Losing Mars

by Peter Cawdron

  Rather than springing out, I push gently. It’s as though I’m in a swimming pool, pushing off the side and gliding out into deep water. No rush.

  Below me, the Huŏxīng Wu turns. A red flag comes into view. Yellow stars. There’s Chinese writing, but other than that, the rivets, panels, curved shape and various items like reaction control jets and anchor points could be on any craft.

  With my gloved hand outstretched, I grab at a rail beside the hatch. My fingers grip the steel and immediately I’m dragged sideways, being pulled into the rotation of the craft, but I was ready for that. With my other hand I release the main tether, leaving it floating in space, twisting slightly as its residual motion causes it to writhe like a snake. My legs swing out, just as Hedy’s did. Unlike her, though, I attach a tether, clipping onto an anchor hold outside the hatch.

  “I’m onboard.”

  My comment’s redundant, but as Shepard has fallen silent, I feel as though something had to be said. I imagine they’re madly talking among themselves, debating what to say to me, watching with trepidation as I work my way across the hull of the Chinese vessel.

  “At the hatch.”

  Talking helps slow my racing heart. What the hell am I going to run into inside the Huŏxīng Wu? I’m looking for Hedy. I’m hoping she’s only been incapacitated, perhaps knocked unconscious, and that I can drag her out of the vessel. I clip a second tether to a rail directly beside the hatch. I’ll use this to anchor her.

  “Proceeding inside.”

  Why me?

  Why the fuck is this happening to me?

  Isn’t this the part in every horror movie where the audience begins throwing popcorn at the screen, yelling, ‘What the hell are you doing going in there, you idiot?’ I guess it never makes sense until you’re the one with no alternative.

  The spotlights on either side of my helmet come on as soon as I move into the shadows.

  “There’s damage to the cockpit seat. Scratching. Like something has torn at the material. I—I see one body. Taikonaut. There’s burn marks. Fire. Melted plastic. Broken panels. Control panel is shattered.”

  I’m moving slowly. I’m barely halfway inside the hatch, with my legs protruding into space. Even though the craft is spinning slowly, there’s enough motion to upset my inner ear, and it’s all I can do not to vomit inside my helmet. My tether catches on something, causing me to rock sideways. I reach back, grabbing it with my gloved hand and shake it loose in what feels like a disturbing amount of silence. I don’t want to take my eyes off the cabin in front of me. I feel as though at any moment something could launch itself out of the shadows at me, but I have to look back. I’ve got to turn around to free the tether. My heart races even faster, something I didn’t think was possible.

  “Easy. Slowly.”

  I bounce slightly in the hatch way, working with the tether before turning back to face the cabin.

  “I don’t see her.”

  As I begin edging inside, the spotlights on my helmet reflect off something behind the commander’s seat.

  “But I can see it... it’s... it’s beautiful...”

  Beautiful

  “Mr. Anderson?”

  I’m distracted. I was thinking about something, but I’m not sure what. Something important. Something beautiful.

  Fingers touch softly at the back of my hand. My gloves? Where have my gloves gone? My hands rest on my legs. I’m wearing neatly ironed dress trousers and polished shoes. Instead of a spacesuit, I’m dressed in a blue NASA polo shirt.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blink, looking up at the young woman tapping my wrist to get my attention. Blinding lights immediately behind her make it difficult to resolve her face. She’s African-American, with neatly platted hair and colored beads hanging down, sitting just above her neck, swaying with a hypnotic motion.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I—ah.”

  To my left, there’s a familiar voice. “Cory? Are you all right?”

  Hedy is sitting just inches away in a matching shirt and slacks. Her hair has been pulled back in a ponytail, something she never did on Mars, only ever in orbit. She’s wearing make-up, which seems strange. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her wearing either rouge or lipstick. It’s not her style. Beside her, the two Chinese taikonauts smile, giving me a thumbs up. They’re dressed in grey jumpsuits, complete with polished black boots. They look like they’re prepping for launch. Their flight suits are slim and form fitting, with a zip running up the center of the torso. Just like the US equivalent, they have their name and rank embroidered on a leather tag set on one side, and a flag on the other—a small bright red rectangle with yellow stars proudly adorned in the corner.

  Hedy repeats herself. “Cory?”

  “Yeah... Just had the weirdest dream. I could have sworn I was back there…”

  The woman in front of me fusses with my hair, teasing it slightly, confusing me. She’s wearing a wireless headset. From the transient look on her face, someone’s whispering in her ear. She smiles. “And we’re live in five... four... three.” She steps to one side and my eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden influx of the studio lighting. There’s an audience out there somewhere in the darkness. Heads bob in the shadows.

  “Good evening and welcome to The O’Brien Show. We’re coming to you live from our studios on Fifth Avenue in New York.”

  I look to Hedy. She doesn’t acknowledge me, directing her gaze at our host. Colin O’Brien is seated behind a large wooden desk while we’re in comfortable armchairs. At a guess, he’s in his mid fifties. Although his hair is dark, there are flecks of grey above his ears. Heavy makeup hides wrinkles, accentuating his broad smile and pearly white teeth.

  “Tonight, my guests are Commander Hedy Washington and Specialist Cory Anderson from the Redstone-Schiaparelli vessel that rescued the two stricken taikonauts, Commander Zhang Wei and Dr. Jie Chang, stranded in orbit around Mars.”

  O’Brien gestures to us.

  “It’s been a month since you splashed down in the Pacific. Did you have any idea about the tension between the US and China at the point you set out to rescue the taikonauts?”

  Hedy faces the nearest camera. There’s a teleprompter set above the lens. A small monitor has been mounted immediately below the camera, allowing us to see how she’s coming across. As the camera zooms in, I slip out of frame.

  “No. We didn’t get too much in the way of international news during our flight. We were too busy.”

  She’s lying. Long-haul spaceflights are boring as hell. There’s literally nothing to do for months on end.

  O’Brien seems particularly interested in this point, though. He addresses the taikonauts.

  “Were you told by your country about what was happening? That you were, effectively, being transported home in an enemy vessel?”

  Commander Wei looks over at me warmly.

  “The idea never entered our minds. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Commander Washington and Specialist Anderson treated us with dignity and respect. We were part of their crew.”

  O’Brien nods, but won’t let go of the issue.

  “So you had no idea about the conflict in the Yellow Sea, or the sinking of the USS John Paul Jones?”

  “No.”

  Hedy says, “It wasn’t until after we came out of quarantine that we learned anything about the incident.”

  O’Brien gestures to Hedy. “You and Cory are credited with helping bring peace. It was the timing that helped, I think. Returning the taikonauts safely to Earth turned Chinese public opinion against the war and forced politicians on both sides to stop fighting and start talking. You presented the rest of us with a simple formula, a clear example—if they can make it work up there, why can’t we get along down here?”

  Hedy nods in agreement.

  Looking at the monitor below the camera, I can see that my face is pale and washed out. My pupils are dilated even though I’m under bright spotlights. I’m in s
hock. I have no idea what they’re talking about.

  “What about you, Cory? What can you tell us about the rescue mission?”

  I freeze. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Sweat beads on my forehead under the intensity of the lights. My hands grip the cloth armrests.

  “What about the object you found?”

  Hedy steps in, taking the focus off me. “There’s been a lot of speculation about what was found on Phobos, but it’s a case of—if it sounds too good to be true, despite the conspiracy theories—it isn’t true.”

  O’Brien looks at his notes. “They tell me it was pyrite. That doesn’t strike you as unusual?”

  “Oh, it’s unusual, but not alien. There’s a difference. Diamonds are unusual, right? So is gold, platinum, iridium. We don’t find these metals lying around in our backyard, but that doesn’t make them unnatural.”

  O’Brien lifts a tray from beside his desk, placing it on the smooth wooden surface beside his typed notes. “We have some here. It’s certainly reminiscent of the images we saw from within the Chinese craft. What can you tell me about pyrite? What makes it so special?”

  Hedy leans forward, pointing, “Ah, that’s the funny thing. There’s really nothing special about it—not at a chemical level. It’s a molecule comprised of iron and sulphur, that’s all. What’s striking about it is its shape and coloration. As you can see here, it forms these striking cubes. Pyrite looks artificial, as though someone has made a seemingly perfect cube out of mirrors, but it’s a crystal. It forms these beautiful right-angles naturally.”

  O’Brien turns the tray, allowing both the audience and the camera to get a good look at the mineral.

  Hedy says, “LEGO blocks with mirrors is how I’d describe it. This is fool’s gold. Nothing more.”

  O’Brien points. “Certainly fooled me. So this is what you found up there?” He seems entranced by the object. A grayish rock sits on the tray with a large silver cube the size of a jewelry box stuck on top of it. “Can I pick it up?”

  “Sure. That’s just a sample from here on Earth. We weren’t able to recover any of the mineral from Phobos itself.”

  I’m not sure why he’s asking Hedy for permission. Perhaps this is a specimen she brought to the studio. O’Brien holds the pyrite up for the cameras, turning it slowly and watching how the light reflects off each surface, giving the crystals an oily sheen.

  “But this isn’t the original, right? It looks like it, but this isn’t what you found inside the Huŏxīng Wu?”

  “No. That was lost along with the vessel, but it’s chemically the same. The sample collected by the Chinese was huge. It would have probably weighed in at four or five kilograms back here on Earth.”

  “What’s that in pounds?”

  “Ah, it’s about ten to fifteen pounds.”

  “Wow, so pretty big.”

  Commander Wei says, “Very big. Very unusual.”

  Hedy gestures with her hands, trying to put the size of the object in perspective. “The pyrite recovered on Phobos was a combination of geometric shapes. Just simple crystalline forms. Pyrite is isometric, so it makes cubes, octagons, dodecahedrons, all kinds of wacky, crazy shapes as it grows.”

  O’Brien puts the pyrite back on the tray, pushing it gently to one side. “So it grows, but it’s not alive.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You can understand why people thought this was some kind of alien artifact, right?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She looks to me for support. I’m stunned. Bewildered. A single word slips from my lips. “Hedy?”

  There’s a glazed look in her eyes, as if somehow in the depths of her mind, she knows something’s wrong.

  O’Brien asks, “What about you, Cory? What did you think of the pyrite when you first saw it? You said it was beautiful.”

  My lips are numb. My eyes settle on my hands, looking closely at my fingers. I can see the folds in my palm, the veins running beneath the surface, the texture of my skin, the creases and imprint patterns. I flex my hand, feeling my knuckles and fingers unfold.

  “This isn’t real. None of this is real.”

  “Cory?”

  That voice. The tenderness. The intimacy of my name spoken by such soft lips.

  “Jen?”

  I look up and reality shifts around me. Jen’s lying in a hospital bed wearing a loose smock, with a light blue sheet covering her distended belly. Her legs are bent, propped up on the angled mattress. She’s sweating, taking shallow breaths. Her hands clutch at the bed sheets, curling them up into her balled fists.

  “Honey, please,” she says, looking at the doctors and nurses prepping the delivery. “Listen. Listen to me.”

  “Mr. Anderson. I need you to scrub up. We want to keep baby healthy and happy.”

  “Huh?”

  I’m ushered to a sink. A nurse helps clean my arms, washing them with soapy water and scrubbing up to my elbows. The water’s warm, running over my skin, dripping from my fingers. It’s real, as is the reflection in the mirror. Stubble on my face. Bloodshot eyes. Messy hair. Worn t-shirt.

  I mumble, “How is this possible?”

  Light reflects off the chrome plated taps. The nurse uses her elbow to shift an elongated lever, shutting off the water.

  “Hands up, slightly raised. That’s it, just drip dry.”

  “I—umm.”

  “You look nervous. Don’t be. Everything’s fine. Mother and baby are doing well.”

  Behind me, Jen is moaning, panting. She’s restless, shifting on the bed but keeping her knees up and her legs wide.

  The doctor turns to me. “Here she comes.”

  “She?”

  In the back of my mind, there’s something significant about the baby’s gender, but I’m not sure what or why. It’s as though I’ve heard this phrase before. Jen is straining, clenching her teeth.

  “You’re doing great, babe.”

  “Get out of here,” she snaps.

  One of the nurses looks at me, saying, “It’s okay. She’s under a lot of stress.”

  “Push,” the doctor says.

  Jen grunts, closing her eyes tight and flexing every muscle in her body. She grits her teeth, entirely focused on giving birth. Suddenly, it’s over and Jen relaxes, on the verge of going limp, gasping for breath. The doctor backs away, holding a newborn babe against his disposable surgical smock. Gloved hands cradle a bloody, bluish baby girl.

  “Breathe,” he whispers, rocking his arms slightly, gently rubbing the chest of the newborn. “Come on, baby. Breathe.”

  I’m stunned. My knees go weak. One of the nurses helps the doctor, wiping the baby’s face and wrapping her in a cloth as her first cries break the silence. I’m trembling. The doctor holds the baby close so I can see her tiny face. Beady eyes, a petite nose and thin lips tremble as she lets out another soft cry. Mucus sticks to her hands. Thin fingers stretch, grasping at the air. A second nurse attaches two clamps over the bloody umbilical cord. I’m handed a pair of scissors that, to me at least, look like gardening shears.

  “Would you like the honor?”

  “I–ah.”

  My hands are weak. I struggle to cut through the gristly cord, clamping my fingers around the handle and squeezing hard until finally the cord gives. Blood squirts from the severed ends, dripping to the floor.

  Soft blue eyes look up at me. At first, her motion was jerky, almost as if in response to spasms, but now her hands reach for me, longing, seeking. Fragile fingers wrap themselves around my finger. The nurse wipes my daughter’s nose, clearing away some sticky amniotic fluid. I’m in awe.

  “She’s… She’s beautiful.”

  I turn to Jen. She reaches for the baby, wanting to hold her daughter. The nurse moves over beside her, handing her the child.

  “You were wonderful,” I say, but Jen snarls, slapping at my hand, pushing me away.

  “Get out!”

  “What?”

  “Get out, Cory. You’ve got to get out of th
ere. Now!”

  I don’t understand. I reach for her, but Jen bats my hand again, yelling at me. “Get the hell out of there!”

  I reach for Jen, but something holds me back. There’s something attached to my waist, tugging at me, preventing me from moving. The tether.

  “I—”

  What’s real?

  I’m standing before the woman I love as she holds our newborn daughter, surrounded by medical staff, but I feel strangely alone. Outside, a tree sways in the wind. From the third floor, I can see cars and trucks driving down the street. Clouds dot the sky. Sunlight rests on the windowsill. From the angle of the shadows, it’s roughly noon. How is this possible? I feel dizzy. The room spins around me.

  Jen pleads, “Cory, please. Get out while you still can.”

  She’s cradling our child, but the look on her face is one of horror.

  The tether.

  I reach down beside my leg, grabbing at my thigh and pulling. Although I can’t see it, I can feel it. I bump into something that’s not there in the medical suite. I’m in the middle of a hospital delivery room and yet it feels as though I’m in a pipe. I brush gently against something curved, something smooth and solid, but there’s nothing beside me except thin air. The hatch.

  Gravity wavers.

  One moment, my feet are set firmly on the industrial strength linoleum lining the floor, the next they’re drifting slightly above it, just out of reach. Again, I skew sideways, pulling at an invisible thread beside me. Somehow, I’m twisting. I’m weightless. Jen’s hair floats beside her. A blanket drifts through the air while a medical monitor tumbles without falling to the floor. One of the nurses reaches out to hold onto the wall as her feet lift off the ground.

  I pull again. My body is encased in something, wrapped in a stiff, thick material. I push, I’m not sure against what, but with one hand I’m jerking on an invisible rope while with the other I’m pushing off an invisible surface.

  My body turns and I’m in the darkness of space again, just outside the hatch of the Huŏxīng Wu. I’ve lost my handhold, so I drift aimlessly, floating away from the spacecraft. Inevitably, the tether tugs gently as I reach it’s maximum length. As the Chinese vessel is rotating, I’m swung slowly outward, not so much flung as simply held at the end of the tether and dragged around by the spacecraft. I could fight it. I could pull myself back in, but I’m still reeling from what just happened.