I can be dense sometimes, even when the answer to a question or puzzle is staring me in the face. So I was when I failed to understand why getting Crimsy back to Earth was so much more difficult than finding her in the first place. It was all about rovers versus rockets.
“We have to get back into orbit,” Dr. Marcum told me. “That’s easier to do on Mars because the gravitational field is so much weaker than Earth, but it’s still no mean feat.” There would be no more dropping from parachutes and bouncing along the planet surface in a cocoon of fancy air bags. Rocket maneuvers are precision personified.
The seeds for Crimsy’s journey were actually planted years earlier, when SpaceTek/NASA/JPL landed a small fuel production plant on the planet. It captured, made, and stored methane—natural gas—a cleaner burning, low-hassle rocket fuel to which everyone eventually switched. The MRD—Mars Refueling Depot—pumped enough methane into a rocket to get it into orbit, where an Orbital Refueling Depot—ORD, regularly replenished with methane from Earth—topped off the tanks for the long trip home. These dual Martian gas stations tanked up the ORC—Odysseus Return Craft, a much smaller version of the Big Retriever Rocket—for its voyage home with the rocks and sand that almost brought Earth to the brink.
Rocket complications, I’ve learned, start with landing them, as this understated observation of a science journalist named Neel Patel suggests: “A fourteen-story piece of tube made of aluminum-lithium alloy, with fire bursting out the end, doesn’t just make a smooth perch for itself in a giant empty field.”
Mars is pockmarked with volcanic craters and to land sequential rockets, starting with the MRD and now the BRR, JPL’s engineers had to find a site that was instead “smooth, flat, and boring”—the so-called Golombek Criteria, named for a JPL landing site specialist. That smooth, flat, boring site, aka the return trip or takeoff site, had to be close enough to Coprates Chasma and its shaded frozen lakes in Valles Marineris that the rover could get to it in a reasonable time. JPL found a good takeoff site in the Capris Chasma next door (all these Chasmas are confusing, I know). It would take just over a week for the rover to climb out of the Coprates Chasma, drive to Capris Chasma, and arrive at the BRR loading dock, where it was lightweight enough, at 1800 lbs (800 kg) to be the first Martian rover to drive aboard, lock itself in, and return to Earth.
Our team was at JPL for the sequence, which began, as it always did, in the calm, climate-controlled utopia known as the simulation theater. Not only our team, but Dr. Hale, a handful of JPL engineers and SpaceTek execs, Senator Scherr, and lo-and-behold, Alexander Sparks sat in the theater-in-the-round, a souped-up version of an IMAX theater.
“So, first-time welcomes to a few of you, including our own Senator Scherr and Mr. Sparks,” our frequent host, Argosy Reed, began at center stage. “May we have a round of applause for their steadfast support.”
What a showman. Reed, I later learned, acted on Broadway before returning to Pasadena to care for his aging parents. He had a degree in aerospace engineering he never used, he told me. He wouldn’t confess to using it now, but it “obviously comes in handy.”
“And another round of applause,” he continued, “for the masterminds behind this mission, Dr. Marcia Levitt and Dr. Harold Hale.”
You bet we stood. We all stood and clapped and woot-wooted. This new class of large, long-range rockets capable of picking up and delivering fifty ton payloads had never been used before and might still be idle if not for the persistence of Levitt and Hale. The original plan had been as it always was, to study whatever we found on the planet surface. Levitt fought for the Odysseus mission to actually bring back rocks and dust. Levitt and Hale fought even harder—and each other until his surprise Congressional testimony—for MarsMicro to bring back Crimsy. We all figured Levitt’s success with Odysseus helped bring Hale around, though she was too humble—or too diplomatic—to admit it. I remember the months of back-and-forth in Washington and here in Pasadena, the stress it put on Dr. Levitt, and as I think about it, the toll it must have taken on her relationship with Parada. I walked into her office during the BRR negotiations to find her doing something she never did: crying, albeit muffled, with her head on her desk. I slipped back out. She was so classy: here she was now, turning to Dr. Hale and encouraging applause his way. He reciprocated, pointing at her with both hands and beaming. Never seen him beam before, but he was now.
“As you are all aware, the return of Crimsococcus halocryophilus has been over a decade in the making,” Reed continued.
Our other regular host, Pei Lin took it from there. “So—cool irony. The bacteria you’re bringing home may, in fact, be a source of our rocket fuel,” she said.
On the big screen around us, we saw a video of the Martian refueling plant and an animated rendering of the processes behind it. “We have two ways to get the methane we need: the well-known Sabatier reaction that creates it from the abundant carbon dioxide in Mars’ atmosphere; and a capture and storage mechanism using two common absorbent materials: aluminum-silica zeolite, and good ol’ activated charcoal.”
“Good time for a shout-out to our friends at Lawrence Livermore and Berkeley for discovering the zeolite process,” Reed interrupted.
“Zeolite captures and stores small amounts of methane already in the atmosphere before harsh solar rays can break the molecules apart,” Lin said. “Though there are almost certainly others Crimsococcus is the only source we have yet identified of Mars atmospheric methane.”
“Making her a methanogen,” Shonstein said loud enough for a few, but not all, to hear. From the Archaea domain, methanogens are bacteria that make methane from carbon dioxide.
“Making her a methanogen,” Lin repeated.
“We’ve teamed up with Disney/LucasFilm to create your simulation today,” Reed said.
“You will dock the rover, and enjoy the experience of planetary liftoff with a stop at the gas station just before heading home, in this case, Deep Space Gateway. The simulation begins shortly before the Mars launch, as Dr. Shonstein and Dr. Brando secure the samples and board BRR’s payload docking system. We now begin The Return of MarsMicro.”
The next day’s announcement that we faced at least a week of Martian bad weather—blowing dust, electrical storms—before launch came with the option to go home until it cleared, or stay in Pasadena. Drs. Levitt, Marcum, and Cooper stayed. I went back to Seattle with Mike Brando and Rebecca Shonstein. We spent three weeks in expectation limbo. The day we returned to JPL was equally inauspicious: Lexi Brando clinging to her dad, mom in the airport wings; Malachi Shonstein clinging to his mom, dad in the airport wings. Lexi buried her face in her father’s arms; Malachi buried his face in his mother’s neck. Lexi teared and sniffled; Malachi teared and sniffled. TSSEA agents buzzed around, giving us the evil eye.
“We have a pair of Klingons today,” Shonstein said, kissing Malachi’s forehead and trying to rouse him to that infectious giggle we’d heard before, guaranteed to cheer up the other Klingon.
“You may have to take them,” Martin Shonstein told us. “I hear Klingons love Mars this time of year.”
“Flight 2765 to Hollywood Hope Airport now boarding,” the intercom announced.
“There’s hope for Hollywood?” Martin quipped.
“We probably need to get going,” Melissa Brando said. “Lexi, sweetie.” She reached out to take her daughter’s hand, prompting Lexi to grip her father even tighter.
“I don’t want mommy to go!” Malachi announced, using his words with astonishing clarity.
“Mommy has to go,” Dr. Shonstein said. “She’ll be back real soon.” She kissed him again and with her free hand, tickled his side. He squirmed with a frown. She looked imploringly at her husband.
“C’mon buddy.” Martin reached for his son, who swatted back his father’s hand. Melissa Brando was almost down on one knee, looking all the businesswoman in temporary repose, heels just high enough to be feminine yet appropriate, skirt the perfect length, jacket flattering, not an unnatural wrinkle in her uniform.
“I wanna stay with dad,” Lexi said.
“You can’t stay with dad,” her mom replied. “Mike: help me here.”
He leaned down and was about to whisper something when Malachi Shonstein let out a wail I was certain would bring the TSSEA. His mom was kissing him and his dad grasping him, gently trying to relinquish his grip on his mother’s neck. The diplomatic approach wasn’t working any better, with Lexi tearing up and on the verge of crying herself.
“Sweetie. Lex,” I heard Dr. Brando say. “I’ll be back and then we’ll do a couple weeks. K?”
His wife frowned. “We’ll see,” she said.
“We’ll do,” he said.
“I don’t think you should be promising that,” Melissa said.
The looks they exchanged were discomforting to watch, let alone, I was certain, be a party to. I walked closer and stood, hinting I might be available for some girl talk. I was ten years Melissa’s junior and thought Lexi and I had a pretty good thing going. She looked at me.
“You goin’ to Mars with me someday?” I asked Lexi.
Not having it.
“How ‘bout the space station? That’s easier.”
Still not having it. But Dr. Brando looked hopeful and Melissa backed away.
“I know I’ll have to train like crazy,” I said. “They don’t just let anybody aboard.”
“They won’t let me on board,” Lexi said. “I’m a kid.”
I bent down. “All the more reason they might,” I said. “Kids are durable, and learn fast. You learn faster than most.”
Her face relaxed.
“I gotta get on that flight, though. If I don’t show up, they’ll think I don’t wanna go.”
“I wanna go,” she said. She looked over at Malachi, still crying. People walking by, talking, intercoms, security, announcements, the sound of rolling luggage wheels, someone yelling across the expanse of tile floor and fluorescent light.
“Hope they don’t tow me,” I heard Martin say.
“Your mom loves you more than anything,” I whispered to Lexi. “It really hurts her when you act like you don’t love her, too.” I don’t know where that came from, but it felt right. I knew Melissa, in a way. She was a bit like my brother David, stiff upper lip, all mission, not warm and fuzzy, who showed her love, which was deep, by fulfilling her duties and fighting for what she thought was right. So I said it and I meant it.
“I love my mom,” Lexi said. I felt a presence behind us, Martin now holding Malachi, who had quieted. I turned around and looked up.
“He wants to say goodbye,” Martin said. I babysat for Malachi, sometimes in small office spurts, one time at their house. I stood and he pouted but put out his hands. I looked at his dad, who acquiesced, and I took his son and kissed him and tossed him into the air. The pout vanished and he giggled, at first nervously, then infectiously. I kissed his cheek again.
“I have to say goodbye to Lexi,” I said. “Do you want to say goodbye to her?” I landed Malachi on his feet and he hugged Lexi, who reflexively hugged him back, releasing her father. I hugged them both—group hug kinda thing. The tension subsided.
“Last call for Flight 2765 to Hollywood Hope Airport. Now boarding, Gate C3.”
“We’re gonna need to run,” Dr. Shonstein said.
We made our escape through light security. I looked back at the two kids and the parents. Lexi waved at me. Malachi was crying again. We were the last passengers to board.