“That sounds good,” Ewa said. “Hopefully, there will be no surprises.”
“We’ll handle any problems that might arise. That’s why I’m here,” Lance said.
He obviously sought to calm her nerves. She felt half flattered, half underestimated. This happened more often than not with people who didn’t know her yet.
“One more thing,” Lance continued. “Are you sure you don’t want us to take your entire crew? That would be the safest course of action.”
“You think so? Yes, that sounds reasonable,” Ewa said. But then something in her mind clicked and she knew she had just made a mistake. “And I thank you for the offer,” she said, correcting the course of their conversation. “However, how could we build our colony without all our supplies? We’ll need people up here to handle the planning of that.”
“Makes sense. The captain always goes down with the ship.”
“True, you could put it that way if you wanted. We’ll talk again in about eighty minutes. We first must hold a memorial service for our deceased comrades.
“Endeavour out,” Lance declared.
“We’re ready,” Ketut said.
She hardly recognized him—he had shaved his hair off completely.
The Balinese man noticed her look. “This is the way the sons of the deceased normally show their sorrow. Since Shankar and Asha didn’t have any children, and we can’t really perform many of the Hindu rites, I wanted to do this for them.”
“What would still need to be done for their souls’ benefit?”
“We washed and anointed them while sitting up, as prescribed. We actually should have burned their bodies to release their souls. We will have to trust the sun to do that once we have sent the bodies out through the airlock.”
Ewa didn’t tell him that the bodies wouldn’t fall into the sun. They would be moving much too fast for that to happen. Ketut probably knew that anyway. But eventually the sun would expand into a red giant and consume everything out to Mars’s orbit. The souls of the two Hindus would be free at this point, at the latest. Eternity is a long time. There was something to be said for having an immortal soul. Ewa herself didn’t believe in it, even though she had been raised Catholic.
“Good, I’m coming,” she announced.
Ewa released herself from her wall strap and floated down to the connector to the functional module. The others had already gathered there.
To Ewa the bodies looked striking, almost beautiful. All five of them were wrapped in white cloths, and their faces were visible. Chuck, Shankar, Asha, Piotr, and Henrik appeared peaceful, as if they had left this world without any grievance. That was good. It would make it easier to bid them farewell. How had Ketut and his assistants managed this? Ewa remembered what she had seen inside the damaged, airless module. Henrik and Piotr had looked desperate, Chuck furious. The two Indians appeared filled with mutual love. The desperation, fury, and suffering were gone. What remained was the love. At least that was what she saw. Or was she just imagining it?
Seeming to sense Ewa’s approach, Nancy turned toward her. That was a signal to the others. Ewa felt self-conscious, and her cheeks flushed. She needed a few deputies, someone else to stand by her. Theo, Andy, and Gabriella came to mind. But that was a problem she could take care of once they had landed. They were expecting her to say something. Ewa bit her lip. She had prepared something the night before. Hopefully, she could conjure up the words.
“Dear Chuck, dear Shankar, dear Asha, dear Piotr, dear Henrik,” she began, slowly moving past them. “Like everyone else here, I was able to share this exciting time with you. It was, without a doubt, the most important years of your lives and mine. We took this path together, one that only a very few were courageous enough to choose. Of course, I was afraid to undertake this journey that had no return, and I’m sure you felt the same. However, your courage was greater than your fear, and this was our greatest commonality.”
She paused a few seconds, then went on in an even more pensive tone. “I wish I could have spent more time with you. I’m still angry about the accident that ended your lives, and I’m sad that I will never get to talk to you again. But I have a feeling the purpose of this trip has been fulfilled for you. In a few minutes you will become satellites of our sun. Once we have completed our mission and our colony on Mars flourishes—a dream shared by every one of us here—then we will be able to look up at you.”
Ewa pretended to wipe a tear from her eye, because it seemed like what should be done at this point.
“This is all a nice vision,” she continued, “but it isn’t a consolation. It is impossible to find consolation right now. At least I can’t. I’m upset that you’re no longer here, and I will always miss you. We will feel your absence every single day. We will eventually get used to it, but despite that, there will still be a hole in our lives that fate has created.”
Ewa fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief, but she couldn’t find one. Theo noticed and handed her a package of tissues. She wiped her nose.
“This might sound like a contradiction,” she picked up again. “I’m inconsolable, but I still find comfort in the fact that you will always be here. This is one of the contradictions that make us sometimes love—and hate—life so much. Dear Chuck, dear Shankar, dear Asha, dear Piotr, dear Henrik,” she said, “it is time for us to say goodbye and to wish you safe travels. I’m certain that we’ll see each other again someday.”
It was strange. Although she didn’t believe in an afterlife, she had spoken this last sentence with deep conviction. Ewa turned around as the tears flooded her eyes. She was crying for herself, but nobody knew that.
It was silent in the belly of the Santa Maria. Even the life support system seemed to be running quieter today. The others said their farewells to the dead in silence. The only audible sounds were whispers, rustling, and occasional weeping. Some tears had already dried up. She watched Ketut give a signal. Theo helped him carry one body after the other through the hatch and into the module. Somebody in a spacesuit floated up from the side. Ewa was surprised to read Ellen’s name on the badge. Of everyone, this young woman was going to be the one to commit the bodies to space from the airlock? But she had probably volunteered for this duty.
Ellen disappeared into the module. Ewa couldn’t see what was going on, but she could guess. Ellen was taking one body after the other into the airlock and pushing them out the hatch. It was hard work. When they had constructed the airlock, no one had given any thought to having a robot on board to do something like this. She needed to reevaluate her image of Ellen.
The young woman reappeared twenty minutes later. Her face was red, and she was sweaty. The spot next to the module’s hatch, where just a few minutes ago five bodies had been lying, was now empty.
“Attention, Santa Maria!” That was Lance’s voice.
“We’re ready,” Theo answered. His voice sounded muffled since he was outside the ship’s hull at the moment.
Ewa was gazing at a screen divided into two fields. On the left, she could track the flight paths of the Santa Maria and the Endeavour. The right field gave her the view through Theo’s helmet camera. There wasn’t anything to see right now. The camera’s light wasn’t powerful enough to pick up the tiny points of the stars. Without them, the sky was eerily black.
Everything on the left side seemed to be taking place in slow motion. One dot was moving along an acutely elliptical course around Mars. The orbit had this shape because each time the Endeavour got close to the planet, it accelerated sharply. This was the precondition for the two different ships to reach a similar speed. However, she could only see a tiny section of this course, which meant she couldn’t tell that the route was curved.
The second dot was the Santa Maria. It was still traveling at a faster speed and was slowly catching up to the other dot. In the strongly zoomed-in view that showed the courses of the two dots, the lines seemed to be running almost parallel.
“Can you see us yet? We have you
on our radar,” Lance reported in on the other side. “We’re extending the hose now.”
As Lance had explained to her, the hose would hold stable in space. There was nothing that could either slow it down or deflect it.
“Still can’t see anything,” Theo replied.
“Just wait. I’ll count down the meters,” Lance declared.
“Ninety... eighty-five... eighty...,”
Lance waited a few seconds between each number. The camera still wasn’t picking up anything. There it was! The spotlight had caught a shadow. That must be the Endeavour. What was Theo feeling out there?
“I see you,” was all he said.
“The line is on its way.”
This was the trickiest moment, except for all the delicate moments that were still to come. Theo had to catch the half-meter thick hose that was coming toward him from out of the darkness. However good the Endeavour’s aim was, it wouldn’t be able to hit the fuel tank neck. Usually a robotic arm took over this work. But during the construction of the Santa Maria, no one had thought about that. And even if they had, they probably couldn’t have afforded one.
“I’m in position,” Theo announced.
“Seventy... sixty-five... sixty...,” Lance said. “You should—”
“Ha, I see it! You’re two meters too high. I’ll have to jump.”
“Then do it!” Ewa called.
Theo was right, he had to jump. Surely he was on a safety line. He couldn’t have forgotten that. Ewa glanced over at the left side of the monitor. The Endeavour had done its job too well. It had gotten closer to the Santa Maria than expected, which was why the hose was now off target.
“Ooof,” she heard Theo say. “I... I’ve got it. I’m pulling myself back down.”
It was only two meters. That shouldn’t—and couldn’t—take long. The image from the helmet camera swung back and forth. Obviously, Theo was searching for something to grab onto. Ewa held her breath in suspense.
“Ah,” Theo said. Wheezing followed, then a metallic sound. Was he screwing the hose on? The helmet camera only showed the module’s outer hull. Theo had other tasks more important than to document his work, and he knew what he needed to do. Ewa held her finger over the button that she must push shortly.
“Start fueling,” Theo finally shouted.
Ewa hesitated, but then pushed the button. They were still okay on time. Whoever it was—whether Lance or Sharon—up in the Endeavour had been waiting on this. Liquid oxygen immediately shot through the line under high pressure. This was the only way the hydrogen they already had on board could combust.
Ewa switched over to the fuel gauge. Guillermo, the Mexican engineer, had done the calculation for her, so she knew the amount they needed for a successful deceleration maneuver. That was the most important thing right now. Once they reached orbit, they could refuel for the subsequent landing procedure. At first, the gauge moved slowly. Guillermo had warned her that at the beginning some fuel would be lost. They had thirty seconds.
The Santa Maria was gradually, but steadily, passing the Endeavour. The hose could reach a distance of about ninety meters. Ewa drummed her fingers on her armrest. The seconds seemed to go on forever. It was like they were filling the tank of their heavy-duty truck, while slowly passing a fuel truck to the left. Luckily, here in space, there weren’t any potholes. The only danger they faced was the possibility of the process taking too long.
They wouldn’t get a second chance. After their convergence, Mars’s gravitational pull wouldn’t give the Endeavour any choice except to circumnavigate the planet, while they would have to continue on their orbit around the sun. But by the time the Endeavour had circled the planet, the Santa Maria would already be so far away from Mars that no one could help them.
Two bars. It was going faster now. Why hadn’t someone programmed a more precise gauge? Because fueling isn’t usually a time-sensitive matter, she reminded herself. Six bars—that was the target.
“Fifteen,” Andy said from behind her.
That wasn’t good. Half the time was up already, but they still weren’t at three bars. Was there anything she could do? Now was the only chance! Her thoughts swirled, and everyone was watching. She had to do something! If only she hadn’t...
“Ten,” Andy said.
Ewa shivered as if she were floating in the liquid oxygen. She rubbed her wrists. “Theo, get ready to disconnect the hose,” she said.
The hose was equipped with a quick-release system. These had been developed for use with robotic arms, which were never as flexible as a human hand. But now it was practical, since all Theo needed to do was push a lever and the hose would detach itself. If it didn’t react fast enough, the hose would tear. In that case, they wouldn’t be able to fuel the module for the landing, which would mean that they couldn’t reach the surface.
Ewa watched the screen. Four and a half bars and almost out of time.
“How does it look?” Theo asked.
“Bad,” she said.
If Theo knew how bad it really looked, he would try to postpone the moment. That would be risky. He had to push the lever at the exact second they had calculated.
“Four three two one,” Andy counted down loudly.
“Disconnecting the hose,” Theo said calmly.
Ewa watched him via the video stream from his helmet camera. The hose fell away rapidly, a white liquid streaming out of its end, instantly evaporating. Theo then turned his back on the scene. His work outside was done.
“Come on in, Theo,” Ewa said quietly.
“How is it in there?”
It was quiet inside the Santa Maria. By this point, they all knew what had happened.
“Unfortunately, we didn’t reach the amount we needed,” Ewa said.
“And you’re just hanging around there?” Theo practically shouted into the microphone. “You have to find another solution, right away! Pull yourselves together, all of you! Damn it!”
Ewa unbuckled her harness. They didn’t have enough fuel, that much was crystal clear. Then Ellen suddenly touched her leg. She was floating below Ewa. Ellen, the young chick who had volunteered for the duty of sending all five bodies into space. Ewa had underestimated her. She had forgotten that each person on board had gone through the selection process. Although Mars for Everyone had never collected enough funding, there had been plenty of support behind the project. No one who had made it onto the crew could be described as ordinary.
“Yes, Ellen?”
“The tank isn’t as full as we’d like it to be,” she said.
“That’s the understatement of the day.”
“But not wrong.”
“No, you’re correct,” Ewa managed to say with a smile.
“If I paid enough attention in my physics classes—and in all modesty, I hold a Ph.D. in physics, as well as degrees in astronomy and chemistry—then that is relative.
“What do you mean?”
“We want to slow the ship down to a certain speed.”
“Right.”
“Purely physically speaking, we want to transition a certain mass m to a negative velocity. The larger m is, the harder it will be for us to do that, because of the inertia tied to that particular mass. On the other hand, the smaller m is, the easier it would be to slow down. All we have to do is reduce our mass. For example, the damaged module—”
“Oh! Of course. That’s... so basic.”
Ellen looked offended.
“No, I didn’t mean to criticize you, not at all. But I should’ve thought of that myself! Have you done the calculations?
“Only roughly. The Dragon V4 weighs about 5.7 tons, right?”
“No clue,” Ewa said. “I’m actually a farmer.”
“And a chemist. I read up on you. We’re colleagues. But the size is right. The second Dragon weighs just as much. Now, it’s just a question of how heavy the inflated module in between is. Unfortunately, I don’t know that. It doesn’t weigh more than a balloon, does it?”
&n
bsp; “I’m afraid it does, Ellen. First of all, the walls are filled with water. Second, the supplies and machines. Third, the people. I don’t think we weigh much less than fifty tons. But we should discuss this with the others.”
Theo was the last one to join them. He tossed his rubber shoes into the corner. They moved in a straight line to the wall. Ewa watched them bounce off it with a squeak and a little spray of water.
“So, what’s going on?” Theo asked, his torso damp and sweaty. His tattoos glistened as if he had just oiled them.
“We need to reduce our weight. So much so that the fuel we have will be enough to slow us down. And we have to do this in the next two hours,” Ewa said.
“Good. Loud and clear. We should ditch the broken module right now.”
“Slow down,” Ellen said. Theo glanced at her. Ewa noticed his eyes held astonishment. He didn’t know her like this. “We might need it to store other things.”
“Sorry. I was too hasty,” Theo replied.
“We were just in the process of taking suggestions from every division about what we can get rid of. The list is long, but it’s still not enough to ensure that we can safely make orbit. Our belly is simply too full.”
“Could we give some things to the Endeavour?” Theo suggested.
“That won’t work. We won’t run into them again as long as we stay on this course,” Ellen said. She had taken the lead on this discussion, and that was okay with Ewa.
“And if we let most of the water out of the sidewalls of the balloon? We don’t need the radiation shield any longer.”
“That’s not enough either, Theo.”
“Then there’s only one solution,” he said. Ewa suspected that the others wouldn’t like where this was going.
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