by Glenn Damato
Ryder’s skeptical. “Where we gonna get all those bricks?”
Moira shows her pale, triangular face. “Mars regolith should make excellent airtight bricks. We expect high amounts of calcium and sulfur, so without any additives the bricks will be almost as strong as concrete. We should also be able to make gypsum and lime.”
“I’m no expert,” says Alison, “But don’t you need an oven to make bricks?”
“You mean a kiln,” Naldo answers. His stubbled face is shockingly thin. How many others had lost their appetites during the flight? “We’re going to use the waste heat from the reactors. A hundred kilowatts per reactor, so we can get at least a thousand degrees to bake bricks.”
Mikki asks, “And it heats bath water too, right?”
Naldo laughs. His eyes shine with a twelve-year old’s optimism. “We’ll find a way! But before we think of baths, we need to get ourselves under two meters of solid shielding to minimize radiation exposure. Indra and Norberto designed an end-to-end manufacturing system. Bots will dig the regolith, add water, shape the bricks, and deliver them to and from the kilns. We should have around one million bricks before winter begins.”
The drawings of underground brick housing are outdone by plants growing under transparent pressurized pyramids. The greenery of life arising from the brown and red sands of Mars. The sight of it, even as a drawing, is the birth of dreams.
Ryder makes chomping sounds. “Carrots, potatoes, asparagus.” After what we’ve been through, we’ll laugh at anything.
We’re going to make it.
This is a good day. Why end it by sleeping? New faces appear—Dee, Abby, Roxane, Giselle. Did these people spend forty-one days sealed in their sleep compartments? Everyone clusters together shoulder-to-shoulder. I look at the others as if seeing their faces for the first time. Our hair has grown so much—why notice that now? And the spots of stubble all over Ryder’s jaw—when did that happen?
Eric announces, “We’re entering the Mars gravitational sphere of influence. Don’t get too excited. Just means Mars is exerting a stronger gravitational pull on our flight path than the sun. Our velocity relative to Mars will increase.”
Sure enough, the GNP velocity goes from 15,236 meters per second to 15,237 and keeps rising. Ryder pulls Alison closer. “Hold on tight. We’re falling toward Mars.”
“We’ll pick up another five kilometers per second before morning,” Eric informs us. “Speaking of morning, wakeup time is five. Doc Giselle here on Constitution says try your best to sleep. If you’re wondering whether to wear your diapers, yes, wear your diapers.”
Ryder pumps his fist in triumph.
I zip into my sack at 22:26 PCT, a little more than six hours before wakeup. There’s a text from Vijay just arriving.
Cristina:
I wish to express my heartfelt thanks for assisting with the adoption of our Charter, and running for office too! Your words, if we can imagine it we can build it, brought a smile to my lips and energy to my soul. Cristina, my brain spins when I realize that within a few hours we will participate in a great achievement of human history. This is fitting, as we are driven by one of the deepest and noblest aspirations of the human spirit, the pursuit of freedom. Although the rest of humanity will not immediately witness the events of tomorrow, it is my earnest belief that our journey here and our future triumphs will someday serve as an inspiration to billions yet unborn. Cristina, I know it is difficult to understand the actions and points of view of some of our compatriots. We will all need time to acclimate to this wonderful thing called liberty. There will be adjustment pangs! We are accustomed to being told what to do and what to think, under threat for noncompliance. Many now seek that firm hand of authority and self-assurance. This is understandable, but extreme care must be taken that our better judgment does not suffer in the pursuit of solidarity and status. I look forward to meeting you in person!
Complicated words and ideas. Even so, a kind and thoughtful message. I flick the screen dark and close my eyes.
Tomorrow. It all happens tomorrow.
PART III
ALL OF US
THIRTY
Ear plugs. Face mask. Perfect comfort, near perfect silence. No sleep.
Bangs and clangs begin after midnight. Eric announces the sounds are nothing to be nervous about, just the TMI transferring fluids.
I check the time over and over and there’s no way to stop. Less than seven hours until there’s ground under me, solid ground. A new home. Is this truly happening? I unzip and pull on an absorbency garment followed by a clean flight suit, the last one remaining. Rosies—no, rosaries—in right chest pocket. Sickness bag in left. After six weeks there’s enough hair to brush, but why bother?
Everyone’s still huddled in the control center. Shuko raises a pouch of some dark beverage. “I diagnose you with Protonilus fever.”
I squint at him. “What?”
“Protonilus fever,” repeats Alison. “Can’t sleep? Join the club.”
Liberty’s nose still points roughly sunward. Warm yellow beams set everything aglow, especially our shiny white flight suits. We’ve all been saving our last clean set. Mikki passes around protein bars, the ones we’re not supposed to eat; this minor mischief is dwarfed by the magnitude of the day.
There’s little talking. Alison pushes my right foot against a Velcro anchor and wraps her arm behind my neck. I’m cradled between her and Ryder and secure from drifting. Sleep finally comes—despite the sunlight and the hum from the equipment bay.
◆◆◆
The siesta ends when Shuko presses a clear plastic bag of fluid into my hand. Ryder has one, too. He holds it away from his body as if it were dangerous. “We’re supposed to drink this? The whole thing?”
“The whole thing,” confirms Shuko. “I want an empty container from every one of you.”
Mikki tastes it and makes a face. “Let me guess. Old piss?”
“Saline solution,” Shuko says between gulps from his own bag. “One liter of salted water. It’s a preventive measure against syncope. Passing out.”
Alison and I try a sip at the same time. Disgusting. And there’s a lot of it.
Shuko sees our pain. “Long-term weightlessness prevents proper regulation of body fluid levels. We’re all slightly dehydrated. Not dangerous under normal circumstances. But problems will occur once we’re back under gravity. Our blood volume is low, and unless we build up our fluid reserves, we may faint when we try to stand upright.”
Ryder takes three or four huge gulps. “Don’t wanna faint. I’m walking on Mars today.”
Alison takes a gulp. “I’m not going to be able to eat breakfast after this.”
“That’s ideal,” Shuko tells her. “We want our stomachs empty. Will make it easier to deal with high deceleration forces.”
Eric’s sour, stressed-out grumble makes me jump. He sounds like he didn’t sleep at all. “One last course correction in two minutes. Very brief, just to nudge us about three meters per second. The GNC ranged Mars all night and we have a good trajectory. Also, if you’re wondering if you should wear your BioSuit during landing, the answer is no. An impact hard enough to breach your cabin will kill you anyhow. Plus, the joint that seals your helmet to the suit is not intended for use under high G-forces. A hard landing or even normal deceleration during entry could result in neck injury.”
The thrusters fire for eight seconds.
Ryder places an aluminum grating over the equipment bay access hatch. Our treasured Oxirotor is gone, the cables and the other pieces coiled up and stored away.
The lights flicker twice.
Eric informs us, “Your TMI just transferred electrical loads to your batteries. My indications are nominal, but I need someone to visually confirm that your fifteen banks are on line and showing twenty-nine volts.”
Ryder and Mikki study the master panel. Mikki calls out, “Both busses show twenty-nine volts and all fifteen banks are green!”
“When you put you
r seats in place,” Eric advises, “make sure each of the three anchor points clicks all the way into the receptacle. Double-check they’re firmly attached. Check your harness anchor points, too.”
Sharp bing bing bing bing bing bing noise from outside the spacecraft.
“That’s your TMI unlatching like it’s supposed to,” Eric reports. Is there a nervous tremor in his voice?
We check the warning panel for red or orange. It all works for a change. “First atmosphere contact at seven thirty-three,” I tell them. Can they hear the edge in my own voice? “Let’s make sure everything loose is put away.”
“Checked three times,” Mikki says.
The GNC sings happily, “TMI separation in three, two, one.”
BANG! The control center jolts. Alison and Mikki clutch each other’s arms. Thousands of sparklers swirl outside the windows. A sunbeam drifts across the sleeper doors. Paige blurts, “What’s it doing?”
Ryder cries, “We’re rotating completely over! Gonna get a view!”
The six of us push off to the big window and press our faces against the glass, jostling and nudging for more room. Nothing but blackness and the sparklers—but as Liberty rotates the window rim shines orange. My mouth is dry as tissue, even after all that water.
Mikki yells, “Ryder, dammit, you’re fogging the glass!”
Shuko and I wipe our sleeves across the window. Our six faces jam the glass side-by-side.
The edge of the planet emerges and features come into view. It’s so beautiful I can’t speak. Mars is a globe, rich in vivid shades of red, brown, and gray forming three-dimensional terrain. Craters. Canyons. Mountains!
Paige sucks in her breath. “We’re here, it’s real.”
An entire planet floating against the black, enormous and too tangible to accept. Ryder bangs his fist against the window frame. “I see our landing site!”
Those five piercing words sting my ears, but that’s fine, that’s perfect. He sees it! Where, exactly? His finger stabs the window. “There! See the big round crater?”
I respond, “Yeah!”
“That’s Lyot. Toward the polar cap is north, so look south from Lyot to the bumpy strip. That’s Protonilus!”
That band of jagged ridges, our home forever? Sunlight glints off the mountain peaks, the pink and blue glow of dawn. My brain cannot deal with it. We’re moving so fast Mars glides under us as we watch. More details emerge by the second—crinkles, crevices, and hazy wisps.
Indra shouts from the com, “I see clouds!”
I yell back, “Mist! I see it!”
Eric remarks, “Lovely spring morning at the landing site.”
The Lyot crater reaches the edge of the curved horizon and disappears. The relative motion of the planet seems downward toward the surface. A line of ragged gullies slide into view, followed by total blackness. This is the end of the daylight side of Mars. Behind me, the sun is on the far side of the control center. A radiant beam stings my eyes.
Eric tells us, “I know there’s quite a view out there, but it would be an excellent idea to get seated and harnessed.”
Paige flies to the opposite window. “Look at the sun! Right at the edge!”
The black is draped by a crisp arc of light, the sun approaching the middle. They touch, meld, and the sun flattens and spreads out along the curve, changing from yellow to pink to deep orange and finally a thread of lavender. The control center is dark, the only illumination from the soft yellow and green indications on the panels.
“Goodbye, sun,” says Ryder. “Magnificent show.”
A piercing whirl from the other side of the equipment bay. Eric tells us, “That’s your aeroshell deploying. You need to be harnessed at this time. Atmosphere contact less than two minutes.”
I push butt into seat. Ryder takes his place a meter to my right. This time Shuko’s next to Mikki, their hands clasped together. I adjust my restraint harness and secure the center buckle.
Shuko advises, “Try to inhale and exhale with short, sharp breaths. Might take some effort, but you won’t suffocate. Expect some discomfort—”
“Pain!” Ryder shouts while jerking his harness. “Bring it on!”
“Wa-hoo!” Mikki cries, her tone sarcastically flat.
Outside, still just black, no obvious danger. Tell that to my hammering heart. Don’t think about slamming into the atmosphere at twenty kilometers per second, fast enough to travel the full length of Alta California in one minute. Yes, rosies out, finger-wrapped. “Rosaries,” I annunciate the correct name. That lures a faint smile from Ryder.
My palms are wet and my fingers tremble, but I do it anyway. I stick my right arm out and Ryder takes my hand. Our fingers interlace. His skin is soggy too, heartbeat strong and fast. Two impossible things at once: arriving at Mars, and holding Ryder’s hand.
There it is—a faint vibration—a tiny force pushing upward from the seat.
I squeeze hard on rosies and Ryder.
This is happening.
THIRTY-ONE
Peaceful at first, nothing more than gentle pressure and a faraway hum. The panel flashes.
AEROBREAK SEQUENCE INITIATED
Altitude 125 kilometers, dropping fast; Liberty must swoop deeper into the atmosphere so we can exploit friction to cut speed. What did David say? Shed three quarters of your velocity in five minutes.
The hum intensifies and the vibration becomes rapid sideways jerking. Backward force drives my shoulders and butt hard against the seat. My head is a rock. There’s a high-pitched whine. Now wild sideways jerking! This supposed to happen?
Powerful pressure. Not fun, not fun. A massive weight presses on me like an enormous bag of sand. Can’t suck in air! I clench both hands tighter and remember—short breaths!
A pink glow breaks through my shut eyelids, pink with bright flashes. The roar soaks into my bones and the intensity kills thinking. I crush fingers as if that can somehow force air into my lungs. Nothing but gray, can’t see at all. Reality is a screaming, suffocating, violently shaking mess and it hurts.
Fading. Falling down a tunnel.
Time passed, but how much? The crushing pressure is gone, the earsplitting roar down to a dull hum, and I can breathe. Ryder’s fingers on right, GNP altitude in front, 117 kilometers and rising.
Ryder gasps for air, too. From all around, heavy huffs and pants.
The GNP sings out, “Aeroshell separation in three, two, one.”
BANG!
The harness pulls across my chest then goes slack. Altitude 140 kilometers. No more force. I’m soggy from head to foot. Teeny droplets of sweat swirl around the control center.
I release Ryder’s hand and he flexes his fingers. Is my face as red and wet as his? Alison’s eyes dart all over.
“Give me a minute,” says a voice unmistakably Eric-like. Someone else beyond Liberty is alive, someone familiar with the systems. “GNC reports correct formation. Lost enough velocity. Got elliptical orbit. Intersects entry point nine twenty-two.”
Faint words from Alison. “Can’t do that again.”
I release my harness and push off. A wave of dizzy! I stroke Alison’s hair. “We can do it one more time.”
Paige points a shaky finger. “Here comes the sun.”
A wispy red curve cuts across the blackness. It brightens and orange spreads from the center, then the first wonderful beacon of light peaks over the edge of Mars.
“Hit nine and a half gees,” Ryder says, tapping the GNP panel. Then he kisses Alison’s forehead. “My brave girl. The rest of it will be easier.”
“Mikki . . .”
She’s staring straight ahead, oblivious to Shuko and everyone else and still clutching the sides of her seat. “I’ll be all right if I can stay here until we’re down. Can you get me some water? All that salty piss water made me thirsty.”
Speaking of piss, her crotch is one big wet spot. She sees it and mutters obscenities under her breath. “Your fault for making us drink,” she says to Shuko. “Plus
I forgot the diaper thing. So there’s that. Sorry. I’m changing right now. Not arriving on Mars wet.”
We drink small sips of water and rest. The GNP shows an egg-shaped path looping around Mars, passing over the sunlit side then back again to the night side before starting the second and final atmospheric entry, sixteen hundred kilometers southwest of Protonilus Mensae.
Independence opens a connection, audio only. “Jürgen Morita will speak to us.” It’s Tess, her voice stripped of the usual snootiness.
“We set out to define ourselves,” Jürgen says, the words stiff with tension. “We already have.”
Ryder and I exchange glances. Is that it?
“We already have,” Jürgen repeats with a weak tremble. “See you on the ground.”
Nothing else comes. Tess tells us, “Everyone is to remain in their spacecraft after landing. Jürgen will speak to us from the surface.”
Shuko tightens his harness. “He probably spent two weeks writing his first-person-to-walk-on-Mars speech.”
For once I stick up for Jürgen. “He said what he needed to say. He made us believe we’re going to make it and think about the future. That’s worth something.”
“Second sunset!” Paige calls out. The edge of Mars transforms to a red arc. The colors change slower this time, because we’re moving around a quarter of our original speed. The curve is burgundy, then chocolate brown, then gone.
BANGS followed by a steady hiss. Second aerobrake inflating. On the surface in nine minutes. Impossible!
“One . . . more . . . time!” I call out, each word loud and crisp.
Ryder extends his hand. “We’re walking on Mars today. I believe it. Do you?” I force a smile and we interlace fingers. This is fine, but will be much better on solid ground.
Rosies out, firmly clutched.
The hum is back. Mikki mumbles, “Really, really rather not do this fucking shit one more fucking time.”
Now we have a tremor, then a shudder. In my stomach, a hot churn of dread and exhilaration. Is someone speaking over the com? No, singing. Someone, somewhere, is singing over the increasing noise. Vijay’s voice, it has to be!