Sol 158, Pavonis Chasma – J. Wojcik
There was always someone trying to piss you off, thought Jan, even when there was only forty-five of them around. He had pushed himself up off the inflatable mattress, shed the foil blanket and stumbled around his tiny hab compartment, trying to find enough space to shake the dust off his orange work overalls. What came off them ended up all over his bedding. Then he had made his way to the canteen module where he had been hoping to come too slowly over a bad cup of synthetic coffee, when big guy John Shanks came in, grumbling about the lift anchorage that he had just been assigned to help with.
“Waste of our time and resources,” he moaned to everyone. “Why can’t the shitty second team use gliders, like we did?”
“You know we need a more permanent solution, John” answered Charlie patiently, beating clouds of red dust off her own overalls. “Besides, they have sensitive equipment to bring down.”
“Hah! The shit-heads who planned that glider landing cared more about sensitive bloody equipment than they did us first team grunts.”
“You know full well we can’t rig the space elevator without people on the ground, and how else were we going to do that?” Jan asked. “Throw us all down in inflatable balls like the reccie-drone drops and let us bounce across Mars for half an hour or so?”
Shanks ignored Jan’s blend of sarcasm and logic, so he could continue his rant, pounding the airlock door with his fist to emphasise his point.
“They got us sweatin' over that anchorage just to stop a few fucking scientists and their precious instruments from getting bumped. It ain’t fair and it ain’t even worth it.”
“Damned right!” added Sally Hunter. “Our construction droids are all busy at the elevator when we should be building our new dome.”
“You know we have to wait until the architect has inspected the site before we do more on Eden One,” argued Charlie, reasonably.
“The architect! What the hell do we need her here for?” grumbled Shanks, thumping the door again. “We have the design; we know what we’re doing.”
“We’ve never built something like this before, and not on another planet,” said Charlie. “She might need to adapt the design.”
“We’re the adaptable ones,” countered Hunter. “We adjusted our glider landings to survive, we adapted our temporary shelters, and we can certainly adapt the dome components to fit the Pavonis Chasma site.”
“What if we adapt some part of the design we don’t understand?” asked Charlie.
“Then we’ll cope,” said Shanks, flatly. “We’ve coped on our own so far, haven’t we?”
“What happened to team co-operation?” Jan asked.
“You’re a fine one to talk, Wojcik,” said Hunter. “You spend all day digging with your droids and when you get back you hardly say a word.”
“Yeah, you’re not exactly mister team-builder, are you?” added Shanks.
“I do my part and I don’t moan about my team-mates.”
“Yeah, leave Jan alone, guys,” added Charlie, coming to his defence.
“You don’t have to build this shitty anchorage, Wojcik,” said Shanks, thumping his fist against the wall even harder.
“No, I have to provide you with the raw minerals to do it, as well as the ice for water to drink and oxygen to breath and hydrogen to power the equipment. In case you haven’t noticed, we all need each other.”
“Like I said: a shit waste of resources!”
Jan turned his back on Shanks and carried on prepping his EVA suit. There was no arguing with some people, especially those with a chip on their shoulder like Shanks. He and Hunter were right though, Jan knew he wasn’t the talkative type. Jan enjoyed his own company and maybe that was one of the reasons he had come: plenty of space to be by himself. It wasn’t as if he disliked company, Jan reflected, it was just that he found it tiring in excess. Especially if people wanted him to make small talk or respond to Shanks’s dumb attitude.
“Don’t pay any attention to Shanks,” said Charlie, quietly, after he had gone. “I met plenty of guys like him when I was growing up in LA: all full of shit and no time for people smarter than themselves.”
“He must be smart enough to be here,” said Jan, cautiously.
“Of course, but there’s always someone smarter and that can be a real chip on some people’s shoulder.”
“Hmm. I never knew you were from Los Angeles, Charlie.”
“You never asked,” she said with a wide grin on her round cheery face.
“Which part?”
“Do you know it?”
“Only a little, visited a couple of times.”
“Tujunga, north of Downtown, and almost as full of homeless as Skid Row now.”
“Sounds like you were happy to come here.”
“I was happy to leave Tujunga, but not my sister.”
“We all had to leave someone we care about. I hope it’s worth it.”
“It will be as long as we ignore guys like Shanks,” smiled Charlie.
Jan wiped the dust off his visor, pulled the helmet on, locked it and gave Charlie a nod and a thin smile before leaving through the airlock. Jan admired her for defending the second team, but thought she was wasting her time. As the lock door closed, he noticed the dent where Shanks had been punching it.
Sol 158, Pavonis Chasma – Captain H. Bulman
Hal Bulman blew the stale recycled air from his puffed cheeks, rubbed his stubbly chin, and pushed himself away from the dusty screen on his desk. He hated the admin side of his work even as he knew it to be necessary. He eyed the tab blinking at him, knowing it would be another directive from Mission Control in Cern. To hell with them, he thought quietly to himself. He’d had enough of their directives, especially the ones he had to keep quiet about. He hoped this wasn’t one of them. Hal Bulman was getting tired of people giving him orders from another planet, millions of kilometres away, with no idea of what he was up against at Pavonis.
“Fuckin’ experts,” he muttered under his breath and reluctantly tapped the tab with a stubby finger. After a few moments he shook his head. The experts were being a pain, asking for another reccie-drone survey of the B-site at Tithonium, but at least they hadn’t said any more about the booster rockets up on the rim of Pavonis.
There was a knock at his office door and Bulman grunted a surly invitation to enter. It was Lieutenant Voight.
“Come in, Ben,” said Bulman, grateful for someone who had some insight to the responsibilities that weighed so heavily on him.
“Sorry to hassle you, sir, but we’re in danger of falling behind schedule with the booster site if we keep on switching guys to the elevator base.”
“I know, but the Aldrin has critical guidance systems we need for the booster rig, and we can’t get them until the elevator is up and the components are off-loaded.”
“I overheard Shanks grouching in the canteen earlier. I’m worried he might shoot his mouth off.”
“No, not Shanks. He’s a grouch, but he isn’t a fool. That’s why I insisted on him being in the team.”
“He nearly punched a hole in the door.”
“He’s under pressure, like you and me. Just so long as he didn’t punch a teammate.”
Sol 159, Pavonis Chasma – J. Wojcik
“I don’t like it, Captain,” announced Charlie. The architect had requested a more detailed investigation of the rock delamination at the edge of Pavonis Chasma and Charlie had agreed to carry out the survey with Johanna. Charlie was making an informal report to Captain Bulman.
“Why? What’s changed?” asked Bulman. “We already have drone surveys that gave the Pavonis rim the thumbs up.”
“Yes, but that was a preliminary report, based on surface inspection. Once you start cutting into it you can see splits that run across the whole of the southern edge.”
“Splits?” Bulman frowned and rubbed his bald head.
“The rock is formed in layers. We thought that it would be solid igneous rock because it’s sitting on the slopes of an extinct volcano. But Johanna reckons that we may be looking at a deposit of sedimentary rocks on top of the igneous base. Her theory is that there may have been an ancient sea or lake that lapped the base of Pavonis Mons and carried the sediment onto it.”
“Einarsdottir is a competent geologist, but frankly, does that matter? It’s rock. Building on rock is good.”
“That depends on the rock and what you’re building. The foundations for the new dome will need to act in tension more than compression. A layered rock can take compression, so long as it isn’t in shear, but it will pull apart in tension.”
Bulman studied Charlie’s open face for a few seconds, assessing her as much as the information she brought. “Damn. We have enough work as it is, we can barely spare the resources and time. Tell Einarsdottir to organise core samples to confirm her findings.” Charlie nodded. “I want you to look at a way of reinforcing the rock, Peters.”
“I’m not sure if that will work, sir.”
“That’s an order, not a request, Peters.”
“Sir.”
“And you, Wojcik, you’re going to have to give up one of your reccie-drones to go survey Tithonium Chasma.”
“I take it that’s an order too, sir.”
“Damn right it is. Hell, I don’t want to, but I’ll be in deep shit with Mission Control if I don’t get further info on our Plan B site.”
“You understand that it will slow down exploration for resources.”
“Of course, but all our other drones are assigned to that damned anchorage or are miles away on scientific missions.” He almost spat the word scientific. “You’ll have to adapt and make do, Wojcik, just like the rest of us.”
Adapt and make do. That was the unofficial mantra of the first team, which they muttered under their breath when someone mentioned Closed Ecological Systems or ‘recycle and reuse’. So many resources were either in transit with the second team, or yet to be dug out of the ground and manufactured, that they had become skilled at finding something else that would do the job instead, just to get by.
Jan was concerned that if he dug less ice then they would start running out of water, oxygen, and hydrogen supplies. He might not be sociable, but he understood that they were wholly reliant on each other to survive. The news that Charlie brought about the foundations for A site was disturbing him. So far, all their efforts had been focussed on Pavonis. They had spent weeks working on the site to make it habitable: sealing cave openings and erecting temporary habs for workshops, fabrication plants, air scrubbers, stores, and bunks. They had spent years planning A-site. Diverting to the Valles Marineris at this stage was almost unthinkable for those who had the red dust of Pavonis on their hands.
Sol 171, Pavonis Mons – J. Wojcik
Jan didn’t know which way to look: the anchorage or the view. The anchorage was already impressive. Concentric tiers of Martian stone were being collected by droids, placed in mesh containers called caissons, and stacked on top of each other. The mesh was made of steel wire, fabricated from Martian ore. Although it took huge quantities of energy to extract the iron, a little ore made a lot of wire. Now it saved energy more energy than it took to create, rather than cutting the rock into building blocks they simply collected loose stones and packed them into the mesh. There were stones everywhere you looked, so the construction droids didn’t have to go far. The stone-caisson cone glowed in the sunlight, shot through with the glittering steel wires. It reminded Jan of an ancient pyramid. Not a decaying ruin, but a monument to human ambition, standing in its scintillating prime.
When the second team arrived, they would cast down a loop of the carbon nanotube cable. The first team would catch that loop and attach it to the motor drum in the anchorage cone. It sounded simple, but Jan knew it would be like dangling an infinitely long fishing line over a tiny pool and hoping to get it in the right spot. Glider pilots would be winched aloft to help catch it and guide it, but even that sounded like trying to thread a camel through the eye of a needle. The one advantage that everyone had was that the anchorage was on top of Pavonis Mons, one of the biggest ex-volcanoes in the known solar system. You wouldn’t see the anchorage, but you would never miss its location.
The view from the top was staggering. When Jan turned away from the elevator base-cone he had a whole planet at his feet. To the north-east he could see one of the sister volcanoes, Ascraeus Mons, and in the opposite direction, Arsia Mons. Pavonis Mons sat in the middle of a chain of three extinct volcanoes that straddled the equator of Mars. Off to the north-west he could see the largest volcano in the solar system. The outline of Olympus Mons was surreal. It looked as if the horizon had been lifted at its edge and folded by the hand of God. Mars rarely enjoyed any cloud, unlike Earth which suffered from too much, so there was nothing to help gauge size or distance. Olympus existed on a scale that defied human understanding.
In between Olympus and Ascraeus lay the flat wilderness of the Borealis Basin. Johanna had explained a theory that it may have been the bed of an ancient ocean because the ground levels were much lower than in the south. She backed this view all the stronger after her recent discoveries at Pavonis Chasma. But to Jan it looked like a desert of red dust, dry empty and elegant in its own stark way.
To the south and east he could see the criss-cross scars that joined across the horizon to become the Valles Marineris, a gorge so huge that the Grand Canyon would seem like a crack in its floor. This was where the plan B site was located, at Tithonius Lacus, a corner of the Tithonium Chasma at the western reaches of the Valles Marineris. Only survey drones and remote supply drops had been there so far, no humans. The photos and vids were curious. Pale mists gathered in the bottom of the chasm in the early morning until the shadows rolled back and the sun burned them off. For a while the place enjoyed full sunshine because it sat so close to the equator. But then the shadows returned, cast by the far edges of the canyon, stretching across the land like spectral fingers. Beautiful but hidden and aloof.
From the top of Pavonis Mons Jan felt as if he could see the entirety of his new planet.
“Hey! Wojcik!” called Shanks, over the mic. “Stop gawping and help!”
Jan turned back to the anchorage cone and the barrels of water that the droids were busy off-loading from the rover. He stepped in to help carry them into the inflatable works hab. The sooner they were done, the sooner he could get back to finding and mining more ice. But he consoled himself that he would not be human if he didn’t pause to enjoy such an incredible view.
Jan was about to step back into the rover when he thought he glimpsed something moving in the distance. He put a hand over his visor to shield his eyes from the sun and focussed his view on Arsia Mons. Sure enough, there was a shifting swirling motion, as if someone had laid a thin veil over the mountain which caught the breeze.
“Do you see that?” Jan pointed and called to Shanks.
“Yeah, seen it before.”
“What is it?”
“Arsia’s big enough to have its own weather. Hot air lifts the dust off the sunny slope. Patel says it’ll rise over the top in the next day or so, then there’ll be a spiral of it soaring about twenty klicks into the sky. Says it’s been seen by orbiters for decades.”
“Wow! Sounds impressive. Does it happen on Pavonis?”
“Not as far as he knows. Says it’s another reason why we chose this place.”
“But there are dust storms, aren’t there?”
“Yeah, real monsters that swallow the planet up! But we ain’t due one for a while yet.”
“Sure?”
“I’m no ‘ologist. Ask Patel.”
19th July, Mars Approach – V. Meier
Verena threw up again, twice in one morning. She grimly reflected that having a baby in low gravity didn’t sit well. It was bad enough dealing with cramps, flatulence and ‘moon-face’ without the additional indignities inflicted by pregnancy. She was looking forward to getting off the Aldrin, but less keen to meet the first team and explain to them how they should give up more resources for another mouth to feed. At least Figueredo was bringing a biome full of healthy crops, to mollify them. The biome seemed to have thrived on the journey.
Sofia had confirmed that Verena’s baby was going to be a boy. Verena had started to worry what the effects of zero-G might have on his development, but Sofia reassured her that there were no risks that she was aware of. Verena suspected Sofia knew almost as little as she did about the realities of birth outside Earth but bit her lip.
Cathal was delighted that he was going to be a dad. “This is exactly what we’re going to Mars for, Verena,” he had said. “Yes, he’s early, but we can’t do everything to a timetable.” So, they decided to keep Leo.
They kept their news quiet for weeks: only Sofia knew, and Suárez had his shrewd guess. But Verena would have to say something soon because it was news that would affect everyone. How do you tell fellow colonists that they were about to have to take a little more than their equal share the work-load for a while?
Santiago Ferreira, the structural engineer, found Verena strapped into a carrel, scouring the latest geological reports. He asked if Verena had heard the news and she was momentarily thrown since she had such personal news on her mind. After a brief awkward pause Santiago explained. “The rim of Pavonis Chasma is sedimentary, not volcanic.”
“Ah! That will upset your calculations,” she knew immediately that this was bad news for the dome anchors.
“It depends how deep the layer of sedimentary rock is,” answered Santiago thoughtfully, not one given to unnecessary drama. If we can bore through to something more stable underneath, then it’s a matter of adjusting the pile depth.”
“And if it’s too deep?”
“Then we may be obliged to look elsewhere.” He held Verena’s stare as they absorbed the amount of wasted time and effort that the first team would have endured if this came to pass. On any Earth-bound construction project, this would cost someone a hell of a lot of money. On Mars it could cost lives. If they took too long to build the dome, they would not be able to farm. If they could not farm, they would run out of food and starve to death.
There was a plan B, a second site. There would be enough food to keep them going for at least five months, so they could afford one false start, but only one.
“Have they carried out another survey of the Valles Marineris site?” Verena asked.
“They sent a drone to take vids and surface samples. I’d prefer core samples, but they can’t spare the equipment.”
“Tell me when you hear anything.”
“Of course,” said Santiago. “At least the elevator base is almost complete, and that’s definitely on the right foundations.”
“Thank heavens for that. We don’t want to be orbiting forever.”
“What was that about orbiting forever?” asked Stefanie, the pilot, who was floating past on her way to the bridge, all long limbs and blonde hair.
“The elevator base is almost ready,” reassured Santiago.
“Damn well better be, we’re almost there!” muttered Stefanie, then smiled to Verena. “How’re you doing?”
“Er, okay,” she evaded and cursed herself for being such a coward.
Stefanie raised an eyebrow. Stef slept in a hammock chamber near to Cathal and Verena and had probably heard her heaving into a sick bag again that morning.
“I…” Verena paused, seeing that she had both Stef and Santiago’s undivided attention and faltered. “Cathal and I… we’re expecting,” she grimaced, hating the sound of that worn-out phrase and bracing herself for a difficult reaction.
Stef grabbed Verena and hugged her. Santiago looked pleased and slightly embarrassed. Somehow half a dozen other female crew emerged and started bubbling with enthusiasm: where the hell had they come from, Verena wondered?
“Fantastic!” called Debbie Starczewski.
“Brilliant!” pronounced Trish Sharpe, who floated in for the next hug.
“So, you and Cathal have decided then,” observed Sofia.
“Yes, I suppose we have.” Verena noticed a few guys lurking sheepishly at a distance giving her smiles and thumbs up. She suddenly felt overwhelmed by the warmth and support of her friends and colleagues. Verena had been bottling the news, afraid of their response and now she felt a flood of relief. Sofia could see that Verena was on the verge of a hormonal moment and waved off the well-wishers with the no-nonsense manner of an experienced doctor.
“Come on folks, give the woman some air. It’s just another baby, they happen all the time.”
Sofia, and everyone around her, knew that this would not be ‘just another baby’, but they played along.
“Thank you,” whispered Verena.
“Better out than in,” she said with a mischievous grin. The news was indeed out, and Verena wondered how long it would take to spread.
Later that day she sent a vid to her parents. Nothing too specific but a few hints that she and Cathal were making plans. She got a vid straight back, within the hour, from Lex who bounced as if he were about to become a dad himself. He started fussing over Verena’s health and diet, so she sent another vid back trying to calm him down and say it was all in the early stages. She didn’t want him knowing the baby was real yet because if news slipped out it would go viral, yet she wanted him to have some warning. Her colleagues needed to know because their lives were directly affected. Verena would just have to trust that they could keep it to themselves.
Sol 201, Pavonis Chasma – Captain H. Bulman
Hal Bulman was in a bad mood having lost contact with the reccie-drone sent to B-site. His mood turned foul when Voight reported to him.
“Overheard the techs in the canteen today,” he said, “some rumours of a pregnant Seconder onboard the Aldrin.”
Bulman rubbed the top of his head. Voight wasn’t given to rumours and gossip so there must be fire as well as smoke. “Who?”
“Hunter seems to think it’s the architect, Meier.”
“Huh! I should have guessed she would have no thought for us. I’ll want to speak to her as soon as she arrives, Voight.”
“Sir. I suppose it could be worse, could be someone mission critical.”
“Building the dome is mission critical, but at least she’s only the architect,” said Bulman, sourly, “it isn’t physical work so she should be able to keep on reading reports and answering technical questions.”
“Well, we may be five down but that’s five less building and making. We’re hard pushed as it is. I hear the reccie-drone disappeared in Valles Marineras.”
“Another resource we can’t afford to lose.”
“I expect Mission Control will tell us to send another.”
“Mission Control are on Earth.” Bulman let the statement hang and Voight nodded then walked away. Bulman felt he could rely on his head technician and Lieutenant to support him, no matter whatever Mars threw at them.
Sol 203, Valles Marineris – J. Wojcik
“Hey, Jan!” called Sunil. Jan sighed, tired from working long shifts. “We lost your drone in Valles Marineris.”
“What do you mean, lost?” asked Jan.
“No signal for the past two sols,” explained Sunil. “Johanna called me yesterday to check if I knew of any storms there. I checked the satellite images, and it looks like there might be some clouds gathering, more than the daily mists. Anyway, she still can’t get anything from the drone. It wasn’t glitchy was it?”
“No. I’d checked it before it went.”
“Damn. Suppose we’ll have to send another reccie-drone out after it.”
“I suppose that’ll be another waste of resources according to Bulman.” Sunil looked sour. Many of the first team were nervous of bringing bad news to Bulman. Ever since he tore strips off Jan in training for not getting into his EVA suit fast enough, he had learned to ask how high when Bulman told him to jump. Many, like Jan, were not military and they found it harder to take orders without questioning them. The second team captain, Suárez, had seen Jan cursing Bulman under his breath while fumbling the catches on his visor. He quietly took Jan aside and explained that a hull breach could kill in about four seconds so, if Bulman ordered him to put his visor on, he’d better do it in three. That made sense to Jan, but he preferred Suárez’s explanation to being balled at.
“Everything is a waste of resources as far as Bulman’s concerned,” muttered Sunil.
“He isn’t going to like the latest rumour from the Seconders then, is he?” chipped in Veronica Trousseau, as she walked past them in the hab. Jan noted her use of that word, ‘Seconders’. He didn’t like it. There were all kinds of negative connotations: second to arrive, second rate, secondary importance… not one of us. He’d heard his colleagues using the word in front of Bulman who made no attempt to correct them and that worried Jan.
“What rumour?” asked Sunil.
“That our architect is pregnant already!”
“Wow! That’ll piss him off for sure!” grimaced Sunil.
“It’ll piss off everyone here. We better start bracing ourselves for the extra workload,” said Trousseau. “sounds like the Seconders have all been at it like rabbits on their way over.”
Jan shook his head and went to find the peace and quiet of his bunk. He wondered if everyone had forgotten that they were here to colonise Mars together. It was as if the first team had already laid claim to the planet and were judging whether the second team were fit to join them, let alone start families. He believed they should be celebrating births, not cursing their inconvenience.
Many came as a couple and about as many came without a partner. Jan might be happy with his own company, but he was open to the idea of a partner and children if he found the right person, someone who gave him space to be himself. He liked his own personal space, but he reflected that Bulman seemed to have a barbed wire perimeter around his. He remembered one of the first team making a pass at Bulman in the early training days, perhaps just a joke. She was publicly humiliated by the Captain. Jan tried not to be judgemental, he was all too aware that others would be judging him. He understood that Bulman had a critical job to do in the early stages of the mission and he would want to distance himself from personal relationships. Maybe he was trying to warn off any others by making it so public, but Jan couldn’t understand why Bulman had been so brutal about it. The poor woman was never seen again. Veronica Trousseau appeared in their team the next day, out of reserves. Jan made sure to tell her why.
21st July, Aldrin – E. Suárez
Captain Eduardo Suárez listened carefully to the vid from Mission Control, stroking his beard thoughtfully. They weren’t exactly reprimanding him, but they were telling him in no uncertain terms that they were unhappy with the news about Verena & Cathal’s unborn child. He took full advantage of the time delay between Earth and the Aldrin to consider his options.
He could change his position and ask Verena to consider terminating the pregnancy, but he felt very strongly that it was not his position to make such a request. He suspected that Verena and Cathal had plenty of their own concerns for others when making their decision to keep the child and tell their team-mates. The ultimate mission aim was to colonise Mars. In view of the deeply worrying private briefing that he and Bulman received, prior to leaving Earth, Suárez was even more keen to see families started.
He could make it known that any further pregnancies prior to dome erection would be frowned upon, but all team members had effectively been told that in the briefings, so it seemed pointless, even churlish to repeat that view. Besides, it might imply favouritism that Verena and Cathal were not being openly rebuked. He guessed they would be feeling uncomfortable enough, despite the support they had received from most of their team-mates. Only a few, notably Eckenweber and Fillioud, had seemed cool about the news when Suárez talked to them, but they had been sensible enough to keep any reservations to themselves. He was more concerned about how the first team would respond and he suspected that unhelpful rumours might be running ahead of their arrival. No, he would not be making any advisory suggestions to his team.
He could seek to defend Verena and Cathal to Mission Control, but he wondered what the point would be. Commander Bernard was not going to tell them to come back to Earth, was he?
Suárez took a sip of hot recycled water, he had long abandoned the synthetic coffee as a lost cause, then settled to compose his reply to Cern.
“Thank you for the reminder my friends. We are entering Mars orbit and will report as soon as geo-synch has been achieved.”
Sol 203, Pavonis Chasma – Captain H. Bulman
Sunil stood in the dusty doorway of Bulman’s office and braced himself for a reply to his news.
“A dust-storm?” asked Bulman, wearily. “Hell, storms aren’t due until the Martian spring.”
“It seems that this one may be the result of recent solar flare activity.”
“Mars is trying to kill us all again,” Bulman observed tonelessly.
“Mars is a hostile environment, sir.”
Bulman studied Sunil, trying to determine whether the meteorologist was being sarcastic, humorous, or just plain simple. “Stick to weather predictions, Patel, not statements of the painfully obvious.”
“Sir.”
“Is it coming our way and if so, when?”
“It’s so big it will cover the whole of this side of the planet. It’s due about the same time as the Aldrin.”
“Shit, of course it is.”
Sol 204, Pavonis Chasma – J. Wojcik
Jan woke to a gentle wind buffeting of the hab window. It took him a while to remember that this was not a familiar sound on Mars. Wind? Yes, he knew that winds occurred here, but it was the first time he had experienced anything more than a light breeze. He got up and peered through the porthole at the edge of his dorm. It was still dark, yet he could hear something stressing the inflatable walls. Jan was fascinated. Despite his tiredness, he pulled on his orange fatigues and went to find his EVA suit, keen to see Martian weather first-hand.
“Hey, Wojcik!” called Hans Escher at the lockers, next to the airlock. “Bulman has ordered us to stay inside. Sunil reckons there’s a storm coming.”
“A storm?”
“A dust-storm. He’s been up all-night studying satellite photos and he’s convinced there’s a big one on its way from the east.”
“But… the second team… they’re due today!”
“Bulman says they’ll have to wait. Actually, he said ‘the bastards ’ll have to go orbit a while’, you know what he’s like.”
“Shit!”
“That’s what I said.”
“And what does Sunil mean by a big one?”
“Big enough to cover the whole of the local volcano system. Hard enough to scour the suits off our backs.”
“Shit!”
“Exactly.”
August 2nd, Mars orbit – V. Meier
“A storm?” exclaimed Stefanie. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Captain Bulman has ordered all colonists to stay in their habs until it blows over. He has…” Suárez paused as he searched for a diplomatic verb, “recommended that we orbit until they are ready to receive us.”
“But we have everything ready to go!” argued Stefanie, “The biome plants have all been packed and racked, they’ll die if they stay like that for more than forty-eight hours!”
“We’ll suffocate if we stay crowded into the bridge segment too long,” asserted Bernardo.
“The Aldrin has plenty of reserve air,” answered Suárez calmly.
“But it could be days before we can unload,” said Bernardo, a nervous edge to his voice.
“Yes, you’re absolutely right, it could,” agreed Suárez. “Human lives are more important than any timetable, as Frau Meier would agree,” he smiled, turning to Verena.
“Hey, don’t look at me! I didn’t start the storm!”
“Of course not,” said Suárez. “But sometimes nature will refuse to acknowledge our plans and we are obliged to work around her, are we not?”
“Looks like you’re all going to have to listen to me… Erbrechen? Thank you, Stef. Listen to me barfing into my sick bag for the next day or two,” Verena forced a grin and received a few strained smiles in return. The quarters were rammed with people and supplies. The second team had been expecting to endure this for a few hours while the Aldrin slowed to a geosynchronous orbit over Pavonis Mons and connected to the elevator anchorage. There was an uneasy quiet as they considered the prospect of being packed into the chamber like an over-crowded commuter bus. Eventually the silence was ended by a polite cough and the agricultural team leader, Antonio Figueredo leaned forward.
“If the plants die then ultimately, we may all die.” There was no drama in his voice. No hint of exaggeration. He was simply voicing a fact that they had all been trying to keep from their thoughts.
“How long can they last like this?” asked Suárez.
“As Ms van Rhoon said, about forty-eight hours. Some of the hardier species may last a further twenty-four, but only some and even then, it is a risk.”
“Can we take them back into the transit biome in the Aldrin?”
“Yes, but each time we move them more will die.”
“What is an acceptable percentage loss?”
Doctor Figueredo paused to think. “About thirty percent. Beyond that we would be struggling to regrow and expand our crops to replace rations for a hundred people.”
“Ninety-five,” corrected Georges Fillioud, referring to the deaths of the first glider crew.
“Ninety-six,” said Markus, looking at Verena with a sour face.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” interrupted Suárez. “We are dealing with approximations to gain a better understanding of our options. Doctor Figueredo, how many plants do you think we might lose if we move them all back into the biome and repack again, after the storm?”
Again, Antonio hesitated as he considered the question. “Each time we move them we reckon on losing five to ten percent. We have already moved them once. It would require two additional moves. At best that would be a total of about nine or ten percent out of the original batch…”
“At worst it would be about twenty-seven, much more than which we cannot afford,” finished Suárez. “It seems that we have one more go at this, only.”
Sol 207, Valles Marineris – J. Wojcik
Three Martian days, or sols as all colonists referred to them now. Three sols listening to the four hundred kilometres per hour wind scouring their hab with grit while looking at a blur of red through the porthole. Three sols of excruciating boredom and frustration while the ice went unmined. Three sols since the storm ripped the cable stays out of the ground and carried off one of the temporary bio-habs, together with half the crops. The longer this went on the more screwed they all were, thought Jan, sourly. And all this time the second team had been orbiting in the Aldrin, unable to get out.
“Why didn’t we have any warning of this from Mission Control?” asked Bulman in a neutral tone.
“They didn’t have any more warning than we did,” answered Sunil, despondently. “We weren’t expecting full-on storms like this until the Martian Spring, about two hundred sols away.”
“You said it was solar storms?”
“It’s the most likely theory. The nearer we get to the sun the more frequent and intense the storms on Mars.”
“We don’t get close to the sun for months yet.”
“No, but solar flares might have an effect.”
“Has there been one?”
“Yes, a really strong series of flares. Not conclusive, but it seems a strong candidate.”
“Have they stopped?”
“Yes, so if it’s linked then we should see the storm easing off in the next sol or two.”
Bulman nodded, as if satisfied that there was some logical explanation that he could accept. “Shanks? Peters?”
“Sir?” answered John and Charlie.
“As soon as I give the word, I want you to rig up a replacement bio-hab. Wojcik.”
“Sir?”
“You’ll be piloting glider two when the storm lifts. Douglas and Daley will pilot gliders four and five. We’re going to need the elevator working fast. I want those crops out of the Aldrin and into the new shelter.”
“And the second team?”
“… Them too.”