by Jim Melanson
Tired as I was though, I was still … tired on Mars! WooHoo! With the outer airlock opened again, I turned around backwards and did a little bunny hop into the open. As I fell, quite a bit slower than I would have on Earth, I grabbed the ladder with my hands and did a Navy-slide down to the surface. So cool.
I walked around the Hab to the backyard, and over to the solar collectors power lead connection. It looked tight. I unhooked it and re-connected it. I turned around, and Big Dawg had moved. It had backed up about four feet, and its head unit was no longer nodding; it was motionless and at a downward angle, looking down at its outstretched manipulator arm. The head unit wasn’t moving any more. “Great, after four years it picks now to quit?” I walked over to look at its head unit, maybe some sand gummed up the works. Not likely though, as that hadn’t happened in the four years it had been here. Nothing appeared wrong with the head unit on visual inspection. I leaned behind the mast to look at the unit from behind. Looking down the axis of the head unit, I finally saw it. The head unit camera was pointed directly at the end of the manipulator arm, which was almost touching the power cable from the solar collector array to the W-Hab. The cable was completely severed. No wonder the W-Hab wasn’t getting any power flow. I moved around Big Dawg and knelt down for a closer look. A shadow passed on the ground ahead of me. I looked up but didn’t see anything. It was probably just some debris from earlier today, blowing around in the ever-present wind. I looked back at the severed power cable.
Power cables don’t just cut themselves. I thought maybe Big Dawg had run over it, but then rejected that idea. Big Dawg had four track units with small blades for gripping the surface, so it would have chewed up the cable - not cleanly severed it. Besides, the cable was designed to be strong enough to handle the rovers traversing over it. Getting down on one knee and leaning in close I saw what had happened. Right below the end of the manipulator arm, there was a thick, sharp piece of ejecta from the Lander explosion. It had impacted right on the cable, and sliced cleanly through it. I could see part of it sticking out of the ground. I brushed away some of the regolith and very carefully took a grip on it so that it would not cut my glove. I had Kevlar gloves to go over my Activity Suit gloves, but they were packed away with my day-to-day suit so “careful” had to be the watchword of the moment.
I tugged gently several times, and pulled it out slowly. It wasn’t that big, but it was solid metal framework from under the bottom of the Lander. It was ragged, slightly warped on one edge, and blackened. It must have been blown at great velocity from very close to the actual point of explosion. As the Lander site was slightly behind the medial axis of the Habitats’ placement, it would have had a straight flight path right to this point. Even the slightest variance in its path, and it would have missed. It had to have been going at one heck of a velocity to travel that distance and sever the cable as well. Why this cable wasn’t armoured was beyond me. I’d take that up with the development team later. Thankfully it hadn’t hit either of the Habitats. It had to have passed within centimetres of where the L-Hab had been sitting, before I walked it closer to the W-Hab. Great. I was going to have to do a full inspection of the L-Hab before rest would come. Tears started to well at the frustration of wanting to sleep, but knowing I couldn’t. I leaned over and put my hands on my knees, waiting for the urge to barf to pass.
I walked back to the storage bay for the solar collector. It was a 60 centimetre hatch on the bottom of the W-Hab proper, above the nacelle skirting. I could barely reach it. I turned around and walked back to Big Dawg, wishing once again that I had paired my suit with the W-Hab COM system. I reached down to the control unit on the large rover, unclipped and lifted the cover on the keypad and typed in the three-digit “follow me” command. From that point on. I would be able to simply give it the “follow me” hand signal. I closed the keypad cover and walked back to the solar collector storage port. Big Dawg followed me dutifully. I pointed two fingers to a spot close enough to the hatch, and Big Dawg rolled to the spot and dutifully obeyed the “park here” hand signal. When Big Dawg or Little Dawg were in “follow me” mode, they could respond to a series of hand signals rather than stopping to type in the interface every time you wanted them to do something simple. I then jump-stepped up to the small cargo deck of the rover’s back. This allowed me to reach into the solar collector storage bay easily. There were two spare power cables stored in there, one on each side. I sighed and shook my head. Both of these replacements were wrapped in armoured sheathing. It only took me a minute to get the left side spare unstowed.
I unwrapped the carefully protected male connection on the cable, twisted and unplugged the dead cable at the W-Hab connection point, then replaced it with the new cable connector I was holding. I jumped off the rover’s cargo deck, uncoiling the line as I walked, and then finished replacing the power cable to the W-Hab’s solar collector array. It only took a few seconds to unsnap the old connector and replace it with the new one. I coiled up the two sections of old cable, pulling the anchor points out of the regolith along its path, leaving them on the ground. I tossed the coiled up damaged cable down on the ground by the W-Hab nacelle skirting, and turned around to see Little Dawg dutifully installing the first ground anchor on the power lead. I do so love those German engineers.
I could see the L-Hab power lead was not protected either, but I didn’t think I had to worry about any more explosions in the near future (wrong), so I left it as it was for now. I spent the next twenty minutes slowly walking around the L-Hab doing a visual inspection. I found a few tiny dents and chipped paint with the offending impact debris lying below them on the ground. The Habs were tough buggers for sure. Still though, fixing the chipped paint was going to be a priority in the coming week. The paint was a very important part of the radiation protection, and even a small bit of damage to it needed attention sooner rather than later. Since I was already dressed up with nowhere else to go, I did a visual inspection of the W-Hab as well, for my own peace of mind. I didn’t see any debris damage at all, and the coating over the paint was in excellent condition on both Habitats; other than the small chips from the debris impact. There was no environmental erosion from the wind and sand. The paint protected the Habitats from radiation, the coating over the paint protected that paint from the Mars sand storms and whirling dust devils.
Finally done, I headed to the airlock and went back inside. When I got upstairs I sat at the desk where I had unwrapped one of the chairs. Looking up at the Environmental Control panel, the charging time indicated was forty-five minutes. Good, everything was fixed. I picked up the tablet to record a message for Mission Control, and looking first at the list of messages the top one jumped out at me:
HANS SAYS OPEN THIS NOW!!
I opened a video message. It was Hans and he looked a little less than pleasant. “Mike, I know it’s been a long and eventful day but checking the messages has to be a priority. We were trying to tell you about the power problem and we moved the large rover into place to show you. We also have a system fault in your atmosphere controller that needs to be reset, and it needs to be done quickly. Now please review the other messages, fix the system fault, pair your suit with the COM system and then….” he softened his expression a bit and smiled slightly, “… and then get some sleep buddy. There is a lot to do but you can’t do it all at once.”
The Drone
The Eridani Drone sat in the cramped space of the small vessel. The vessel was holding position over the ice ridge, low to the horizon from the perspective of the human’s site. The Drone was waiting for a new command from the Master, or for more outside activity by the human. The instructions had been to get close-up images whenever the human was outside. When the Drone saw the human moving, a rapid fly-by was initiated by the Drone to capture 3D moving images of what the human was doing. Most of the time was spent taking long range 2D images to keep out of sight. Stealth and secrecy were as much a part of a Drone’s make-up as was absolute and unquestioning obedience
to a Master’s command. If a Master told the drones to jump into a tunnel of whirling blades, the Master’s bevy of drones would race, each one trying to be the first one to their death, jumping into the blades, simply to prove they were most obedient. Obedience is life.
The Drone lifted the tube of nutrient compound, squeezed out some more of the tasteless paste, and stuck it in the tiny mouth set low on the Drone’s face. The Drone hated the paste. This was the only food the Drone needed or was given, being that the Drone’s body was closer to vegetable than animal in composition.
The Master had said that the human should not see the Drone in the small vessel; so the Drone always flew over when the human was not looking in the direction of approach. The shadows on the ground were not something the Drone gave any consideration to. They weren’t real, they were just shadows. Shadows, strangely enough, didn’t equate into the Drone’s concept of stealth. This Drone, and thousands of others, usually operated around humans in the middle of the night; at that time, there were never shadows to deal with.
The Drone missed the feeling of fulfillment from earlier that day. The Master had commanded the Drone to fire the small vessels energy weapon on a vulnerable point of the spaceship that the human had arrived in. That felt … fulfilling. Unfortunately for the human, the Master had meant for the Drone to fire the weapon after the human had exited it, thereby stranding the human. The Drone failed to grasp that major part of the Order of Action in its haste to be on with its mission. Luckily for the Drone, the human hadn’t been killed.
The Drone could only feel hatred and the varying degrees of hatred. There were no other emotions for the Drone, except the desire to serve and look after the Master, and a feeling of fulfillment in obeying the Master’s commands. Killing things was good. A purpose was truly being served when the Drone killed things. The Drone awoke from each sleep cycle hoping something would have to be killed that day. Unfortunately, the Drone had much disappointment in this perpetual hope. In the last few years there had not been a command to kill. The last time the Drone had been ordered to kill was on the humans’ planet. It was in a facility under the ground in that dry, barren, lifeless, arid region of the planet; a region that reminded the Drone of the planet the Drone was assigned to now. Even the attack on the human ship earlier had not been a kill order, just an attack order. The two orders were very different, and following the Master’s orders precisely was like walking and breathing to all drones. The fact the Drone had mistaken part of the order only served to deeply infuriate the Drone when it came to the human. However, if the human had died, so much the better. It was inherent to an attack order that something might die. The difference being that in a kill order something would die, or the Drone would die trying to fulfill the order. Such a failure was never a consideration for the Drone. The concept that to die in an attempt, without success, was itself failure, was not something the Drone’s simple brain could extrapolate. In reality though, mistakes were sometimes made in the drones’ overzealousness to carry out their Master’s orders.
Previously assigned to the human planet experimentation detail, this Drone was one of the most effective at capture and retrieval. The Drone especially liked doing those things in the dead of night when the humans were asleep. Such timing inflicted maximum terror, and inflicting terror, an expression of the hatred, the Drone felt for all things not of the Master, was fulfilling. The Drone really didn’t understand why they had to return the ugly giant bags of mostly water after the experiments. The Drone didn’t understand why the Master wiped the ugly humans’ memories, but it was not a drone’s place to question the wisdom of the Master, and the Master’s equals. The Masters were smart. The Masters took care of the drones. The Masters gave the drones purpose. The Masters gave fulfillment to the drones’ existence. Obedience is life.
The human would probably be entering a sleep cycle soon. Perhaps Master would ask for capture and retrieval of the human. The Drone shifted in the small seat with a bit of anticipation. PLEASE MASTER, PLEASE GIVE AN ORDER, PLEASE GIVE THE CHANCE TO SERVE MORE. This was usually the prevalent thought in a drone’s mind, but this Drone was a little more strident in the thought when envisioning how much abject terror would be experienced by the human, if the Master would only wish it to be so.
The Drone really didn’t have a concept of “I” or “me”. There was no such concept amongst any of the drones. The Drone merely considered the hive to be a personification and actualization of the Master’s will.
A small blip appeared on the Drone’s futuristic version of radar, and almost immediately disappeared, but not fast enough to escape the notice of the Drone. The Drone bared pointy teeth, and the permanent scowl deepened. EBEN DIRTY ROTTEN EBEN; KILL THEM; KILL ALL THE HYBRIDS; KILL THEM; PAIN; TEAR THEM APART; POUND THEM; BURN THEM; DESTROY THEM; ANNIHILATE THEM; MAKE THEM NOT EXIST KILL; EBEN KILL EBEN; KILL HUMANS; KILL EBEN; KILL; PAIN; KILL; PAIN, PAIN, PAIN; KILL … the Drone’s linear thought process got stuck in a loop for a little while, the blip on the radar being something that offended and infuriated the Drone beyond human understanding, unless the human was a psychopath.
Eventually returning to a state of normal seething hatred, the Drone checked the relatively simplistic, yet futuristic instrumentation in the small vessel for any other infuriating things, and found all in order. Unlimited fuel status, full charge on weapons, camouflage skin activated.
The small vessel was almost perfectly spherical in shape, about 3 metres in diameter. The 1.3 metre tall, slender grey body of the Eridani drone did not need much room even with the surface suit and helmet. Comfort was not a consideration given to drones by the Masters.
The vessel had a camouflage system that changed the hull’s colour to match the colour of the background from the perspective of the viewer. This system worked great for anyone looking straight at the vessel, yet not looking for the vessel; but not quite as effective for those with an oblique view. Regardless of viewer orientation, the camouflage was still mostly effective. If you weren’t specifically looking for the vessel, it was highly unlikely you would notice it. The camouflage did nothing for Earth style radars. Since the human didn’t have radar signals present at the Habitat site, the Drone was not worried about being detected. The small craft still cast a shadow though, and the camouflage system didn’t work at all when the vessel was moving at high speed.
Getting some sleep
I finished reviewing all the messages from Mission Control. Next I fixed the stuck relay in the atmosphere controller on the lower level of the W-Hab. At least that had been an inside fix and I didn’t need to suit up again. Tomorrow’s work manifest had been sent, but it was a planned low effort day so there wasn’t much on it. I was still getting used to gravity, albeit low gravity, after the eight and a half months of zero-g in transit to Mars. I looked at the active breezeway controller for the Breezeway that would be joined to the L-Hab. However, that was an hour long process, and I was getting more nauseated with tiredness. Truthfully, I could barely stand at this point, and seriously gave consideration to just laying down on the floor and passing out. Instead, I pulled the plastic wrap off the conference table that was forward of the medial axis of the W-Hab upper level. I opened another duffel bag and took out a vacuum pack with three fleecy blankets in it. I couldn’t get the zipper open, so I dug deeper into the duffel bag and pulled out my K-Bar.
Many people have asked why I brought a K-Bar with me. It was an authentic U.S. Marine Corps fighting knife. It was also a renowned survival knife. I had absolutely no realistic use for it on Mars. However, I’m a boy and sometimes a boy just has to have a knife. I planned to use it as a utility knife, and also as something that was totally mine, and that I could put under my pillow at night … just in case.
I didn’t have to tell Mission Control I was going to sleep on the conference table. The internal Habitat cameras were operating and sending a continuous stream of video and audio signal back to Mission Control. This was part and parcel of the mission, providi
ng live-ish video feed so that paying customers could watch everything happening on Mars. There were internal cameras on both levels of both habitats. There were none, however, inside the sleeping quarters. All the colonist candidates had been of one voice on that matter. There was a camera on all four quadrants of the outside of both habitats, one pointed directly down over the airlock. There were two on top of each habitat. The two on top of each Habitat structure operated differently. The panning camera (Camera #W1 and #L1) constantly swung back and forth through a 340 degree arc, the missing 20 degrees being directly over the active breezeway. The other was a controllable motion sensor camera (Camera #W2 and #L2) that could be operated manually from the COM area of the W-Hab. The second camera responded by default, when not being manually controlled, to a primitive motion detector. Both of the motion sensor cameras (#W2 and #L2) could also be set to follow an Activity Suit’s IFF signal. The Activity Suit systems had IFF built into their COM unit. This was merely to identify who was in the suit, and act as a locator beacon if they were lost. Unfortunately (or fortunately as the case may be), the IFF only operated line of sight. If no IFF signals were identified, then cameras #W2 and #L2 defaulted back to its 1.0 motion sensor tracking system. We did get a lot of dust devil footage off those two cameras. There is also a redundant COM system in the kitchen area of the L-Hab allowing full system operation from either Habitat, including all of the cameras.
Since the small release valve on the vacuum pack wouldn’t open, I stuck a small hole in the package with my K-Bar. The vacuum pack, with the blankets, tripled in size as it sucked in the air around it. I was then able to open the zipper without a problem. I put two of the blankets on the table, folded in half and one on top of the other. I grabbed two sweatshirts (I had brought three) and rolled them up into a ball. I paused a moment as I smelled a bit gamey. I really tried to form a coherent thought about the way I smelled and that fact that I should wash up. However, I was now tired beyond the point where I could have reasonable lucid thoughts. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Frak it”. I sat on the edge of the conference table, rolled over onto the folded blankets and pulled the third blanket over top of me. Giving a prayer of thanks to God for the safety and strength he had given me this day, I quickly fell asleep. The K-Bar, back in its sheath, was still in my hand.
