Boundary b-1

by Eric Flint

  Jackie was just as discouraged. The problem wasn't getting something to deorbit. Gupta's original idea was sound enough, in that respect. They could unship one of the ion drives on the habitat ring and use its small but steady thrust to drop just about anything out of orbit in a few days.

  The problem was the actual reentry-more precisely, surviving the impact with the ground. Parachutes were just not all that useful. They'd provide some deceleration, of course, but not nearly enough. The thickness of the Martian atmosphere was less than two percent that of Earth's.

  True, most of what they intended to drop wasn't particularly sensitive to shock. But there was still a difference between an impact at twenty kilometers per hour and one at four hundred KPH. A critical difference, generally known as "crash and burn."

  "What about reentry itself? How's the design there?"

  Gupta's dark eyes brightened. "There we are in excellent shape. The simulations show that we have sufficient materials to make some quite large aeroshells, especially if we sacrifice some of the aerogel insulation to this important project."

  "That's no problem," Jackie said, nodding. "Take it from the right places and we'll hardly notice. When you say 'quite large,' are you sure…"

  "Very sure."

  "Okay, just checking. I mean, we're not dropping a little rover onto the surface. We need to send them stuff measured in tons."

  "I am aware that I am old and perhaps appear decrepit in your eyes, Ms. Secord, but I do not forget such simple points." Gupta's words were grave, but there was a spark of humor in his eyes.

  Jackie smiled. "You're not all that old, Satya. And don't forget that young little me with the still-perfect neurons is the one who forgot the difference between white pipes and yellow pipes."

  She turned back to the simulations. "Damn. It all comes down to. .. well, to coming down. We can get it out of orbit, and get it through the atmosphere, but we can't land it intact. Are you sure the rockets won't work?"

  "No, I am not sure. But that is precisely the problem. They may work well. However, they may fail at some point, and if they fail at the wrong point…" He sighed. "I can guarantee a firing of a simple rocket for a short time, but this will not be so simple. There will not be time for extensive testing; perhaps only one, very small, preliminary design to be test-landed before we must land the supplies for real. A vehicle to be landed by rocket needs fine control, especially if we have no time for long prototyping. But we lack the resources of people and materiel to, as one might say, throw money at the problem, and if that control fails…"

  "Yeah. Maybe we need to put in another call to Earth, bounce some ideas off of them, see what they…" She trailed off.

  A poke brought her back to awareness. "Jackie? What is it? You stopped talking. Have you an idea?"

  "Almost, I think. But I'm trying to figure out what it is."

  What was it? Something about what I just said. Talk to other people. Bounce ideas off them Bounce?

  The idea was at once so obvious and absurd that she burst out laughing. "I've got it, Doctor! It'll take a lot of the lining fabric in some of the holds, a hell of a lot of sealant, some carbonan reinforcement- probably have to rip some suits up for it-but we can do it!"

  Gupta looked at her, one eyebrow raised in an expression of expectant amusement. "And, what, precisely, is it that we can do?"

  "The third Titan probe! And what was it, um, Mars Surveyor? Cosmic bubblewrap, Doctor! We'll surround the thing with airbags and bounce it to a safe landing!"

  The dignified engineer stared at her for a long moment. Then, startlingly, gave a high-pitched whoop and swung her around. "Yes! Yes indeed, yes! That is exactly the sort of thing we need! Design it well, design it strong, and it almost cannot fail. With a few rocketsof the simple sort-yes, Jackie! That will work!"

  "Defacing the environment of Mars, sure enough," Joe stated, with all the grim satisfaction of a Cassandra. "I now have proof that we are conscienceless exploiters of this helpless planet."

  Madeline smiled. "I demand to see your evidence, tree-hugger."

  "Behold, o closet robber-baron." Her HUD lit up with images from Thoat's rear-facing cameras.

  "Oh, wow," she said involuntarily. Thoat was crossing a flat area that looked dark gray from ground level, making its closest approach to the looming wall of the Valles Marineris. The cliffs here jutted out in a spur that Thoat had to skirt on its way to Target 37. The great towering ridge, scarcely a kilometer distant, threw back the sun's light diffusely, making the entire region brighter except for the dark sands.

  But where Thoat's wide-treaded wheels had dug in, bright salmon-red-orange ridges and scalloped lines marred the ground. "Wow," she repeated.

  "Interesting," Helen said. "That dark stuff is just a thin coating on the surface, it looks like. Maybe airborne dust from something else?"

  "Or there could be alternating layers-maybe seasonal."

  "True. Maybe the next expedition-you know, one that doesn't crash-will be able to look at it and figure it out."

  "I'm sure there will be a lot of expeditions," Madeline said. She looked out the forward port. As usual, Bruce was driving, focusing most of his attention on the nearby features so as not to run into any surprises.

  She raised her gaze, looking farther out. "What is that?"

  The others looked up.

  "Bugger me," Bruce said calmly.

  A towering yellowish column swirled in the distance, huge, misty, threatening. As they watched, they could see it was approaching. Dust roiled about its base.

  "That looks like a tornado!" The tension in Helen's voice was that of someone who had more than once found themselves in Tornado Alley during peak season.

  "Sort of," A.J. said, his eyes viewing the scene through satellite and sensors. "It's a dust devil. Peak wind speed of this one appears to be about one hundred and eighty kilometers per hour, and she's about five kilometers high."

  "A hundred and eighty kilometers per hour?" Bruce said. "Bloody hell."

  Madeline felt the same way. Winds that fast could Both Joe and A.J. started laughing.

  "What the hell's so funny?" Bruce demanded. Madeline glared questioningly at the two former Ares members-then at Rich, as he joined in the laughs. All of a sudden, Bruce started laughing also.

  Madeline looked at Helen. "Maybe it's a male thing. You know, driving toward certain death? Like their idiot ancestors used to charge into battle naked, to show they weren't afraid."

  That caused A.J., who had been about to say something, to laugh again. "Sorry, sorry, but-look, we're on Mars. The air pressure out there is less than a fiftieth of Earth's. That's how dense-or thin, rather-it is compared to our atmosphere. And it's how dense a fluid material is that really determines how hard it's going to hit you. Look at water: if you immerse yourself in water and even weigh yourself down with lead, just try standing against a current of a few kilometers an hour."

  "Oh." Madeline felt foolish. She had a vague memory of reading something about this in one of the dozens of books and papers she'd studied during their training for the mission.

  Helen stared out the port. "So what you're saying is that you could walk right out there into that thing and it'd feel like being in

  … "

  Joe did the calculations for her. "About a sixteen kilometer per hour wind back home. A nice breeze, and that's about it. With a bunch of dust."

  "So it's no threat?"

  "None at all, not to Thoat. In fact, we should have all our sensors going as we drive through it. Might learn something. Though I'd slow down a bit in the fog."

  "Don't need to teach me my business, mate. I don't drive faster when I can see less, rest assured."

  Madeline still felt an involuntary tension as the swirling vortex approached. Towering as high as the canyon walls and spinning at over a hundred miles per hour, it did not seem harmless at all but a looming, elemental threat.

  Then Thoat was plunging into the maelstrom. She thought she felt a faint vib
ration, and there was a slight hissing noise. But aside from the sight of the dirty yellowish haze streaming by and obscuring their normal vision, the huge rover simply ignored the formidable-looking dust devil.

  A faint, almost subliminal flicker made her jump. "What's that?"

  Bruce and A.J. leaned forward. "Hey! That's cool." Deep purplish light shimmered, barely at the level of visibility, on the few sharper edges on Thoat's nose. The violet light brightened and seemed to leap from one of the short sensor antennas toward the ground several times.

  "Cool, fine, but what is it, and is it dangerous?" Madeline was a bit nettled by the uninformative reaction. Her instinct was that anything you didn't understand could be dangerous, so you needed to understand it fast.

  "Corona discharge," Joe answered. "Mars' atmosphere is almost as thin as the pressure inside a neon light tube. Close enough that if you build up electrical charges, they'll jump long distances. It's not dangerous to us, though. The rover's insulated, and when you go through the lock those handgrips you're required to hold make sure that if you did build up a charge outside, it gets equalized. But it could be a pain in other ways. Also might give us some other phenomena to see later."

  Momentarily they broke back into sunlight, looking up at a slice of bright pinkish sky surrounded by the spinning sand clouds. Madeline was not the only one to exhale in relief.

  Somewhere in the middle of that, without her remembering having done so, she discovered that her hand was holding Joe's. It was the first time there'd ever been any physical contact between them in public. Even in private, there hadn't been much, since their reconciliation. For reasons that were still obscure to her, Madeline had not been willing to move quickly, in that regard.

  Fortunately, Joe hadn't pushed the issue. Madeline wasn't sure why, since it certainly wasn't a lack of sexual attraction. As the days had passed and she'd gotten to know him better, she'd decided that the explanation was very simple. Joe was smart enough to know that he wasn't smart about things like that, so he was willing to let her take the lead and set the pace.

  She felt very warm, for a moment, and gave Joe's hand a squeeze.

  Then they reentered the storm.

  "It sure looks impressive," A.J. said. "But it's just a bunch of hot air."

  Helen slapped him playfully.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to shock you. I was just trying to make a comment about current events."

  "Okay, that's enough," Joe said sternly. "Give him his discharge."

  Madeline snatched her hand away. "God help us! Helen, we're doomed. Months of this, we're facing! Their jokes were bad enough, but now-puns, too?" She almost wailed the last two words.

  Helen shook her head gloomily. "I know. We'll just have to breeze through it."

  Ignoring the aghast look on Madeline's face, the paleontologist leaned forward and asked Bruce: "How far have we got to go?"

  "We're in the home stretch, luv. Judging from the maps and all, we've got about fifty klicks left and we're knocking on the front door."

  "So we'll be there sometime tomorrow?"

  "Right around six, local time."

  "Then day after tomorrow we'll be looking for the base."

  "As long as we don't get in any more trouble. Keep your fingers crossed."

  Madeline almost did cross her fingers, even though she was generally even more sarcastic about superstition than Helen was. But there really wasn't any reason to do so, that she could see, even if she were so inclined. Since their desperate juggling of rockets and fuel back at Pirate, they hadn't encountered any significant problems. The accurate intelligence from both ground and orbital sensors allowed Bruce to follow a carefully plotted course with minimal major obstacles. All he had to do was make sure he didn't run them into a gully or a too-big rock, and he was more than good enough to manage that even on the slightly hairier parts of the trip so far.

  She decided a celebration was in order. "Then I say if we do make it all intact, we open one of Joe's special dinners and throw ourselves a party. It's been one hell of a trip, and we're going to be living pretty frugally for the next few months."

  "I'm up for that," Joe agreed cheerfully. He took advantage of the thaw to snaggle Madeline's hand back.

  His concussion had apparently had no lasting effects, fortunately. He no longer suffered from excessive sleepiness or dizziness, and the leg was already showing some signs of healing. Dr. Wu was a bit concerned about how strong the bone would wind up being, since it would be healing in one-third gravity throughout. But, obviously, there wasn't anything that could be done about that. At least Joe would be contributing to science in the process, being the first human bone injury healing in low gravity conditions.

  "I think that's got a unanimous 'yes' vote coming, Madeline," A.J. said. "Especially from those of us who're going to be working lots of overtime."

  "Then put it on your social calendars. First official rest day on Mars."

  "I hope I can find a date."

  "Oy, don't taunt those of us who know we won't get one," grumbled Bruce.

  "Don't complain; you're a flyboy. Your problem's trying to get away from them."

  "Right. Tell that to Tammy, would you? Make sure you do so from a distance. She throws a mean skillet."

  A couple of hours later, darkness forced Bruce to stop for the night, still not far from the kilometers-high wall of the Valles Marineris. "Time for a bit of dinner, and then the last run tomorrow."

  Joe distributed their strictly limited rations-enough to live on, not enough to get full on-and they ate. Madeline was deliberately slow in her eating. She wanted to give her body the maximum chance to realize that, yes, it really was getting fed, even if it wasn't getting as much as she'd like.

  Joe had finished already and was looking out the south-facing port. Suddenly, he stiffened. "Hey, Bruce, kill the lights."

  "Why? What's up, mate?"

  "Just do it."

  A chill ran down Madeline's spine. What did he see? There couldn't be anything out there that cared about lights.

  Could there?

  Reflexively, the hand she still had free went to where, in times past, she'd have kept a gun.

  If she had one now, which she didn't-and a fat lot of good it would do even if she did. Was she going to shoot through the port, with nothing out there but very, very thin air, almost all of it carbon dioxide?

  The lights went out and they were plunged into pitch blackness, only a faint glow to the west marking where the sun had gone down.

  "What is it, Joe? What'd you see?" A. J. demanded. The tone of his voice showed that he, too, found the situation unsettling. "There's nothing out there!"

  "Not quite. Take a look."

  As her eyes adapted to the darkness, Madeline suddenly realized that it was not totally dark through the port. A phantom glow shimmered in the distance; then, seemed to move toward them.

  "Holy…" she breathed, and heard some of the others mutter something similar.

  "What the hell is it?" asked Helen tensely.

  But Joe's answer seemed simply fascinated. "Look carefully."

  Now Madeline could see several glows, like immensely tall distant columns, flickering faintly with a violet radiance.

  Violet…?

  "It's like the dust devil. But what's moving at this time of night?"

  There was a sound of a hand smacking a forehead. "Dust falls! Of course! Dammit, Joe, don't scare us like that!"

  Now that A.J. had named it, Madeline could see that the motion wasn't really toward them. That had just been an optical illusion, partly brought on by nervousness. Instead, it was a downward flow; a gentle and impossibly slow water-falling motion.

  "A.J., if you let your imagination run away with you, I can't help it. There's nothing alive on Mars. Well, maybe some bacteria somewhere, but that's it. The dust falls through the air and picks up charge just like we did, and discharges it during the fall. No ghosts involved, just physics."

  Joe's voice suddenly droppe
d an octave. "Although… There is the legend of Old Bemmie, who wanders these canyons in search of his missing tentacles…"

  Children. That's what they are, overgrown children. Why am I falling in love with him? Why is Helen in love with that other juvenile delinquent?

  Finding no logical answer, she sighed and continued staring out at the ethereal glow in the distance.

  "Not ghosts," she said. "Fairies."

  "That's a good name," A.J. said, seriously. "The Faerie Falls of Mars."

  "Logged," Bruce said a moment later. "First tourist attraction to take anyone to see, I'd say. A beauty, that is."

  They watched for a while in silence, as Mars put on a show for its first visitors in sixty-five million years.

  Eric Flint Ryk E. Spoor

  Boundary

  Chapter 46

  They arrived in the vicinity of Target 37 right around the time Bruce predicted, but the next several days had to be devoted to unloading the rover and setting up a base camp before they could even think about searching for the alien ruins. The most pressing business was to bury the extra fuel tank they'd brought from Pirate in order to provide the container with insulation and keep leakage down. They'd probably lose some of the fuel to outgassing, no matter what they did, but this way the loss would be minimal.

  Once the fuel was hooked up to Thoat's generators, they were assured of months of refrigeration and compression. Hopefully, they'd be rescued before they had to return to Pirate for more fuel.

  Even more hopefully, the extra fuel they'd brought from Pirate would never be needed at all, much less a return trip to the lander. It would simply remain there as an emergency backup. As soon as the fuel tank was buried, they started setting up the most critical pieces of equipment they'd been carrying in the rover-the reactors initially developed by Ares Project which would use Martian raw materials to manufacture the water and oxygen they'd need, along with providing them with a self-sustaining fuel supply in the form of methane.

  The reactors they'd brought with them, of course, were considerably more sophisticated-not to mention expensive-than the "Ruth, Ferris, Porky, and Ethyl" prototypes originally built by Project Ares. After NASA had more or less absorbed Ares into the drive to reach Mars as soon as possible, the powers that be at NASA had wisely decided to simply adopt Ares' designs rather than start from scratch. But, with the money NASA had available to throw at the problem, by the time Nike left orbit the reactors it carried on board were at least three generations more advanced than the originals.