at least eighty years old. I didn’t know it was possible for someone so old to grow hair down below his shoulders.
He shouts, “Yo!”
Just one syllable, but the sound pierces the babble and the place goes quiet.
The long-haired oldie clears his throat. “My name is Dr. David Chao, and I am a systems engineer. I was once employed at a technology development center formerly located here in Pasadena. It was called the Jet Propulsion Laboratory.”
Ryder leaps to his feet and cries, “Wahoo!”
David continues in a tranquil tone. “After JPL, I served as a senior engineer for most of the Chēngzhăng flights. The men and women standing behind me are my colleagues. Over a hundred scientists, engineers, and technicians have dedicated themselves to the goal of flying a small, carefully selected group to Mars and landing them safely, along with the equipment and materials to establish an independent settlement.”
David pronounces one word again, crisply and distinctly. “Independent.”
A stillness hangs over us, broken only by the sound of restrained crying.
Independent. That means free. In charge of our own lives. Worth the risk, no matter what happens.
Someone asks, “Harmony doing this?”
“Negative,” David replies.
“But they know about it?”
“Negative.”
“Bullshit! How is that possible?”
“Speed! And complete secrecy. We have one launch opportunity. Six spacecraft with six seats each, launched together on a direct trajectory.”
“They’ll shoot them down!” cries the same boy.
“Negative. You’ll climb two thousand kilometers in less than seven minutes. That’s outside missile range. Their defense systems are configured to deal with incoming targets. Speed is our friend. We’ll launch as quickly as possible, before we’re—”
“Discovered,” mutters Eric.
Jürgen inspects us as he talks. “We have twelve so far. We can take another twenty-four. Counting me, that’s twenty-three open seats.”
Alison calls out, “Excuse me. The other twelve. Are they experienced? Are they . . . please tell me they’re older than us.”
The silence is total.
“No, they are not,” David answers softly. “We would strongly prefer candidates with more operational experience, men and women in their mid to late twenties. That’s not feasible.”
“El Regalo,” I whisper. It comes out on its own.
David nods at me. “Harmony controls access to technical education. By age sixteen, over sixty percent of technical graduates have already undergone voluntary sterilization. By age twenty-five it’s ninety-six percent. The post-grads who make it into their twenties with the ability to have children are the ideological fanatics, exactly the ones we don’t want.”
But this won’t work with so few. So I speak up. “That explains twice as many females as males. More ovaries, more babies in less time. But you said thirty-six? Are more people following later? I’m no expert, but that doesn’t sound like a big enough gene pool.”
Dr. Mike answers my question. “You’ll be able to have children of your own. But to supplement the limited gene pool, each spacecraft carries two cryogenic flasks with eighteen hundred embryos and sperm samples, all pre-screened for genetic health and high intelligence, no genetic modification whatsoever. At cryogenic temperatures, the rate of molecular migration is low enough so the material should remain viable for three hundred years. New genetic stock can be introduced over the first twelve to fifteen generations.”
Ryder covers his mouth and quips, “And there’s the old fashioned way.”
Thin laughter, mostly from the boys. Why did he glance at me when he said it?
David adds, “There will be no additional flights following you. This is a one-shot event.”
A boy stands, a man really. His lips twist as if he’s annoyed. There are two beads of sweat on his forehead. “Norberto Pena. My question is this. What about communication? I assume you will support us and guide us?”
David closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Everyone needs to understand this now. Once you’re in flight, you’re on your own.”
Norberto plops back into his chair. Two boys and a girl rise and walk out the door. The smart ones?
David tells us, “Your spacecraft will be flown by an automatic navigation system. There are expert systems aboard that operate your life support and other necessary—”
“Guaranteed to work perfectly, right?” Norberto shoots back.
Three more people stride for the door without looking back. Objections and complaints fly from everywhere. This is a stupid argument.
I ri
se up on wobbly legs, but my body is so light I can fly.
“Stand with me!”
Three words, almost screamed. I sweep my eyes across their startled faces. “What good is your life if you’re a slave? Stand with me!”
Ryder knocks his chair out of his way and wraps his arms around me. Body odor. So what? He spins toward Jürgen. “Standing!”
The chattering dies off and they watch me, Jürgen, and David. Mikki stares straight ahead. I snap at her, “What’s the matter with you? This is the greatest moment of your life. Stand with us!”
She looks at me with wet and fearful eyes. Then, to Ryder, “Yes!” She stands and Ryder steadies her. A gruff shout to the whole room, “They do not own me!”
Alison’s fists are clenched; her lips tremble. Our eyes meet, but she doesn’t move.
Eric runs his fingers through his matted hair. “Just to toss in a teeny bit of reality. Last I heard, Mars is nothing but rocks, and it’s a hundred degrees below zero.”
Kim apparently doesn’t hear him. She stands while wiping her eyes of the happy tears. “If I die, I’ll die free. Nobody watching me. No spotters. Decide on my own life. My own life! That starts now.”
“Decide your own life!” I repeat back to them. “Start now! Stand with us!”
But they aren’t moving.
I gaze at a girl with wavy brown hair. “During all those years living under their thumb, didn’t you ever wonder to yourself, when will be my time? My time! It’s here, right now. This is your chance. Stand with us!”
She drops her eyes to the floor.
“What about power?” barks Eric. “What about air? What about food and water? What about replacement parts? Drugs, medicines? How do you know Mars has the raw materials to support a whole freakin’ civilization?”
David directs his response to all of us. “My colleagues and I believe you have a good chance of success. Each spacecraft is redundant to the others. Each flies with five hundred petabytes of data, almost the entire digitized knowledge of humanity. For raw materials, we’ve known since 2015 that Mars harbors abundant water ice and mineral resources needed to manufacture what you need.”
“I don’t understand how we’re going to get food on Mars,” says a girl with a childlike voice. “Didn’t they have to deliver supplies to the lunar villages?”
“Mars is the only other place in the solar system besides Earth where it’s practical to grow food with sunlight,” replies David. “With suitably engineered enclosures, it can be done.”
“You’re so damn sure!” cries a tall girl from the back of the room. “But you don’t know, do you? How can you know?” She kicks over her chair and strides toward the door. Four others follow her out.
“I just want to go home,” stammers a boy.
Jürgen said they need twenty-three more. That means almost everyone remaining will have to volunteer.
I put my arm around Kim’s shoulder, then face the whole room. “Who else will stand with us? Get off your ass and stand!” I let the words flow and ignore the quiver in my voice. “You’re scared. I am too. I wanted university. An engineering career. Travel, a comfortable home, love, children, a family. Now I understand. None of that is any good without freedom.”
◆◆◆
People rise from their seats individually and in pairs, but the total isn’t enough.
The holdouts shout endless questions. They want specific answers, not vague assurances. Who built the spacecraft? How could they be tested without Harmony finding out? How could anyone be sure all the systems will work?
The technology is mostly well-established, insists a Korean engineer with a bald head covered with thin blue veins. Every vital system was developed directly from Chinese, Korean, and American orbital and lunar equipment. The guidance and navigation systems are based on the Chēngzhăng flights to the moon. Life support, avionics, propulsion, fault recovery, all printed from reliable designs.
So we get there. What next? All this wonderful equipment, it has to last forever? What happens when something breaks? We’ll need a wide variety of materials. If not from Earth, where will it all come from?
The engineers have answers for everything. We can produce whatever is needed on Mars. We start with ice and Mars air, which is mostly carbon dioxide. From that we can synthesize oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, carbon monoxide, methane, methanol fuel, and then ethylene and benzene, the starting points to produce a wide range of plastics. That means Kevlar, Mylar, Nylon, acrylics, polycarbonates, fertilizers, plus rubber, detergents, lubricants, precursors to pharmaceuticals. The Mars regolith is rich in metals and metalloids, including silicon and other semiconductors, plus trace elements.
Fabrication printers?
Two Honeywell TW9 printers are on board each spacecraft. We’ll be able to print any component we can conceive, including replacement parts and specialized equipment from custom designs.
All that does no good without electrical power. But solar panels cannot supply the necessary kilowatts to actually make use of those resources.
A Japanese engineer steps forward. A pure white beard juts from his chin. We will have ample power, he assures us. Each spacecraft carries one liquid fluoride thorium nuclear reactor. These flight-certified reactors are similar to the ones used at the Chēngzhăng lunar outposts for many years. Thorium fuel can be found on Mars, a fact proven by numerous successful robotic explorers.
And when the food runs out?
We’ll have stock to print meals for about seven hundred days. Before that stock is exhausted, we construct greenhouse enclosures with local materials and pressurize them to three hundred and forty millibars, one-third standard atmosphere. Once washed, Mars regolith is similar to the volcanic dirt of Hawaii. We will add water and nitrates to create soil. Sunlight will be used to grow crops from seeds. Mars rotates once every twenty-four hours and thirty-nine minutes, so the day lasts just a bit longer than on Earth.
Eric remains skeptical. “How do you know all this is gonna work together perfectly?”
“Most of the technology has been under development and in use for fifty years or more,” David tells him. “It’s a matter of applied science.”
“And the guts to try,” I add.
Eric lifts his bulk from his chair. “If you’re trying, I’m there with you.” He reaches out and we touch hands.
A dark-skinned girl with almond eyes stands and addresses the room. “My name is Indra Chaudhuir. I am the daughter of Venkat and Ruma of Kamothe, India. From this moment I am free.” She looks directly at Kim and me. Tears form twin rivulets down her cheeks.
“Decide now,” Dr. Ordin tells those who remain seated. “We don’t have a lot of time. The next ones to stand will go.”
“Be certain,” David says. “No second thoughts will be permitted.”
“Are you coming?” Norberto snaps.
“I sincerely wish that were the case. Every seat is reserved for someone like you, someone with a lifetime of creative energy. You’re going to start with a clean slate.”
Alison asks, “What happens to those who don’t want to go? Will the Autoridad know? Will we lose what we have?”
I face her. “What do you have now? Is it more precious to you than freedom?”
She spits, “I’m alive.”
“Congratulations!” cracks Dr. Ordin. “Now decide.”
A girl with straight dark haired asks, “What if Harmony is already on Mars?”
David shakes his head. “Harmony isn’t interested in Mars, and they never will be. Any settlement there will be independent and therefore beyond their control.”
A Chinese girl stands. “This terrifies the shit out of me. Staying here scares me more.”
Alison’s hands clench together and she stares straight ahead. Norberto rocks his upper body rhythmically back and forth. Two girls whisper together furiously. Tess is bent over at the waist, her head on her knees.
Jürgen approaches the undecideds. His words come slowly. “Human beings sh
ould live free. Not devoting their lives to serve a government master. Not dedicated to ends they did not choose. We must be the masters of our own fate.”
A tall boy with wide shoulders lowers his head. “I don’t want to die.”
He needs to hear this. “The length of your life is nothing, it’s what you do with your life.”
A round-faced girl sits up. Her eyes are angry. “Risk our lives with no chance of coming back, no chance for help?”
Norberto asks, “How do we even know we can do this?”
I answer, “Anything’s possible if you have the courage to try.”
He stands! Did I do that? And Tess. And three teens I don’t recognize.
A boy mutters, “Crazy dangerous.”
“You want to stay safe?” I ask him. “Safe to do what? Be a slave?”
The petite woman with wavy brown hair stands and faces Jürgen. She’s pale and haggard as if she’s been down in this hospital basement for a month. “Doctor Blair Rizzo. I recently graduated second in my class at Fujian Medical University. I’ll pledge my life on the condition my esteemed colleague, Doctor Shuko Saito, will join me.”
She places her hand on the shoulder of a lean Asian man no older than twenty. He has too much thick black hair, and it’s combed in a way that makes his head square. He folds his arms, peers down at the floor, glances at Blair Rizzo, then stands.
He stares directly at me, of all people
“I wanted this for years,” he stammers. His words are for me, and it’s like we’re the only two people in the room. This isn’t someone who expresses his feelings often or easily. Yet, the words come. “Only two things are mine by right, freedom and death. If I can’t have one, I’ll have the other.”
The quiet is broken by Ryder’s single clap. I nod at Shuko.
“Death will come to us eventually no matter what we do,” I say to everyone. “It’s your right to be free before that day comes.”
But it’s not enough, not yet. Some sit with their eyes closed, as if trying to shut everything out.
Dr. Mike places his hands on his hips. “I think if we do not succeed, it means our human species has lost the last hope for freedom. Harmony is developing better psychological controls, better reproductive controls. The small degree of privacy and autonomy people have over their lives, what little remains, is going to be extinct in a short time.”