Losing Mars

by Peter Cawdron

  What would it hurt if I was to jump to the days before her death to warn her? Even if I couldn’t control time in those few dark minutes, I could leave a verbal message for myself, just the year she’s struck down and that it was an aneurysm. That would be enough. I’d know enough to change what happened to her and nothing more. I told myself it was justifiable, that I had this power for a reason, that nothing would go wrong, but those two words still haunt my dreams.

  Choose wisely.

  It’s the original sin, right? Unbridled arrogance. Forget about eating fruit in the Garden of Eden—ye shall be as gods! I’m not a religious man, but I get the appeal behind the notion. I get that religion was our first attempt at ordering chaos, at trying to understand not only the world around us but ourselves, our own motives and desires. No one should have the power of the gods. It would be hypocrisy for me to tell my past self one thing while doing another. What would I gain? A few more months, perhaps years? Then what? At some point, we both still die. Nothing will change that, but my selfishness would risk everything. My cavalier attitude toward myself back then could change how I go on to approach other situations. One loose thread and the whole fabric unravels. That’s the danger. That’s why we’re not ready. We’re still too damn selfish—me included.

  I must look confused as Rachel poses another question to keep the interview moving.

  “When you and Commander Washington first ventured within the Huŏxīng Wu, you encountered what you later described as a pyrite crystal, something recovered from the surface of Phobos, but isn’t it true it caused you to hallucinate? This is the crux of the various conspiracy theories—that you encountered an alien entity while trying to rescue the taikonauts.”

  I try to appear candid as I answer, saying, “That’s a really good question.”

  I’ve been waiting for this moment because this point has always been the weak link in my story about what happened. I reach into my bag and pull out what looks like a mechanical donut, handing it to Rachel.

  “This is a precision magnetic torus developed by the Department of Cognitive Neuroscience at University College London.”

  Rachel takes the absurdly heavy donut, turning it in her hand and examining it as the cameras get a close up. She tosses it in her fingers, getting a feel for the weight. Thousands of tiny wires rap around a plastic coated core. There’s a red button on the side and a bunch of electronics mounted on a small circuit board. Even though she was told about this beforehand, she’s a little reserved finally seeing the device. I continue, explaining the function of the torus.

  “This is designed to interfere with specific brain pathways, and provides scientists with the ability to treat stroke patients and assist with rehabilitation.”

  “And how does this relate to what happened on Phobos?”

  “Oh, this is where we get to have a little fun. Place it on your head like this and hold the button in.” I mimic the motion she should undertake, holding my left hand up, and positioning it on the side of my head at roughly a forty-five degree angle. “Now sing Twinkle, Twinkle, little star.”

  Without missing a beat, she sings, “Twinkle, Twinkle, little star. How I wonder where you are.” Her intonation is precise, while her voice is heavenly.

  “This time, say it. Simply recite the nursery rhyme.”

  “T—Tw—wink—Twill,” she pulls her hand away, looking at the donut with a sense of alarm. “Oh, that is freaky.”

  “I know, right?”

  “So this? This is what happened to you?”

  “Something like that. The brain is easily influenced by magnetic fields. That torus is designed to shutdown the speech center of your brain, simulating a stroke, making it impossible to talk, but singing is managed in the other hemisphere, so you could sing perfectly well. Crazy, huh?”

  “Wow,” she’s still looking at the torus, surprised by how effective the small device was at interfering with her thinking.

  “I understand why people think we encountered some kind of alien artifact up there. I listen to the recordings and it’s seems pretty damn convincing to me too, but so is any optical illusion. When a full moon rises over the Rockies, I could swear it looks bigger and closer than usual, but it’s an illusion. My perception isn’t real. Later that evening, when the Moon is high in the sky, it looks smaller. It looks as though it’s moved away from Earth, but it hasn’t—it’s deceptive. Our minds are easily fooled.”

  “So your mind was fooled?”

  She’s being polite. I have no problem restating this more forcibly as it helps reinforce what I’ve come to think of as The Lie.

  “Yes. I was deceived. At that moment, like everyone else, I thought we were dealing with extraterrestrials. I wanted to believe that, but I was wrong.”

  I pause, lost in thought for a moment.

  Fifty years on and I still think the decision I made was right. I wish I could explain what really happened. I wish I could tell everyone the truth, but I’ve seen our world. I’ve seen the way we treat each other. Emotion rules our logic. Ideology blinds our eyes. We’re adept at convincing ourselves to believe in lies, so what’s one more?

  I do wonder about the day they finally send someone else down there. I wonder what they’ll make of the time displacement on the surface. Am I a traitor? Is that what they’ll think? I wonder what they’ll make of those two words etched on the wall deep beneath the moon.

  Choose wisely.

  I hope they understand. I hope they stop and think about what happened to me and realize why I chose to lie. No mouse would build a mousetrap, but we’ve invented guns, bombs, poisons, nukes.

  One day, someone else will walk within Stickney Crater. I don’t care who that is, but I’m curious about the measure of their character. Whoever finds those alien artifacts will have to make their own choice. Will they realize the danger? Will they accept the risk? It’s no small thing to gamble with the future of civilization. For me, it has been a heavy burden to bear. Perhaps the hardest thing was keeping it from Jen. It’s not that I didn’t trust her, but that I felt I needed to spare her.

  My fingers tremble. I grasp my hands in my lap, wanting to hide the anguish I’m feeling. Each time this comes up, I have to renew my strength. It’s all I can do not to buckle under the weight of deceiving an entire planet. I have doubts. Nothing is certain in life. Nothing.

  When I got back to Earth, I asked Dad about Mom. When did she first know she had cancer? I asked him about that particular Thanksgiving. I asked him if she went to the doctor. He wasn’t sure. He said he thinks so because she knew something was wrong well before Christmas of that year, but doctors weren’t able to detect anything specific until into the new year. So it worked. I changed time, just not enough. If I could go back again. If I could go back further… and that’s the danger. What if any of us could change the past? Where would those changes stop? What about the unintended side effects? For every action, is there an equal and opposite reaction. Save one life—lose another? Who would police this power? Who would determine what should be changed? Or what should be preserved? Anarchy would prevail.

  No. I’ve got to be strong. I’ve got to stay the course.

  The lights within the studio are dazzling. I press my point, wanting to round out the argument.

  “Think about it. What’s more likely? That we ran into technical problems due to a malfunctioning spacecraft or that we met aliens?”

  Rachel nods her head in agreement as I continue.

  “It would be amazing if their were intelligent aliens on Phobos. That would be thrilling. I’d love it if that were the explanation, but it’s not. I was there. There’s no life down there.”

  Ah, technically, that’s not a lie.

  “I don’t get what the conspiracy theorists want from me. Do they want me to lie to please them? Should I tell them there are little green men watching the red planet from orbit?

  “It’s a strange world when lies are more acceptable than truth. No one wants the truth. The tru
th is boring. But aliens? Oh, if there are aliens then all our science fiction movies come true.

  “You’ve got to see this for what it is—it’s just like the Moon landing, people hold onto these absurd notions because it’s what they want to be true.”

  After fifty years, I’m pretty damn good at lying, but having seen heartache and triumph in my own life, I’m convinced—no one should know what tomorrow holds, be that tears or joy. To treasure each day is enough.

  It’s hard knowing how I’ll berate myself for being silent during those three to four minutes still to come. My past self will come away from this interview furious that I didn’t say something more, hating me for not providing at least a glimpse into the future. Truth is, I have so much to say. It will take every ounce of my measure not to warn him of Jen’s demise. But then, this has never been about what’s easy. It’s about what’s right.

  For me, the toughest lesson in life has been learning to let go. Sometimes, not fixing stuff is harder than fixing it. I’m not sure I ever found the serenity emblazoned on the wall of our living room as a child, but I understand.

  Rachel comes up with another unscripted question, one that throws me for a loop.

  “Do you think we’ll make contact with extraterrestrial intelligence? Are you disappointed that hasn’t happened in your lifetime?”

  I hesitate a little too long before saying, “No.” I freeze. I’m aware this doesn’t look good, but I’m not sure what else to say. That’s the problem with lies. Everything has to be carefully constructed ahead of time to support the premise. No deviations are allowed. Rachel expands on her question.

  “Do you think there’s intelligent life in outer space?”

  And there it is—the crux of the issue, the one thing everyone wants to know. I have to say something. I can’t spend my whole life lying to everyone. I need to protect the secrets of Phobos, but I know for sure. I feel as though I’m bursting at the seams.

  “I’m pretty sure I know the answer to your question.”

  “Oh,” she says, sitting forward, clearly surprised by my response.

  “It’s yes.”

  The silence within the studio is unnerving. I doubt anyone’s breathing.

  “I have irrefutable proof of intelligent life in outer space.”

  Her eyes go wide, but it’s not what she thinks. I gesture around us, waving my arm out across the audience.

  “The proof is right here in front of us. The answer’s been staring us in the face all along.”

  She’s confused.

  “We forget who we are—where we are. We look around Earth and we see people coming and going, walking down the street, sitting in cafes, eating—I don’t know—muffins, drinking coffee, but we don’t see ourselves for who we are and where we are.

  “We’re in outer space. We just happen to be on a very comfortable, mostly wet, warm rock, but make no mistake about it, Earth is in the deepest, darkest regions of outer space.

  “From a distance, there’s nothing particularly unusual about our small planet. Our star is rather ordinary. We’re on the edge of one of the spiral arms of a common barreled galaxy—one among hundreds of billions—and yet there’s intelligent life here.

  “We’re living proof that intelligent life not only thrives in outer space, it can reach out beyond its home world to explore.” I point at various angles, saying, “If that’s true for us, why can’t it be true over there? Or up there? Or down there?”

  “I like it,” Rachel says, nodding in agreement. “So what are your thoughts on outer space and our place in the universe? These days, orbital flights have become the secular equivalent of a religious experience, a celestial road to Damascus. When you look at the night sky, what do you think about? Are you inspired? Or do you feel small and insignificant?”

  I love this question. This is one I’ve been waiting for as it’s something I feel passionate about and it has nothing to do with Phobos.

  “It’s easy to look at the stars and feel small. I get that. There’s a sense of being lost while staring into eternity, but it doesn’t make me feel insignificant. On the contrary, it highlights just how wonderful and unique we are.

  “Our Earth fits into the Sun a million times, while the Sagittarius B2 molecular gas cloud is at least three million times the size of our sun! And us? Little old you and me? We’re smaller than ants, and yet we’re unique in our own right. In all the universe, we know of nothing as intricate and complex as the human brain with it’s one hundred trillion connections. Our minds are more precious than jewels, diamonds, gold or gemstones.

  “As big and as vast and as daunting as space is, we’re alive. We are the stars brought to life. Rather than feeling daunted or overwhelmed, I feel special—privileged to have witnessed this marvelous, grand universe in which we live.”

  Rachel’s eyes go wide at these thoughts. She smiles, almost grinning. It’s all she can do to stay on script, reading the last question on the teleprompter.

  “And you? What about you? Would you like to go back to Mars? What are you looking forward to?”

  “Me?”

  I smile, seeing a counter come up on the monitor below one of the cameras, indicating we’re seconds away from the ad break. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for ever since the Redstone lifted off from the surface of Phobos.

  “I’m a simple man. I’m looking forward to just one thing—getting home and watching myself on TV.”

  Afterword

  Thank you for taking a chance on Losing Mars.

  I’d like to thank my wife for her support of my crazy ideas, along with Ellen Campbell and Jessica West for their encouragement and editorial expertise. Scientific and continuity reviews were conducted by Per Hansen, Ben Honey, Petr Melechin, Adam Moro, Terry Hill and Professor Lisa Harvey-Smith, who all graciously read and commented on advanced copies. All errors are mine.

  If you’re curious, here are some of the notes I collated during the writing of this novel.

  Although this is a work of fiction, where possible I’ve based the novel on current science and historical facts, wanting to ground the story in realism.

  As an example, the New York Times really did report Alan Shepard’s astonishing flight on the Redstone as “a modest leap compared with… Gagarin of the Soviet Union,” and described his reentry as dropping “gently to the water,” even though it topped out at eleven times the force of gravity! Four to six g’s for anything more than a few seconds will cause even experienced fighter pilots to black out. If it provides some perspective, at that time Alan was subject to 11g’s that equated to a change of 108 meters per second in his velocity, which is more than an entire football field being stripped away in a second. Far from 195 pounds, during reentry he would have weight 2145 pounds, or just over a ton, twice the weight of the average horse. Imagine someone dropping a grand piano on you, and then dropping another one. As awesome as Yuri Gagarin, John Glenn and Neil Armstrong were, Alan Shepard is one of the unsung pioneers of the space race. Rather than riding a rocket, he was strapped into an intercontinental ballistic missile.

  Phobos has always been an oddity for astronomers. Early theories considered it to be a captured asteroid, possibly originating in the asteroid belt located between Mars and Jupiter, but its orbit is nearly circular. Any object captured by the gravity of Mars should have a highly elliptical orbit rather than one that matches the planet so tightly. In addition to this, the orbit of Phobos is deteriorating, meaning at some point in the next few million years, Phobos will break apart under tidal forces and fall to the surface of the planet in pieces.

  Gravity is so low on the tiny moon that a jump of three to five feet on Earth would propel you over a half mile on Phobos (and it would take roughly half an hour to complete). By comparison, when the ESA Rosetta probe intercepted the comet 67P/Churyumov–Gerasimenko in 2014, it deployed a probe known as Philae, which, while trying to conduct a soft landing on the comet, bounced half a mile up before bouncing again and
finally coming to a rest on the surface—such is the challenge of maneuvering in low gravity. In Losing Mars, the Redstone is depicted as crashing at a low speed but bouncing around like a pinball in homage to this historic fact.

  Scientists have wondered whether Phobos was formed at the same time as Mars, or if it might be ejecta/debris from an ancient impact with the red planet. In the 50s, scientists from both the US and Russia speculated that Phobos might be hollow, perhaps even artificial given it’s unusually circular orbit and low mass, but this conjecture was abandoned as more information came to light from the Viking missions. More recently, observations by NASA’s Mars Express and subsequent volume calculations suggest the presence of voids within Phobos, meaning it’s probably not a solid chunk of rock but rather is a naturally porous body (calculations suggest the ratio to be around 30% with an accuracy of ± 5%, meaning a quarter to a third of the moon could be empty), which is something I exploited for this story.

  Most asteroids are loose conglomerations of rubble bound together by gravity, but Phobos appears to be at least partially solid, as shown by the massive Stickney Crater on its bow. Stickney has a diameter of almost six miles. As Phobos itself is only fourteen miles in diameter, Stickney is a curiosity. The force required to form the crater would have radically altered the orbit of Phobos, again raising questions about its near perfect orbit around Mars.

  The apparent low density of Phobos has caused many to wonder if it’s hollow. The science advisor to President Eisenhower went so far as to suggest Phobos might be artificial.

  I have no doubt Phobos is entirely natural. It would make an ideal base for humans, shielding us from cosmic rays, so it was interesting to explore the concept that extraterrestrials might have had the same idea.

  Fiction is, by definition, fabricated, but where possible, I’ve endeavored to base this story on facts and details from actual missions. The launch sequence from Shepard base is based on the transcripts of Lunar liftoffs conducted by the Eagle from Apollo 11 and Antares from Apollo 14.