Tuesday, April 21, 2015, 1:30 p.m., Mars Local Time
Bob
BOB SET HIS HELMET ON his head. “Comm check, Bob.”
Valkerie adjusted the radio controls on the front of her suit. “Loud and clear. Comm check, Valkerie.”
“Loud and clear on both of you,” Lex said from upstairs at the CommConsole. “Okay, guys, I’m keeping my eyes glued on the weather data. If the winds go back up above a hundred klicks an hour, I’m calling you back.”
“Give us a warning when it gets above eighty,” Bob said. “But that doesn’t mean we’re coming back.”
“It’s now or never.” Valkerie clomped into the airlock. “Let’s go.”
“Be careful, guys.”
Bob followed Valkerie into the airlock and closed the door. After depressurization, they stepped out into the swirling dusty mist. Visibility was good—maybe a quarter mile. He could just make out the outline of the Ares 10 off to the northwest.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief. The storm really had died down. As much as he trusted the weather instruments, he’d been worried that, after eating most of their remaining rations, they’d get outside and find that the storm was still too strong for them to take off. Well, they were committed now....
Valkerie turned right and headed toward the Mars Ascent Vehicle. Bob followed, checking the exterior of the Hab for damage. Not that it mattered. But he’d heard strange noises all night. Like something was bumping into the Hab. Probably just the storm.
“Wasn’t that stew great?” He hurried to catch up with Valkerie. “Felt kinda like the Last Supper. You know. What with us preparing for our ascension into orbit.”
“The Last Supper was right before the Crucifixion,” Valkerie deadpanned.
“Which is what I’m going to do to you two if you don’t hurry up and check out that MAV,” Lex’s voice burst through comm.
Bob reached out and took Valkerie by the hand. Today had been a real turning point. It was time to go home. Everything felt so right—as if Moses had parted the red storm especially for them, and they were going to fly out on still air. How could he ever have doubted—
Valkerie gasped and yanked on Bob’s arm, pointing straight ahead.
Bob could just make out the MAV. He stopped and stared at it. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He tilted his head to one side and then to the other. The MAV seemed to be tilted a few degrees from vertical. “Lex, it looks like there’s a problem with the MAV.” Bob took off at a quick, hopping run, pulling Valkerie behind him.
“Wind speed is about seventy five,” Lex said, “and rising.”
Bob bounded toward the MAV. Two hundred yards to go. One hundred. When they reached it, Bob went around the right side. Valkerie circled to the left. Her ragged breathing hissed against the pounding in his ears.
Halfway around he spotted the problem. One of the support struts was bent. About waist high, a dozen fresh nicks shone in the thin afternoon light.
“Looks like somebody banged on it with a sledgehammer.” Valkerie pressed up beside him.
Bob ran his gloved hand across the scarred surface. It didn’t make sense. It just wasn’t possible. “Um ... Lex, we’re looking at something funny here. Like one of the support struts was hit repeatedly with a sledgehammer.”
“The wind definitely didn’t do this.” Valkerie sounded mystified.
“Anything lying around that could have done it?” Lex asked. “A loose cable? A panel banging in the wind?”
“We’re talking really heavy,” Valkerie said. “Nothing that could have been picked up by the wind.”
Bob searched the ground around the strut. “Nothing here except rocks. I don’t see any chipping on them.”
“And it was hit more than once,” Valkerie said. “There’s more than one dent.”
“Agreed.” Bob counted the nicks. “Looks like at least ten to fifteen distinct marks.” He stepped back and looked up at the MAV. “As far as I can see, there’s no real damage to the structure.”
“Eighty klicks,” Lex said. “You guys need to think about—”
“Okay, we’ll begin the check.” Valkerie flipped open the checklist on her sleeve. “I’ll take power and electrical and seals and pumps. You take fuel tanks and gauges.”
Bob took one last look at the strut and walked around the base of the MAV, visually inspecting the tanks. If anything, the sandblasting had just served to polish them up a bit. So far so good. The bent strut was uncanny, but it wouldn’t prevent them from taking off. He walked around to the side and wiped off the fuel gauges.
1.8 tonnes of methane.
That couldn’t be right. The tanks had been filled with seven metric tonnes of methane before the crew ever got to Mars. They’d barely used two of that to fuel the rover. They should have a lot more than the gauge showed.
He checked the LOX tank. “16.1 tonnes of oxygen.”
“What?” Valkerie came around to stand next to him. “You sound worried. Isn’t that what it’s supposed to be?”
“Yeah, but look at the methane.”
Valkerie wiped at the smudged gauge with her glove. “1.8? This can’t be right. Is the meter in dekatonnes?”
“No way. I’ve been monitoring it all along. Last month we had almost five.”
“How much do we need to take off?”
Bob took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “About 4.1.”
“What’s going on?” Lex demanded over comm. “Are you saying there isn’t enough methane?”
“Not nearly enough.” Bob checked the gauge again and then the hoses leading to the tanks of the MAV. The valve attaching the methane hose to the MAV was bent at a funny angle. The connection seemed to have been torn partway off. “Great! Just great!” Bob spat. “The valve’s been damaged. The methane’s been boiling away. We’re short more than two tonnes.”
“Can we take off?” Valkerie turned to Bob, fixing him with a wide eyed gaze.
“We can take off all right,” Bob said. “But we’re gonna come right back down.”
* * *
Tuesday, April 21, 2015, 1:00 p.m., CST
Nate
Nate walked toward his office, his body on autopilot, his brain metal fatigued. Lex had just called in with the fabulous news that the fuel in the MAV was enough to get them about ten miles off the ground. Ten miles up. Ten miles down. Splat. And two days’ supply of food left.
Nate yanked out a packet of antacids and shook out a handful. Every engineer in the FCR and the MER had been called in to brainstorm. He had a meeting with Perez in ten minutes, and he did not have a clue what he was going to tell him. Sorry, sir, but it looks like failure is the only option.
He reached his office.
His secretary, Carol, pointed across the room. “Miss Willison’s been waiting to see you for twenty minutes.”
“What are you doing here, Cathe? Get your carcass over to the FCR and start working the problem.” He glared at her as he strode into his inner office and grabbed his briefcase—the bureaucrat’s sword. Too bad he couldn’t just fall on it and be done with it. He spun around and smacked into Cathe.
“Mr. Harrington, I really need—”
“I don’t have time. Get over to the FCR.” Nate pushed past her and out the door to the elevator. He punched the button three times, then swore at it.
Cathe grabbed his arm. “Mr. Harrington, please!”
He turned to look, shocked at the emotion in her voice. Big, fat tears stood out in those stainless steel blue eyes of hers.
Then she was gabbling at him. Josh was innocent ... couldn’t have done it ... Jake Hunter wouldn’t talk to her ... Josh had to talk to Jake so he could clear his name. Blah, blah, blah ...
The elevator chinged.
Nate yanked his arm free and stepped inside.
Cathe stuck her foot in the door, her eyes crackling with intensity. “Please, Mr. Harrington. Call Jake. Promise me you’ll call Jake.”
If there was anything that got to Nate, it was a hysterical female. He pulled out his cell phone. “Yeah, sure. I’ll call him right now.”
Cathe lit up with a five hundred kilowatt smile. She stepped back and pulled her foot away from the door. “Thank you! Thank you!” The chrome door slid shut, erasing her face.
Nate stared at the phone in his hand until his gut told him the elevator had found his floor. He stepped outside and selected a number.
One ring. “Hello, this is Jake Hunter.”
“Yeah, Jake—Harrington here. I need you to do something and it’s urgent.”
“Everything’s urgent. Name it.”
“It’s about Josh. I just talked to Cathe Willison.”
“She’s been bugging me about him all week. You know she and Josh are an item, don’t you?”
“No kidding.” Nate looked at his watch. He was late.
“So want me to talk to him?”
“Talk to the security guys watching him. I don’t know how she’s been communicating with him, but it’s got to stop. Under no circumstances are they to let Cathe Willison in to visit Josh.”
“Gotcha.”
Nate hung up, stuffed the phone in his pocket, and turned toward Perez’s office.
He wasn’t a genius about women, but he was pretty clear on one thing. A robo chick like Cathe Willison didn’t go all of a sudden blubbery on you unless she wanted something. Either that or she had something to hide.