New Toys
11 October 1999
Athena Base
Athena I
Sol 151
The face on the screen looked back at them through sunglasses as black as space.
“I'd like to share a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species and I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment but you humans do not. You move to an area, and you multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You're a plague and we are the cure.”
Cale watched, riveted, as Keanu Reeves managed to save his friend with a daring helicopter rescue. His technological apotheosis culminated after some truly impressive fight scenes.
An hour later, he stood in the kitchenette with Cynthia. He washed and she dried. As always, there were only four sets of plates and cups, but it was part of the routine.
“I’m just saying, the guy had a point,” Cynthia said.
“The bad guy,” Cale said.
“Agent whatever, yeah. Sunglasses guy. Hell, we’re the best example,” Cynthia said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’re here. We’re the first. The seed. The spore. There’s four of us now, in our little tin can, pecking away at the dirt. Ten years from now it’ll be twenty. Then it’ll be two thousand.”
“We’d better build more tin cans then,” Cale quipped.
“We will. We always do. We’re doing it on the Moon right now. We find a new place to go and then we start building strip malls,” Cynthia said.
“I’ve been all over this place, Cyn, and I haven’t run into a Kaybee Toys yet,” Cale said.
“You know what I mean,” Cynthia said.
“I do. It’s a valid point. Just like with the old Latin,” Cale said.
“The old Latin?”
“The root for man is the same as the root for virus,” Cale said.
Cynthia put the plates away and turned to him, “Your education was worth every dime.”
“All three of them,” Cale said.
By the automatic timers, the lights in the common area began to dim. It was a subtle nod that it was time for the crew to sleep.
Cale nodded and turned the water off.
“Go get some sleep. We’ve got a lot more infecting to do tomorrow.”
21 October 1999
Ares Vallis (20km WNW from Athena Base)
Athena I
Sol 161
Mercifully, HAB 2 landed upright and more or less on target. Mission planners had programmed the heavy lander to come down ten miles downrange from Athena Base. Autopilot programs had adjusted that to around twelve, based on several factors. The crew was able to spot the flash of light on the horizon as the new facility settled onto the pristine rust-red dust.
Two sols later, with the Earth-based checks being completed and the landing module being fully vented of fuel, Sally Ride and Cale Fletcher departed in the runabout to lasso their new laboratory and haul it back to base.
After a leisurely two-hour drive, the pair of engineer-astronauts got to work.
The first order of business was the unpacking and check out of the excursion rover. The long-haul vehicle, designed for overnight jaunts, was going to massively extend their range and capabilities for surface operations. If the runabout was a simple two-seater pickup truck, the mobile laboratory was a Winnebago. If they had to, the whole crew of Athena I could live inside for two weeks and drive for hundreds of miles. They’d put the big rover through its paces and do a few overnight trips, but the excursion rover would get much more play in the later Athena missions.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, Cale Fletcher felt the power his father must have felt on those long-haul trips to Emerald Isle. Half a lifetime ago, his father had bought an obsolete schoolbus from the education board of Florence County, SC. He’d hollowed it out and converted it into a makeshift vacation vehicle and loaded up the Fletchers for beach trips into North Carolina. Looking out onto a sandy expanse of red dust that stretched to the horizon, Cale allowed his mind to drift back to those days of sandy toes and salty air. The crackle of radio static dragged him back to the present.
“Houston to away team, how copy you, over?” came the voice from the excursion rover’s speaker.
“They must have timed that perfectly,” Cale said to himself. He’d only completed the power-up checklist ten minutes ago, which means that they’d sent the message before the radio had been turned on.
“Houston, reading you five-by-five. This is Clifford. Up and running here on the plains of Ares Vallis. Sally and I are moving to prep HAB 2 for towing. I’ll swing Clifford’s cameras around so you can keep an eye on us while we work. Over.”
Through the cockpit glass, he could see Sally unpacking the spare wheels which would be attached to the base of HAB 2. She started to roll one along the ground towards the new module.
“Clifford?” she asked.
“The big red dog,” Cale said.
“You and your names,” she said. He couldn’t see it, but he just knew she was shaking her head under that helmet.
“I’m not calling it the Merr. Mars Excursion Rover? That’s a terrible name. And everybody loves Clifford.”
“Doesn’t he spend most of those books causing all kinds of trouble for that family?”
“Shut up, Sally Ride,” Cale said. He almost never used her first name alone.
“Come on out here and help me with the tow prep,” she said.
He rose from his seat and began attaching his helmet.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” he said. Cycling the airlock, he followed up, “What would you have gone with?”
“I dunno… women don’t really feel the need to name their cars. That’s much more of a guy thing.”
“Well, I could think of one other name,” Cale said, with a smirk behind his words.
“Don’t you dare, Fletcher,” she said.
He began to hum a few bars and put on his best Wilson Pickett impersonation.
22 October 1999
Ares Vallis (2km WNW from Athena Base)
Athena I
Sol 162
It had taken all day to get HAB 2 ready for towing. Rather than make the slow-paced two hour drive back in the dark, Sally and Cale had camped out in the excursion rover for the night. The next morning, they rigged the tow lines and each mounted a vehicle. Sally took point in the runabout. Cale sat at the controls of Clifford.
The leisurely pace of the trip out seemed positively Daytona-fast compared to the inchworm crawl that took place now. Sally scouted ahead for any major obstructions and had more than enough time to clear them before Cale came within half a kilometer. Spotting Athena base and HAB 1 on the horizon, they checked in with Cynthia and Sergio.
“We’ve got you a space cleared out. Smooth as a mill pond and ready for our new digs,” Cynthia said.
“Good approaches in and out?” Cale asked.
“Yeah, come in from due North and you’ll be able to stay on that track the whole way,” Cyntha said.
“Just like we planned. You cleared out the worktables?”
“All set,” Cynthia said.
“Okay, see you in about two hours,” Cale replied.
With HAB 1 prepped to receive its new mate, the other three astronauts welcomed Cale Fletcher back to base with waving arms. They used those arms to indicate his course into the clearing that had been their home for the last five months. They radioed instructions that allowed him to place HAB 2 with pinpoint accuracy. Sally and Sergio disconnected the tow lines as Cynthia ran diagnostics on HAB 2’s internal systems. Everything checked out.
“You’re clear to haul away, Cale,” Sally said.
Unburdened by the loss of the elephantine load, Clifford skittered away with a renewed vigor. His batteries had just enough juice left to circle around and park. Charging lines connected to HAB 1 and the solar panels on top of the big rover combined to soak in sunlight and turn it into the energy Clifford would need for his next big trip.
Cale emerged from his long day at the controls and once again stepped on to the dusty surface.
“All hail the conquering heroes,” Cynthia said. Sergio joined in, clapping gloved hands together.
He waved off the cheers of his geology team. “You only love me because I bring you nice things,” he said.
“What next, Cale?” Sergio asked.
“Too late in the day to start any real work. Tomorrow, we hook these soup cans together. Tonight, do whatever you want, but I got first dibs on the shower.”
2 November 1999
Athena Base
Athena I
Sol 172
Of all the new toys that HAB 2 had brought, Cale Fletcher would be the first to admit, this was the cutest.
As a boy, he’d loved models. Most boys did. For some it was a phase, for others, it became a hobby. Cale had stopped building model airplanes before high school. He’d stopped flying model rockets before college, but still, there was something about the miniature scale that would be forever appealing.
And as any model hobbyist would tell you, the only thing more fun than an accurate model is a functional one.
The blimp was robust, as far as Mars hardware went. The hull was a thick latex, reinforced with a light latticework both for rigidity and shape. The gondola, about a foot long, held smaller microprobes that would have short, glorious lives. Like mayflies, they would live only for a day, but what a day it would be.
Unlike most days, the thin Martian atmosphere worked to their advantage with this design. Low gravity would allow the blimp to carry three probes, not two. Thin air meant less speed, but greater longevity. The stubby winglets would be above most dust and allow the ship to pick up a fraction more solar power than its ground-based counterparts. The single motor, likely doomed to freeze or seize, was only to be used for short station-keeping operations. She would go where the wind would take her.
Sally had volunteered to stay in the HAB while the other three launched the probe. Unlike most other blimp flights, this would begin by evacuating gas, rather than adding it. Helium and hydrogen were light, but nothing was lighter than vacuum. The pumps pulled thin Martian air out of the envelope and the blimp took shape, a grey bubble over a bed of red rock.
Cale and Cynthia held it in place with thin nylon cord as Sally performed the final checks at the HAB computers.
“Power is good. Getting sensor data already,” Sally said.
“Uplink with the network?” Cale asked.
“He’s talking to HAB now. Do you want me to switch him over?”
“See if you can reach FarSight,” Cale said.
“Stand by,” Sally said.
They held the probe in place as it swayed softly on its ropes. After a moment, Sally finished with her radio settings.
“Okay, he’s talking to FarSight now. I think we’re good.”
“Okay, Cyn, let’s let him fly,” Cale said.
Cynthia, about twenty feet away, dropped her rope. Sally hit a button that released the clamp. In slow motion, the nylon cord fell to the surface. Over their heads, the little blimp set out wherever destiny would take it.
“
Aeolus is away,” Sergio said.
“Well, Goodyear, yours is cool, but I think ours is cooler. Won’t be flying over any super bowls, but hopefully he’ll see some things that are just as exciting,” Cale said.
“So long, little buddy,” Cynthia said.
“Godspeed and good tail winds.”
23 November 1999
Ares Vallis (47km East of Athena Base)
Athena I
Sol 192
Her radio headset crackled with static again. This was getting frustrating. They’d spent two full sols here, getting incredible data from this unexplored territory. They’d gone twice as far from Athena Base as any previous trip. The samples were stowed, the instrument package was deployed, but this rover was giving her all kinds of fits.
The problem was, this was an engineering issue, not a geology one. She was out here with Sergio because they were the rockhounds and they left the flyboys (well, one flyboy and one flygirl) back at the base to dust solar panels and deal with Houston.
But the last part of the D3 excursions were all about engineering.
This little mechanized Tonka truck was supposed to stay behind and explore the places they might have missed. The mini-rover, small enough for her to carry two-handed, was built by Cale back at the HAB before they left. In training back on Earth, she had practiced deploying rovers such as this, but they’d never taught her how to reboot one that wasn’t working in the first place.
With Athena Base far over her local horizon, Cynthia was forced to receive relayed instructions through the FarSight probe in low orbit. But FarSight moved fast relative to the ground, so the instructions were coming through in drips and drabs. And on top of that, she was talking to Cale sometimes, and JPL sometimes, and neither group seemed to have a good grasp of the situation. Not that she blamed them. It was hard for her to explain engineering issues over an intermittent communications network. And pointing a camera at this thing wouldn’t do a damn bit of good because the issues were clearly internal.
She worried that she’d somehow fried the circuitry, but for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine how such a travesty might have occurred.
Sunrise was two hours ago. They needed to get moving within the next two hours if they stood any chance of getting back before nightfall.
She finally got the call over the radio she’d been secretly rooting for all morning.
“Cyn, this is Cale. Whatever’s up with this thing, let me fix it back here. Leave the weather station there since it appears to be working just fine. Bring that bot back here and I’ll tear it apart and find whatever the culprit is. We’ll find a way to drop off our little friend on another field trip. Pack it in and head home. Mission complete.”
An hour later, with the broken toy stuffed in a cabinet in the back, Cynthia and Sergio swung Clifford the big red rover around for the long drive back to Athena Base.
22 December 1999
Athena Base
Athena I
Sol 220
They’d taken to calling it Marslag. It didn’t crop up all that often, but when it did, it could be a miserable thing.
Twenty-four hours and thirty-seven minutes. That was the length of a sol. Which meant that each day for the crew of Athena I started thirty-seven minutes later than the previous one. Houston’s flight teams had been generous enough to adopt their schedule, which meant that the parking lot at JSC saw some wild traffic jams a few times each month. It also meant that sometimes a press interview would begin with “Good afternoon” while the crew was finishing up their breakfast.
Today’s example was a bit more pressing.
The White House was not the kind of entity that responded well to scheduling changes. When the President wanted something, he wanted it now. When he wanted it at two o’clock, that’s when you got it for him. It didn’t matter if that something was a ham sandwich or a Marswalker.
At four thirty-two a.m. by the Athena clock, President Powell appeared on the screen. Cale rubbed his eyes, hoping that they weren’t bloodshot. Cynthia looked ready to crawl through the monitor and choke someone. No one liked the early wake-up call, but the HAB ran on dollars, not solar power, and no one who lived within its walls needed to be reminded of that.
With military posture and stentorian tone, President Powell greeted the astronauts and wished them the joys of the season. Knowing their reactions would be recorded and spliced into a later broadcast, the quartet of explorers did their best to put on smiling faces as they gathered in front of the eight-inch Christmas tree that had been cobbled together from pipe cleaners and a spare bit of PVC tubing.
Powell finished his remarks and the camera feed held on him as he looked awkwardly over his shoulder, presumably at a staffer.
“Do I just sit here and wait or what?” he asked.
Cale amusedly watched the feed and then saw the white cue light go on over the monitor. He tried to match the President’s dignified tone, though his accent was always folksy.
“Mr. President, we are honored to speak with you from Athena Base today. Thank you for including us in your holiday messages. On behalf of everyone here on Mars, we’d like to wish everyone back on Earth the very best this holiday season and good luck in the new millennium.”
Cynthia bristled slightly and Cale noticed. They’d had a running debate about the “new millennium” beginning in 2000 or 2001. Cale thought her a purist, but it was immaterial.
“And to the people of the world who helped bring us to this magnificent place, we wish to offer as a Christmas gift, the first images from inside Vallis Marineris.”
Collectively, the foursome hit a button on the table. A small bit of theater, but it added something to it. In a few minutes, President Powell, along with anyone who was watching this little show, would be presented with the images that Aeolus’s microprobes had recorded during their descent into the solar system’s most grand of canyons.
The three drops, completed last week, had seen the little microprobes plummet to the surface. As they fell, each one recorded dozens of images of the canyon. The first,
Agenor, dropped near the northern wall, was the most successful. It revealed eons of geologic history with each opening of its shutter. The rock layers told the story of Martian history since long before mammals stood upright over savannah grasses.
Little
Agenor’s airbag, a miniature version of the sort that could be found in most sedans in America, deployed right on cue and softened the blow of the high-speed impact. The probe bounced for half a mile before it came to rest, recording temperature and pressure readings all the way. When it settled against a hand-sized rock on a low ridge, scientists back on Earth were jubilant at the success of the entire enterprise.
Eurygone, dropped more or less centrally between the northern and southern walls, was not so fortunate. Due to the sheer size of the canyon, the rock walls were not her given objective. Instead, the probe was more focused on the atmospheric readings. Likely as not, the probe recorded a wealth of data about the thin Martian air as it fell from the sky, but the antenna could not communicate with
Aeolus hovering far overhead. When
Eurygone slammed into the surface, her airbag as faulty as her communication system, she was heard by no one. Her legacy was disappointment, but she was the vanguard of a promising future.
Kanake fared a little better than her sister, but when she fell in close proximity to the southern wall, a random air current pushed her closer than the planners had wished for. Instead of a thrilling descent to the bedrock far below, her journey ended at an outcropping about halfway down. She sent incredible shots from the top half of the wall before her cameras and sensors were dashed on the rusted rock, like an astronautical shipwreck.
The images, along with an assortment of incredible shots from
Aeolus hovering high overhead, would be shown at the end of this little holiday message from Mars.
Time had already expressed an interest in using one of the images for their first cover of the new year. Cale Fletcher thought it fitting: A new frontier for a new millennium.
The writers would surely come up with something catchier than that.
3 January 2000
Athena Base
Athena I
Sol 232
A smattering of confetti still covered the floor. On New Year's Eve, they’d ripped up some foil from a few old food packets and tossed it in the air as Houston’s clock hit midnight. Paltry though it was, it was still the largest celebration of the new millennium for a hundred-thousand miles.
With the holidays at an end and the surface mission more than a third complete, Houston had requested they forgo EVA’s for two days of medical checks. Even though it had long been a part of the mission schedule, they’d all assumed that the radiation moratorium would be abandoned in favor of more surface time. But somehow, in the organization scrum, the Flight Surgeons had won out over the rockhounds.
Drawing the short straw, Cynthia Flat had been appointed as the ad hoc mission medical officer. Like every other assignment in her life, she went at it with gusto, which, in this case, brought out Cale Fletcher’s desire for comedy.
“Say ‘ahhh’” Cynthia said.
He complied.
She looked at his throat, not quite knowing what to look for. Switching the adapter on the front of the instrument, she moved to the side of his head. She peered inside.
“What do you want me to say for the ears?” Cale said.
Giving him a polite smack on the back of his head, she looked inside at his eardrum. Again, without really knowing what to check for, she recorded that she saw no signs of redness or abnormality.
“If they wanted a doctor, they should have sent a doctor,” Cale said.
“Technically…”
“Don’t talk to me about your PhD. We’re on Mars. If something happens up here, we just die. We are way past the outer end of the branch. If we’re lucky, we’ll hear it creak before it cracks, but that’s not likely,” Cale said.
“Aren’t you cheerful today?” Cynthia said.
“Eh, I’m locked inside with Disneyland right out there just waiting. Let me get in the rover and drive. Let me dig a hole or pick up a rock or fix a water line. Give me an experiment package or something.”
“This
is an experiment package,” she said, holding the stethoscope. “We’re exploring the human body.”
“And we learned that somehow thirty-eight percent gravity isn’t any weirder than sixteen percent or zero percent.”
“I think you’re just mad about the Y2K thing,” Cynthia said.
“All those folks said it was gonna be crazy. Nada. Might as well have been Tuesday,” Cale said.
“Beware what you wish for,” Cynthia said.
“Nah, I’m off planet. If Earth had melted down, I’ve got a great place to watch the fireworks,” Cale said.
“Screw the earthlings?” Cynthia asked.
“Fuck ‘em. Let ‘em cook,” Cale said.
“I’m gonna report that prolonged exposure to Mars brings out your sarcasm,” Cynthia said.
“The next great discovery of the vaunted American space program,” Cale said.
“Go fix your little mini-bot. I don’t want another dud when me and Sergio hit the road next week,” Cynthia said.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Cale said, giving a mock salute as he rose from the chair she was using for her examinations.
“You’re Kirk, I’m Bones McCoy,” Cynthia said.
“What do you want from me?” Cale asked.
“Dammit Jim! I’m a geologist, not a doctor,” she said.
“Yeah, it loses something when you reverse it,” Cale said.
“Yeah, oh well. Send Sergio up,” she said, dismissing him with a wave.
He stepped through the hatch that led back to HAB 1 and called out, “Sergio, time for your colonoscopy!”
27 May 2000
Excursion Rover “Clifford”
Athena I
Sol 373
In the exhaustive discussions over the most appropriate landing site for Athena I, Ares Vallis was a leading candidate for two reasons.
The first was geological. The area was, quite clearly, the shore of what must have been a vast and ancient seabed. The junction of a coastline and a river delta to the west spoke of water that had flowed into the valley at a prodigious rate.
The other reason for the choice was practical. As it was the bed of an ancient sea, it was also relatively flat, compared to the vast peaks and valleys to be found elsewhere on Mars. That desire for flat terrain was a request from the engineers who would have a difficult enough task to develop equipment and life-sustaining shelters for Mars. It was tough enough to build on an arid frontier of poison gases, it was quite another to do so at a thirty-degree incline.
The local rocks, which were plentiful, added texture and color to the area. Even if Athena had lost her rovers, the crew could spend months documenting and studying the samples they could take from local formations.
But ambition is as much a part of space exploration as rocket exhaust. The survey area for an expedition goes up by two or three orders of magnitude depending on the vehicles that can be used for such an effort. If you’re going to Mars, you’re going to want to bring a car.
As it turns out, getting a car on Mars is relatively easy. What’s hard is getting AAA to help with roadside assistance.
Sergio Ortona looked out at the low horizon of dust, dunes and the occasional rocky rift. As he always did, he kept a hawkish scan for anything unusual or geologically interesting.
They’d left Athena Base five sols ago, leaving Cale and Sally to work on base maintenance and experiment packages. The plan was for Cynthia and Sergio to run out fifty miles and then make a slow orbit of the landing site, circling it like a geological arm of an old Napoleonic cavalry regiment. Making stops along the way for observations, weather readings, and the deployment of a robot or two if the territory demanded further study.
The first surprise came two sols out. About twenty-five miles to the South of Athena Base, they’d encountered an outcropping of shale, and in amongst the uplift, they’d discovered small deposits of opal. As opal was a sign of water, the area had gotten the full treatment. They’d spent two full sols gathering rocks, breaking pieces off of the outcrop, setting up a rover and weather-station duo that JPL eagerly took over. It was the quintessential type of find that they were sent to make. The vindication of astronauts over robots.
Leaving the site behind was a wistful experience, but the horizon beckoned with promises of greater glories. Sergio drove as Cynthia monitored the rover’s subsystems. Their two-sol stay had allowed them to charge all three batteries to full and they had quietly agreed to stretch the mission parameters on excursion duration if the opportunity arose. They were in geological Disneyland and no chaperone from a million miles away would tell them to turn back.
The orange-red expanse before them was gloriously desolate. Sergio tried to stay on a steady line, mostly to aid in navigation. Their course was due South and they had at least one more sol of slow driving before they’d begin their orbit.
Cresting a sandy ridge, Cynthia got a view of the hills beyond. She noted a ridgeline that might be worth checking out. As she and Sergio discussed the potentialities, a lurch rumbled through the rover.
“What was that?” she asked.
Before he could form a thought, let alone an answer, the entire cab shifted. The sand underneath the wheels gave way and both dune and rover started to slide.
The dusty hill that they had crested had the appearance of solid ground, but it was little more than a collection of loose fines that had accumulated for centuries. In the low Martian gravity, it might have lasted for centuries more, but the sudden arrival of a massive artificial load compacted the sands in a way that challenged stability.
Clifford, the big red rover, slid and lurched and swung around, chasing its tail as it descended the inclined slope of sand.
When it came to rest, more than twenty meters from where the trouble had started, the rounded camper had a nasty tilt and its two occupants were flung hard against their seat restraints.
27 May 2000
Athena Base
Athena I
Sol 373
“Athena Base, this is Clifford. How copy, over?”
Sally looked up from her computer. She abandoned the images of Phobos that had been beamed down from
Orion yesterday.
“Cynthia, it’s Sally. What’s up?”
“We’ve had a mishap here. We drove over a dune and it gave way. We slid down the sand and we’re stuck.”
“Ah, gotcha. Any damage?”
“Minimal. We’re still checking. No leaks or anything so we’re not in danger, but we’ve tried different torque settings to get out and it’s only digging in. I think we might need a tow,” Cynthia said.
“Copy. These things happen. That’s why we have the runner. Let me get Cale on the line. He’s downstairs,” Sally said.
“Yeah, one more thing. Sergio tweaked his ankle a bit when we first got out. Took a tumble. He’s fine, but I think he might have sprained the thing,” Cynthia said.
“Ouch. Okay. Are your external cameras working?” Sally asked.
“Yes, they’re still online,” Cynthia said.
“Patch the feed up to
Orion and we’ll get it on the downlink. That way we can take a look from here at what you’ve got,” Sally said.
“Copy.”
28 May 2000
Red Runner
Athena I
Sol 374
He’d started with the theme from Indiana Jones. After that he’d switched to Ride of the Valkyries. Once the local rock fields were behind him, he’d opened the throttle. It felt glorious to put his foot all the way down. The runner kicked up a spray of dust that he never saw. The smile on his face was impossible to wipe away.
One man, alone, riding to the rescue of his fellow explorers. With nothing but the air in his tanks and his trusty pickup, he sped for the horizon, staring in the face of desolation and death. Months of observations, rock samples and weather reports simply could not compare to the thrill of this moment.
This was everything he’d dreamed of. Buck Rogers, eat your heart out.
It took about an hour to reach the area where Clifford had gone down. At the blazing speed of eighteen miles per hour, he was fully in possession of the Mars land speed record.
With navigation being a streamlined combination of Kentucky windage and guesswork, he had to serpentine his way through some course corrections. At one point he’d paused for twenty minutes waiting for
Orion to come over the horizon to get a read on the best heading to take.
His approach was actually from the South. Somehow, in his wanderings, he’d managed to pass by without realizing. It was fortuitous in that he was able to see, from a distance, the predicament that Clifford had gotten caught in.
The big rover listed to the left. Her driver’s side wheels were completely covered in sand. The roof-mounted solar array was intact, which was a blessing, but her port side equipment rack had scattered some items onto the surface.
He parked at the base of the hill, a respectful distance away, should Clifford slip down further. Trudging up to the big rover, he knocked on the airlock door before stepping inside and cycling the system.
With that trademark grin still in place, he opened the inner hatch and called out in that South Carolina drawl.
“Anybody home?”
Cynthia and Sergio sat in the rear of the rover, looking a bit defeated by the moment.
“Hey, Cale,” Cynthia said.
Sergio gave a polite wave. His foot was propped up on a desktop.
“How goes it?” Cale asked.
“Subsystems all check out, except we can’t move. We burned up a bit of charge on the primary battery trying to get it out, but the top panels are soaking in daylight as fast as they can.”
“Good to hear. Serge, how’s that old bad leg?”
“I’ll be fine,” the Italian said.
“We’re gonna have him keep off it a few days and I’ll do the EVA’s while he recovers,” Cynthia said.
“You still want to go ahead?”
“Yeah, if you can get us out of this sand trap,” Cynthia said.
“I’m on it. I’ll start rigging up the cables and we’ll pop you right out of there.”
“You need help with the lines?” Cynthia asked.
“I’ll take the help, unless Sergio needs a nurse,” Cale said.
“I definitely don’t,” he replied.
Cale took one last look over his handiwork from the bottom of the dune. “Okay, I think we’re ready. Sergio, last checks. You good?”
“Ready to go,” Sergio said.
“Cynthia?” Cale asked.
“I’m clear. I’ll keep an eye on things from up top,” she replied.
“Okay, I’m gonna start the pull. Slow and steady. Serge, when you’ve got traction, steer into it and we’ll see if she can slide right on out. Just don’t hit the gas or anything unless I tell you,” Cale said.
“Copy you, Cale,” Sergio said.
Inside the runabout, Cale pushed the throttle and the little truck strained against the lines. The taut cables dug in to the anchorpoints mounted on both vehicles.
Bit by bit, he gave the motors more power and they responded. A burst of sand kicked up as the back wheels spun and then the surface underneath became more solid. A lurch of motion signaled that the connected assembly was on the move.
“Clearing the sand now,” Sergio said.
“Still tilted,” Cynthia said.
“Gonna give it some more,” Cale said.
With a mechanical groan, the little runabout tugged, like a precocious train engine, dragging its big brother vessel out of the sandy snare that had snagged it.
“Skidding a bit,” Sergio said.
“Have you got it?” Cale asked.
“Easy does it,” Cynthia said.
In the rearview mirror, Cale watched the big rover right itself and slide gracefully down the hill. It gave a slight bounce as it hit the flat surface at the base of the dune. Sergio wiggled the controls to set the rover right again and Cale gave a satisfied whoop as the whole operation came to an end.
“All right!” Cynthia called, from the top of the dune. She gently made her way down the incline. By the time she’d reached the rover, Cale was out and had begun disconnecting the cables from the runabout.
“Very smoothly done, Cap,” Cynthia said.
“Now tell me that wasn’t fun,” Cale said.
A relieved laugh echoed through the radio circuits. Cale looked to the West and saw the sun setting low on the horizon.
“Too late to head back at a safe distance. You mind putting me up for the night?” he asked.
“I think we owe you for the tow,” Sergio said.
“Good, because I’m gonna need some of your battery charge to get back to base,” Cale said.
“Then we’ll call it even,” Cynthia said.
The next morning, over breakfast, Cale examined some of the equipment that had been scattered to the ground in the crash.
“It’s not the emitter. It’s the receiver complex. I think that the casing cracked, and dust got into the circuitry,” Cale said, holding up the ground-penetrating radar.
“Is it busted?” Cynthia asked.
“No, but I need to go through it with a proper workbench. It’ll take a little more than duct tape to fix it.”
“So you need to take it back?” Cynthia asked.
“Yeah. It won’t do you much good here anyway,” Cale said, holding up the assembly.
“We need the radar for the subsurface scans,” Sergio said.
“I get that. If I took this back today and came back tomorrow, would you have enough to do if you just hung out here for the day?”
Sergio and Cynthia shared a look and a nod.
“Perfect,” Cale said. He rose from his seat and began to suit up. His smile had returned.
“What’s with the grin?” Cynthia said, helping him with his gear.
“Well, I already did the cavalry ride to the rescue, but this is better,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“I’ve got twenty-four hours to get there and back with the stuff you need,” Cale said.
“I mean, it’s not like we have to be gone in one sol,” Cynthia said.
Cale held up a finger to stop her.
“It’s Smokey and the Bandit. I’m the Bandit, you’re the guy who wants the Coors…”
“I really don’t think…”
“Sergio, you’re the little guy who dresses just like the big guy who wants the Coors,” Cale said.
“Get out of my camper, hillbilly,” Cynthia said.
“I’m eastbound and down,” Cale said, entering the airlock.
22 July 2000
Athena Base
Athena I
Sol 428
The screen illuminated, as it always did, exactly at 7:30 am by the base clock. The crew were already dressed and in the middle of breakfast. The mission logo of Athena I was the only pop of color on a black background. After a moment, the image switched over. Instead of the typical feed from the MOCR back in Houston, the crew saw a video feed of their fellow astronaut smiling back from the cramped confines of Base Command.
“Good morning, Athena. This is Jake Jensen at Moonbase. As promised, we’ll be covering your mission control needs today. Hopefully, we’ll prove that we can run operations from here if we have another need for it. Worst case, our friends down in the bottom of the gravity well are on ready standby if they’re needed.
“It’s Saturday morning down in Houston and here as well. Let me give you a quick rundown of life back at 1 AU and then we’ll talk about the plans for the day.
Jensen theatrically opened one of Moonbase’s shiny new laptop computers and read from the screen like a newscaster.
“Let’s see, Bill Bradley announced his running mate is going to be Senator Hillary Rodham, of New York. He seems to be courting the women’s vote. President Powell was campaigning in Ohio yesterday.
“There’s record heat in Florida, which is saying something. And there was a fire at a power plant in Colorado yesterday that knocked out power to most of Denver. They’ve got it sorted out now, apparently.
“Vermont is officially recognizing civil unions now. The first ceremonies took place on Thursday and the new law is already being challenged in the courts, surprise surprise. Still, nice to see all the happy couples.
“Our old friends Pete Conrad and Dick Gordon announced that their company is merging with AllenCorp to give greater public access to space. They’ve done about a dozen popgun flights, ten-minute hops past the Karman line, but now they’re expanding.
“Apparently the plan is for AllenCorp to fund some sort of orbital hotel and use Pete and Dick’s new ship, the Wahoo II, to get passengers there. The article says they’re planning on the first flights in 2005, but who knows. Tall order for a group that hasn’t made orbit yet.
“In news from proper space programs, here at Moonbase work is proceeding on Dome Five. Our friends at IASA are launching their newest Leonardo-class ship, the
Tycho Brahe. Tycho has the new ion-drive that they tested out on that
Arago probe last year. Apparently, they’re happy enough with it to try a crewed flight. We’ll see how she runs.
“Here on Moonbase, the skies are clear and the temperature is a balmy two-point-seven Kelvin. The forecast for Ares Vallis is pink and hazy. That dust storm to the south looks to be passing you by fairly cleanly. If it turns, we’ll let you know.
“Now, as far as today’s schedule, we have the standard monthly check of both MAV’s. Cale and Sally will handle that. Cynthia and Sergio are both in HAB 2 for most of the morning. If the power levels dip below seventy-four percent, we are authorizing an afternoon EVA for Sergio to clear the solar arrays. That’ll be a two-o’clock decision per Athena time.
“That’s all we’ve got for the moment. Of course, we’re always here when you need us so don’t be strangers.
The crew of Athena I saw Jensen give a tight smile and press a button on his console, then the image winked out and the mission logo came up again.
Cale nodded and finished his cereal. Silently, they began their daily assignments.
As Sally and Cale descended the ladder to the lower level of HAB 1, he decided to broach the question that had been on his mind.
“Sally, I think this’d be a good day for it,” he said, waiting until the geologists were out of earshot.
“Why are you whispering?” she asked. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”
“I don’t know. Feels surreptitious somehow,” Cale said.
“It shouldn’t. That’s kind of the point,” Sally said.
“You’re right. Sorry.” He hit the intercom button on the wall, “Hey guys, when Sally and I go out today, I’m going to take her picture with the Pride flag.”
A short beat passed and then the intercom popped, “Can we get in on that too?” Cynthia asked.
Cale looked to Sally. Sally gave him a low frown.
“I’m not your gay ambassador,” she said.
“Well…” he started.
“I’m not!” she said, emphatically.
“It’s your flag,” he said.
“It’s literally not. Hell, you were the one who wanted to bring it along. It’s in
your APK!” Sally said.
“I thought it would come in handy. And I was right,” Cale said.
“You brought the thing to Mars, might as well use it. Let’s get us all out there. We can do it at sunset when we get back.”
15 October 2000
Excursion Rover “Clifford” (120km NNW of Athena Base)
Athena I
Sol 501
“Last one,” Cynthia said.
One by one they emerged from the rover, Cynthia first, Sergio close behind. They had been on the road for more than three weeks, greatly pushing the limits of Clifford’s capabilities.
This last expedition had been another orbit of Athena Base. This time at almost seventy-five miles worth of distance. It had been a scientific bonanza that was as ambitious as it was exhausting.
The first order of the day was to take local samples. For an hour they surveyed the area. So much of it looked familiar at this point. They’d never been here before and would never be again, but Ares Vallis had been their home for about three percent of their lives. It wasn’t boring, but the days did tend to look similar, one to the next.
With the local stuff bagged and tagged, they deployed the last of the rovers. The twentieth time that they’d unpacked a small box, spread the solar panels, activated the weather sensors and then started up the small six-wheeled toy that would merrily explore the area long after they’d gone.
This particular place wouldn’t have been interesting enough to merit a rover, but they had to drop it somewhere and this was the last stop on the final tour.
Three sols from now, they’d be back at Athena, the last of their exploratory excursions completed. Then fifteen sols later, MAV 1 would take them off this planet and the first line of their obituaries would be written.
It felt bittersweet. She longed to see the cool green hills of Earth yet again, but at the same time, what could possibly top this?
Sergio fiddled with the ground-penetrating radar. He’d become something of a self-taught expert with it over the past year. She didn’t have to remind him to check the radio connection to Clifford’s internal computers. One lost scan was enough to make him double-check such things for the rest of their stay.
She watched as the radar pulsed and he swept it back and forth over the area. They lacked the means to check the data in real time, but Clifford saved everything in his memory banks and the data would be in the hands of the scientists back on Earth by tomorrow morning.
They went back to the rover for lunch. Yet another turkey sandwich, eaten in silence as they rested tired muscles and aching backs. Geology was work, just like ditch-digging was work.
Sergio went to check the radar readings while Cynthia cleaned up. Tonight, the roles would be reversed.
She came back to the workstation when she was ready to head outside again. She found Sergio frowning at the screen.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing every one of his expressions by now.
“I think we got a bad scan this morning,” he said.
“Is it doing that thing again?” she asked, jutting her chin towards the screen.
“No, this is different. It’s not a gap in the feed, it’s the density that looks off to me,” Sergio said.
“Let me take a look,” she said, sliding in next to him.
“Fifty meters down,” he said, indicating the anomaly. He cleared the way so she could check the laptop.
After a few minutes of comparing the scans, she circled the troublesome spot on the screen with a finger. “That’s odd,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“I don’t think it’s a bad reading though,” she said.
“But that density, we haven’t seen that in any of the previous scans,” he said.
“Yeah. It’s either an error or…” she let the thought hang.
Sergio finished it for her.
“… or it’s water.”
