Losing Mars

by Peter Cawdron

  I pry some wiring out of the suit. Reds, blues, greens—each with different patterns arrayed like Morse Code. There’s probably an online manual I could refer to in order to know what they signify. Even if one of the designers was up here, I doubt they could discern what failed. I can identify the coarse elements like water cooling, CO2 scrubber, oxygen supply and battery, but the problem probably lies in the electronics. The pack should have failed safe, allowing the mechanical aspects like oxygen flow and circulation within the lithium hydroxide CO2 filter to continue even after power dropped out. This pack is space junk now. I can’t even keep it for parts because I have no idea what’s functional or what could be on the verge of failing.

  I stow the pack, retrieving another and powering it up, hoping that, like the flashlight, being offline at the time of the burst, it escaped any significant damage. I plug in a diagnostics unit, watching as the various subsystems come online, and run a pressure test. All green. That’s what I need. Apart from my gloves, helmet and backpack, I’m still in my suit. The hard work has already been done.

  I don a fresh snoopy cap, stuffing my old one in the hold. A flashing green LED on the side shows me it’s charged and already attempting to connect wirelessly. The light goes solid then switches off. That’s all I need to know in order to slip it on. If it had gone red, the pairing failed. As it is, I can hear Shepard through the headphones. Although I could just speak, having a microphone close improves the quality of transmission as it cuts out the white noise within the cabin.

  “Shepard?”

  “We read you, Redstone.” I think that’s Sue. There’s a bit of static on the line so I’m not entirely sure.

  I start the decoupling process, undocking the Redstone from the Schiaparelli supply module. I’m supposed to be seated and strapped in, but to hell with procedure. The digital checklist comes up, with most of the steps being autonomous, needing nothing more than confirmation from me. Within seconds, the command module is running on internal power, with fuel valves closed and independent life-support running.

  “Shepard. Redstone is separating from Schiaparelli. Over.”

  “Redstone, say again your last.”

  “I’m going to get her, Sue.”

  I can almost hear them all madly scrambling for the transmit setting on their microphones.

  “Cory. This is not advisable.” That’s Jen. Ever pragmatic. God, I love her.

  Scott chimes in with, “Buddy, I know what you’re going through. Just be patient. Wait. Let’s see what Houston comes back with.”

  He means well, but he’s not up here. I am. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  I activate the reaction thrusters on the Redstone, pulling away from the Schiaparelli at a rate of less than half a meter per second, barely a walking pace. I’m very much aware I’m violating a shitload of policies, not the least of which is flying manually while within the gravity well of a moon. I should be using the computer, but right about now, all I trust is my own gut instinct. Not very scientific, but it’s all I’ve got. Besides, there’s something astonishingly therapeutic about feeling the ship move in response to my commands. With one hand, I hold onto the seat while my other hand works with the joystick. Since I’m not strapped in, I get a real feel for the spacecraft as she accelerates. A gentle touch. Silky smooth. Easy girl.

  “What are you doing?” Scott sounds incredulous.

  At a distance of twenty meters, I bring the Redstone around to face the Schiaparelli. I know he thinks I’m mad, but I’m lucid. I’ve never thought more clearly in my life.

  “Conducting a visual inspection of the Schiaparelli.”

  Even though the craft is in sunlight, I hit the floodlights, maneuvering into the shadows, taking a good look at the supply module and flying slowly beneath the solar arrays. I’ve got video back online so I switch to broadcast.

  “Cameras rolling.”

  I’m not dumb, and neither’s Scott. For all his protests, he must agree with this approach. It makes sense to at least try to inspect the Schiaparelli even though any damage to internal circuitry would be impossible to detect. We’ve all seen the damage to the Huŏxīng Wu, though, so this makes sense.

  I’m taking the wind out of his sails. There’s no apparent damage, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t any, only that it wasn’t catastrophic.

  The red, white and blue of the American flag painted on the silver hull drifts by beneath my spotlights. Tubes wind their way around the engine bell.

  “Cory. Don’t do anything rash. You’ve got to give the team back on Earth some time to analyze what happened.”

  The cameras are rolling. I let the images do the talking, bringing the Redstone around, facing away from the Schiaparelli service module. Phobos looms to my left, a wall of pulverized rocky craters. To the right, Mars dominates. I think I’m upside down, not that it matters since all ways are up in space. Mars drifts by serenely. Deserts, canyons, craters—windswept and weathered. In between, there’s a solitary star, a pinprick of white light, the reflection of the Sun off the curved hull of the Huŏxīng Wu.

  Over the next minute, it resolves into a spacecraft, but one spinning slowly, highlighted by the motion of its solar panels. The Chinese craft is longer and narrower than the combined Redstone-Schiaparelli—it’s a silver pencil adrift in space.

  Scott’s quiet. I offer no commentary, slowing as I approach to within fifty meters. Whereas Hedy approached the hatch on the Soyuz-like leading module, I want a good look at this thing—a damn good look. I approach from the side, circling around the rear. One of the hull panels lining the service module within the craft is buckled, bulging out. I linger, zooming in and allowing the Redstone to drift so the team down at Shepard and the folks back on Earth get a good sense of what I’m seeing.

  The engine bell appears intact, but there’s a build up of ice on what looks like fuel lines, something that suggests a leak further back within the craft that solidified at this point. I doubt they’d be able to fire this thing up. Again, I make sure there’s plenty of imagery for Houston to work with.

  I slow to a crawl, edging the Redstone toward the front of the craft, drifting sideways relative to the Huŏxīng Wu, staying well away from the solar panels. I pass the Chinese equivalent of the living module, coming up to the command module.

  “We need to talk, Cory.”

  “I know.”

  I try not to watch the view of the Huŏxīng Wu floating past, rather my eyes are on the all-important control panel that shows me my relative speed, distance and closing rate. I keep the approach rate at zero or slightly negative, as positive means the Redstone is moving in toward the Chinese craft. My gloved fingers switch between controls on the digital display and I almost miss my first view in one of the portholes on the Huŏxīng Wu.

  Hedy spoke of a light somewhere inside, but from where I am, both eyeballing and looking at the zoomed in video feed, the interior of the craft is dark. I’m tempted to try to hail Hedy again, but she would have heard the conversation with Scott, and besides, I don’t want to upset Lisa. If Hedy’s alive and conscious, she knows I’m out here.

  “What’s the plan?”

  Scott is well aware I don’t have an OMU—Orbital Maneuvering Unit. No one ever foresaw a need for more than one per craft.

  “I don’t know.”

  It’s a lie. We both know it. I’m surprised he doesn’t challenge me on it. It’s then my eye catches the small black dome set beside the hatch, providing a fisheye view of the cockpit. When I hit transmit, I began streaming from all the onboard cameras. There are two cameras facing forward, one aft with a view of the engine bell, and the internal cabin shot. I smile, waving for the camera, punching a button so I can see myself on the screen.

  The colors are washed out, but even accounting for that, my face is pale. Blood has dried on my neck, having run from my left ear. My eyes are bloodshot. Spittle clings to the corner of my lips. The stubble on my chin and cheeks has me looking more like a lumbe
rjack than an astronaut. It’s clear I’ve been through hell. They’re seeing someone on the edge, someone struggling emotionally. Given the complete and utter lack of control they have, they’re walking a fine line, concerned they could push me too hard. They know I could cut comms at any moment and are trying to stage manage me. Personally, I don’t feel as bad as I look, but damn, I’d be worried too. The reality is, I’m up here, they’re not. It’s my call. Yes, I know, it’s not my multi-billion dollar spacecraft, but I owe Hedy a chance.

  It’s stubborn and stupid, but I refuse to use either computer guidance or strap in while bringing the Redstone around in front of the Huŏxīng Wu. I’m not negligent, though, keeping the motion of the craft slow as I approach to a distance of twenty meters. With a deft touch and knowing I’m being watched, I bring the Redstone in front of the Chinese craft. The spotlights allow me to see inside the open hatch. I’m desperately wanting to catch a glimpse of Hedy or one of the taikonauts.

  Orbits are strange things. There’s no such thing as being still in space. Everything’s in motion—and at speeds that defy rationale. Phobos, Redstone, and the Huŏxīng Wu are all racing around Mars at more than a mile a second, but like a big-ass sixteen wheeler thundering down the freeway and a couple of idiots on motorcycles in the next lane, we appear to drift only slightly relative to each other. Being at a different altitude, though, I’m in a different orbit at a slightly different speed, meaning the Redstone slides to the right as I peer across the fifteen meters now separating us. Keeping station is an art. Fire the thrusters to drift back toward the Huŏxīng Wu and I’m not only slowing down, I’m changing orbits, which somewhat counterintuitively brings me closer, forcing me to pull back as well as sideways.

  “Easy.” I’m talking to the Redstone as though she were a horse spooked by lightning as a storm approaches.

  Ultimately, the only way to stay exactly inline with the Chinese craft is to sit above or beside it, but I’ll lose the opportunity to see inside. It’s no wonder the guys at Shepard are quiet. They’re probably holding their breath, praying I don’t collide with the Huŏxīng Wu, but like me, I suspect they want to know. They need to see this.

  I pan with the camera, changing the zoom depth, trying to get the auto-focus and exposure levels to kick in and clean up the image, all the while being hyper-aware of the position and momentum of the Redstone. The temptation is to look out the windshield at the stricken Chinese vessel, but I dare not take my eyes off the instrumentation panel, only glancing at the video footage. The guys back in Houston will review this frame by frame.

  After a couple of minutes, I have to call it.

  “I’m not seeing her. She’s not in the cockpit.”

  The stress of actively holding station is mentally exhausting. I pull back to fifty meters and the laws of orbital mechanics sweep me away as though I were caught in a rip tide at the beach, but I was counting on that motion, wanting to swing around and come in above the Huŏxīng Wu so as to settle into a parking orbit.

  “Don’t do it, Cory.”

  “Lisa?”

  “I don’t want you to go in there. Don’t risk it.” I’m surprised by her comments, but she’s always had a level head. Emotions have their place, but for Lisa they’re subordinate to reality. She’s no dreamer like the rest of us. “Hedy wouldn’t want this. I know she wouldn’t.”

  “She’s still alive, Lisa. I’m monitoring a heartbeat.”

  “You think you’re monitoring a heartbeat… Please, Cory. Pull away… I—I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

  I’ve got to address the one issue no one has dared mention.

  “We all saw it, right? What the hell was that thing?”

  It’s Jen who answers, which confirms my suspicion. Their communication might seem casual, random, almost haphazard, but everything that’s being said is calculated. Scott’s orchestrating this. He’s pulling the strings, trying desperately to calm the maniac in orbit. Is that it? Have I gone mad? Has the stress of losing Hedy and almost dying impaired my judgement? They think so. They won’t say as much, but in their minds, I’m unhinged. I’m a lunatic ranting in a department store, brandishing a handgun like it was a toy—a danger to everyone including himself.

  “Is no one going to say it?”

  The silence condemns me.

  “They found something down there, right? They found that thing on the surface.”

  I bring the Redstone in above the Huŏxīng Wu, setting the autopilot to maintain a distance of ten meters from the Chinese craft. As I’m above the command module, my vessel is well clear of the solar panels slowly turning with the vessel. Without the Schiaparelli in tow, having the Redstone drift next to the Huŏxīng Wu is a bit like a Hummer pulling along side an eighteen-wheeler.

  “They knew,” I say, referring to Houston. “They knew and they didn’t tell us.”

  I don my backpack, connecting the umbilical, attaching the air supply and electrical controls. The team back at Shepard can see me. They know what I’m doing, but still there’s silence.

  “When did you find out? Did you know while we were still sitting there on the plateau? Jesus! You did, didn’t you? You fucking knew and still you let us launch.”

  I fit my helmet.

  “When exactly were you going to tell us?”

  “Cory, please.”

  “What the hell, Jen? How could you?”

  “Please, Cory. You don’t understand. We weren’t sure. You needed certainty, not speculation. We were worried about distracting you, causing undue anxiety. No one knew what it was. There was only one image with that thing in frame. It—It could have been anything—nothing—just a rock… We didn’t know for sure.”

  I pull the glass faceplate down, sealing myself within my suit and starting the flow of oxygen. The hum of the fan circulating air is comforting in itself—familiarity brings its own assurance.

  “But Hedy?” My voice is breaking, I’m on the verge of crying again, which is a strange sensation for me. Emotions well up, threatening to break loose. “You let her go out there knowing they’d found something on the surface.”

  Lisa responds.

  “I made the call. It was my decision not to tell her. Scott gave both Jen and me the latitude to do what we thought was right.” She’s crying. Sobbing. “He made a recommendation. We made the decision. If either of us broke, it was off for both of us. That was the deal. Don’t blame him. Don’t blame Houston. It was our decision.”

  I pull down the golden visor on my helmet. I don’t need it inside the confines of the Redstone, but it sends a clear message—you’ve lost me.

  “Cory, I’m begging you. Don’t go out there.” Jen sounds hurt, but it’s too late for that. I’m not the same man I was just a day ago. Dying scars the mind. My thoughts, my desires, my aptitude, my interests, all of them are subordinate to one overwhelming sense of resolve—the need to rescue my commander. The future doesn’t exist. There is nothing beyond this moment. Nothing else matters.

  I start the atmospheric purge and watch the pressure gauge decreasing, slowly dropping to reach a near vacuum within the craft. Jen pleads with me.

  “We didn’t know. You’ve got to remember how crazy all this sounds. What were we supposed to say to you? Oh, there might be an alien artifact onboard the Huŏxīng Wu. Do you realize how stupid that sounds? It’s a conspiracy theory! The kind of dumb shit that circulates on the Internet. Crackpots in basements. Kids mucking around online. Trolls. It’s not something serious scientists entertain, not what astronauts consider.

  “All we had was a rough translation from the Chinese—stone fossil found. What does that even mean? Even CNSA didn’t know for sure. NASA told us there were several possible renderings, but that they were context-sensitive. That one Chinese word could mean fossil, relic, artifact, bone. Even the Chinese flight controllers weren’t sure what the taikonauts meant.”

  I open the hatch, holding onto a rail as I push on, watching as Phobos looms large beyond the opening, kn
owing my video is streaming.

  Jen is crying as she speaks. “What were we supposed to tell you? What could we tell you? What would have made sense?”

  I clip a tether onto a hook mounted outside the hatch, slowly pulling myself outside. A quick glance at my wrist pad computer confirms I’m transmitting.

  “Cory?”

  Already my heart rate is spiking. My breathing is shallow and quick. I know I need to remain calm, but it’s difficult when I find myself sandwiched beside a tiny tin can in the narrow gap between a moon and a planet. Phobos is enormous—a wall of pulverized rock.

  “Fear, right? That’s what it means. Phobos. What a name!”

  No one answers. They’re watching my telemetry go off the charts. I’m barely moving but my heart is hitting a hundred and ninety beats per minute. I might as well be sprinting the entire length of the Boston Marathon. My hands are shaking.

  After exiting the Redstone, I orient myself with my legs up and my head pointing down at the Huŏxīng Wu. I’ve got five spare tether cables clipped to my waist band. I link three lengths together, keeping two in reserve. By my estimate, they should give me roughly fifteen meters of slack, slightly more than I need. Sir Isaac Newton was right when he said for each action there’s an equal and opposite reaction. I’m going to push off from the Redstone and drift the ten meters to the Huŏxīng Wu. Drift too far, and the whiplash at the end of the tether will see me bounce back like a yo-yo. Shitty plan, but without an OMU, it’s all I’ve got. Dumb as dog shit. I’m out of options. It’s ten meters or two hundred and twenty million miles back to Earth. Being so close right now, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try while I have the opportunity.

  The Huŏxīng Wu is rotating, but around a point. I’ve got enough loose tether to compensate for that. Slowly, it’ll wind up like a rubber band, but won’t become a problem for roughly a dozen revolutions. That should buy me a minute or two at the hatch.