Maybe, if they could reach the return vehicle in time, there was an infinitesimal chance they might get back into orbit again before it was too late. As he slowly gained on Katerina's speeding figure, Martin prayed that at least she would survive long enough to tell their tale. Though their own lives might be lost, if she could only warn their fellow humans never to come here again, perhaps there would be no more dying.
Martin's boots pounded the dust of what might be his grave, his nostrils clogged with the sickening smell of a funeral wreath. His eyes caught the sunlit glint of metal in the distance. Not much farther now—
A horrifying thought made him stumble. He righted himself just in time to avoid tumbling into the sand and kept on running. What if the habitation module Katerina and he were fast approaching was no longer a safe haven? Maybe, just as hope was daring to trickle back into their hearts, some thing was already there—waiting patiently to hear their final screams.
Somewhere behind him in the distance a brass band seemed to play a faint, heavenly tune. The music in his mind turned ever more dissonant, swelling ever louder in a glacially slow crescendo like a distorted symphony by Charles Ives. No matter what was waiting for them ahead, there was no turning back....
* * * *
"What is that thing?"
Martin floated over and squinted at the tiny dark blur Katerina pointed out on the monitor. He shrugged. “I don't know. But it certainly wasn't there before we entered orbit."
His crewmate tapped on the keyboard secured in front of her. “Let me see if I can enhance it."
The set of cine images they'd just received from the high-resolution camera on the Mars Scout Orbiter froze into a still frame. Katerina zoomed in on the mysterious object and superimposed a calibration grid over the image. She said, “Whatever it is, it's big—about a hundred meters square. We'll have to get radar readings to see how tall it is, but it seems fairly flat.
"And it's about three kilometers south of our landing site."
Martin shook his head. “Somehow I doubt the fact it's appeared at that location is a coincidence."
He gently pushed himself toward the other side of the craft, peering down through a viewplate. A gibbous Mars wheeled slowly beneath them some four hundred kilometers away, its canals and narrow rivers glistening in the sunlight. Their soon-to-be landing site at 39o 8’ N and 84o 30’ W was nearly directly below, not far from towering Olympus Mons and the shore of the shallow Boreal Ocean. He squinted but couldn't spot the mystery object nearby.
Martin sighed. Soon it would be time to earn his pay. So far their mission had gone almost exactly as scripted. They roared off the launchpad into a cloudless cerulean sky, silently exulting as the view through the cabin window turned black and their bodies struggled against the restraints that kept them from floating free.
As their craft raced away from Earth, it was comforting to know that souvenirs of the home planet waited patiently for them at the other end of the journey. A fully fueled Mars ascent vehicle using the latest single-stage-to-orbit technology sat on the dusty plain near their landing site. That vehicle had used an aerobrake and parachute system similar to the one they would employ to land the habitation module that was their home for the next year.
When their sojourn on Mars was over, the ascent vehicle would blast them back into orbit. There it would rendezvous with the waiting Earth-return vehicle for the homeward trip to the Lunar South Polar base. After weeks of medical tests in quarantine to make sure they didn't harbor any alien pathogens acquired during their stay on Mars, they would finally get a hero and heroine's welcome on Earth.
But all that lay far ahead. After the exhilaration of the launch, the next two weeks of their flight were mostly routine, even boring. There were hours of exercise on the small treadmill, brief meals, and restless “nights” of dreamless sleep. Routine maintenance on their vessel, periodic communications with Earth, and observations of the rapidly waxing ruddy orb that was their destination filled most of their days.
The only real trouble they had during the flight was manmade. It happened during a press conference held a week before they reached Mars. The time delay between sending and receiving signals over millions of kilometers made holding real-time question and answer sessions difficult but doable. A minor TV news anchor, apparently interested in boosting his ratings, started with a seemingly innocent query about how they spent their free time in space.
Katerina replied, “We really don't have much free time. I like to read romance novels and books on philosophy, while Martin prefers science fiction. He also brought along a collection of old movies about Mars and Martians that he's wanted me to watch with him. I told him I'd do it if he let me play my classical music over the ship's intercom system. His tastes in music are strictly twenty-first century, but at least I'm getting him to tolerate my favorite twentieth century American and Russian composers. By the time we reach Mars, he'll be an expert on Hovhaness, Ives, and Shostakovich."
After a long delay they heard a snicker. “That sounds so intellectual. I'd expect a healthy young engaged couple like you to entertain each other in a more physical way. You two have been compared to the new Adam and Eve, and they were given a divine command to ‘be fruitful and multiply.’ Besides, everybody knows what goes on in those orbital motels—"
The transmission suddenly cut off, mercifully ended by some alert individual at Mission Control. Martin looked at Katerina. Her face was redder than the planet they were approaching. She muttered a furious stream of words in her native language that would have heated their idiotic interlocutor's ears if he'd heard them.
Martin discreetly said nothing. Learning foreign languages wasn't his forte, and he'd never been able to achieve more than a rudimentary ability to speak and read Russian. But he had enough imagination to translate what Katerina was saying into their pungent four-letter Anglo-Saxon equivalents.
She probably only felt insulted, while those snide insinuations about their personal lives only made him feel depressed. The embarrassing truth was that their love life was currently confined to handholding and an occasional chaste peck on the cheek. Katerina's religious beliefs were strong enough to keep her firmly virginal for now. He loved her too much to pressure her into doing anything she didn't want to do.
And there were pragmatic reasons for keeping their physical relationship nearly platonic for the time being. Whenever some lustful fantasy started to percolate up in his brain or elsewhere, all he had to do was remember those mandatory NASA “Thou shalt not!” lectures to squelch it. He recalled the bullet points all too well.
No form of birth control short of sterilization is 100 percent effective. A pregnancy on your mission would be a disaster. He couldn't argue with that. By necessity their medical training and resources were limited—enough to take care of the expected range of minor injuries and emergencies but not any obstetrical ones.
Your cumulative radiation exposure in deep space will be far less than on the six month—plus voyage to Mars originally planned in the last century. However, it is still great enough to temporarily damage your sperm cells and produce potentially serious mutations in offspring. It was some consolation that the family jewels would be at full health again several months after their time in space was over. But for now they had to stay in cold storage.
Someday, if you prove that Mars is a safe place to live, it will be natural and necessary for men and women to conceive and deliver the first babies born on a new world. But that time is not on this first mission. All right, he understood the difference between being an explorer and a colonist. Perhaps, if Katerina and he lived long enough, they could be both.
Remember that incident on the International Space Station in late 2020. People who seemed just as professional and competent as you let their sexual urges outweigh their judgment, with disastrous results. Hearing the details of that public relations fiasco and its terrible consequences for the individuals involved was a powerful warning for anyone wanting to stay in t
he space program.
Sometimes those cautionary sex-ed classes for space travelers seemed to border on the scare tactics he'd heard were once used in midtwentieth century high schools. Still, Martin was grateful to the person who gave those lectures. That well-respected physician had convinced the Russians to keep Katerina on this mission when they discovered she and Martin were engaged. The Russian Space Agency wanted to replace her, arguing that their personal feelings for each other might disrupt and endanger the mission.
The head of NASA's space medicine program used his considerable influence and reputation to dissuade the RSA. That cardiologist told its officials he trusted Katerina and her husband-to-be to act strictly like professionals on the mission. The Russians accepted his advice as authoritative. They knew that, on the subject of sex in space, no one had more expertise than Dr. Alexander Stone.
After their aborted press conference, Katerina seemed unusually moody. When Martin woke up from his next sleep period he found her in the science lab, praying in front of several flat colorful icons. They were attached by sticky magnetic strips on their backs to the metal door of the small locker where she stored her collection of books and personal items. Lively choral music played softly in the background as she floated in the lab, hair streaming behind her like an angel descending from heaven.
Katerina kissed the icon representing her namesake, the wise and persuasive Saint Catherine of Alexandria. Finally, after ritually using the first three fingers of her right hand to touch her forehead, breastbone, right shoulder, and left side, she finished her solitary ceremony.
Martin moved quietly toward her. “Are you all right?"
Katerina wheeled slowly around to face him. “I'm not sure."
His next question was an awkward attempt to change the subject. “I like that music you're playing. What is it?"
"Haydn's oratorio The Creation."
Katerina turned a troubled look toward him. “Martin, what if there aren't any aliens?"
"What do you mean? Planets don't change orbits and terraform on their own!"
"Of course not. But what if, instead of aliens, the power doing it is actually ... divine."
Martin rolled his eyes. “Don't tell me you're buying into what those crackpot religious groups were saying when we left—that what's happened to Mars and Venus is the ultimate proof of ‘Intelligent Design.’ The ‘Hand of God’ reaching down from Heaven and creating a new Eden or two for us. They're calling us the new Adam and Eve too. Not that I'd mind it too much if you didn't, but when I get to our Martian ‘paradise’ I intend to keep my clothes on. And it's a good thing I don't like apples!"
His smug smile disappeared. The glare on his crewmate's face told him he'd been too sarcastic with his skepticism.
Katerina floated away from him. “Don't be so pompous! If you don't believe in miracles, you won't recognize one when you see it! I think we probably will find aliens waiting for us on Mars. God almost never breaks the laws of nature He created, and He only does it then when it's for a very special reason.
"But perhaps God is using the aliens as His instruments to help us save ourselves. With all the terrible things we humans are doing to Earth and to each other, maybe we're being given a second chance to do things right. Colonizing Mars won't directly solve problems like war, global warming, or overpopulation. But, if we're careful, it can be a symbol of how humanity can work together and inspire us to be much better than we seem."
Martin lowered his voice diplomatically. “Well, if I'm willing to believe in aliens with godlike powers, maybe I shouldn't be so critical if you take it a step further and think a real deity is involved. And I agree that whatever happens when we get to Mars will be a turning point in history."
His eyebrows arched. “I can't believe I said that. It's a scary thought—that what the two of us do could make or break the human race."
His fiancée's eyes softened. She eased back toward him and planted a delicate kiss on his cheek. “Have a little faith, and I think we'll do all right..."
Her voice murmuring again beside him snapped him back to the present. Katerina said, “The radar readings are in on that ... artifact. There's no way to tell how far down it goes into the ground, but it's only about ten centimeters higher than the terrain around it."
She rubbed her chin. “Maybe it's a platform of some kind, or the top of a huge underground building. It's even big enough to be a landing pad for us or ... someone else."
Katerina sighed. “We'll see what the experts back home think about these images and readings, and what they want us to do. What do you think that structure down there is, Martin?"
He stared at the monitor uneasily.
"Let's hope it's a welcome mat."
* * * *
"Katerina!"
Martin tried to shout a warning to her as she veered toward the habitation module instead of the ascent vehicle. But his cry emerged as only a dry rasp from a throat parched from continuous exhausted running. He watched helplessly from a hundred meters away as she entered the module. His ears strained to hear her screams as he forced his body onward.
But even if he reached her side, what could he do to save her? They had no weapons, no means of defense. To creatures powerful enough to move planets, the effort needed to destroy a human body was minuscule. The lives of Katerina and him must be no more than motes of dust to such beings—too insignificant to be even noticed when those lives were brushed out of existence.
At least the two of them could die together—a tiny consolation, but the only one they might have...
* * * *
"Zubrin Base established. Habitat One, the first human dwelling on Mars, has landed!"
Martin unbuckled his restraining straps and waited excitedly for a few seconds as Katerina did the same. Wobbly from their first taste of near-normal gravity after three weeks, they hugged and kissed in a brief whirling dance around the cabin.
Finally remembering the wall-mounted surveillance camera transmitting their every action back to billions of people on Earth, they disengaged and resumed a semiprofessional demeanor. But before they did, Martin whispered in his fiancée's ear, “Won't that give the media something to write about!"
They quickly did a check of the habitation module's systems and looked for any signs of damage within the interior. The module, based on a classic design, was shaped like a large tin can about nine meters in diameter and five meters tall. It contained multiple wedge-shaped compartments on two decks, including a science lab, storage areas for food and equipment, and a communications center. A narrow central cylinder with small doorways and metal rungs allowed easy access to every section.
Then, as the world watched with nearly a minute's delay, the two of them prepared to step into history. After releasing several latches, Martin turned a small crank that made the external hatch pivot downward at its base. When its far end touched the ground the hatch served as a ramp allowing easy passage between the module, elevated a meter above the surface on multiple stubby landing legs, and the outside.
NASA and the Russian Space Agency had argued for months about which of their members should be the first to set foot on Mars. They couldn't agree whether the nation who'd first landed a craft on Mars or the one that had taken the first close-up pictures of the planet would have that honor. Neither wanted to risk a simple coin toss to decide.
Finally they chose the easiest method possible. At the count of three, with their arms locked, Martin and Katerina made a brief simultaneous jump from the far end of the ramp onto the surface. Together they both solemnly intoned their single scripted line.
"Humanity has a new home."
Then, their duty to their employers and posterity done, they reserved a mystical moment for themselves. Standing hand in hand on the rusty soil of Mars, they surveyed their surroundings with childlike wonder, soaking in its awesome sights. All around them in the brightening Martian dawn, across the panoramic rock-strewn ochre plain to a disorientingly close horizon, there w
as a solemn silence. No rustle of the wind through trees, no chirping of birds—it was as if they were the only worshipers in a great empty cathedral. A faint warm breeze, puffing gently like the bellows of an ancient organ, completed the sacred ambience.
It seemed fitting that the first spontaneous words by a human being standing on the surface of Mars should be a song of praise to the divine. A lilting soprano voice gently sang, “A new created world springs up at God's command."
The second extemporaneous sentence was scored for a considerably less melodic baritone. “What do you know, the air really does smell a little like violets and lavender!"
They completed their checklist of other scheduled tasks as quickly as possible. After shutting off the internal surveillance cameras to conserve power and visually inspecting the module's exterior, they trotted half a kilometer to the north where the Mars ascent vehicle rested. The once white exterior of the craft, shaped like a blunted cone pointing toward the heavens, was covered with a fine coating of reddish dust. Its outside hatch squeaked in a pitiful plea for lubrication as Martin entered the vehicle.
After temporarily powering up the main console, he quickly tested the craft's systems and checked the fuel pressure readings. Satisfied with the results, he emerged back into the sunlight and locked the hatch. He grinned when he saw Katerina. She was gazing dreamily at the horizon, her long hair rippling alluringly in the warm Martian breeze.
That gorgeous avatar of Dejah Thoris turned and smiled coyly at him. “I still can't believe we're really here. It's magical—like we're living in a fairy tale."
The expression of awestruck innocence on Katerina's face made Martin's heart ache with love for her. Then he shook himself back to reality. He grunted, “You're right, but let's not get too carried away. We still have a job to do."
Analog SFF, November 2007 Page 21
