Joe Haldeman - Marsbound

by Marsbound (v1. 0) [lit]

  Ishan Jhangiani appeared on the cube and looked at us. “No Martians yet?"

  "Red's on his way, Dr. Jhangiani. He said there was a message?"

  He nodded. “It started five or six minutes ago. We're recording—” His image suddenly dissolved in a shower of static, and the room lights flickered.

  Paul crouched instinctively. “Shit. What's that?"

  "Hello?” Jhangiani's voice came out of the swirling white noise. Then his image returned. “That was...” He inclined his head and touched an ear. “Oh my god ... do we have a picture?"

  The cube went black and then showed a familiar sight, the Hubble planetary camera's view of Neptune, an almost featureless blue ball accompanied by the tiny pale circle of Triton and specks of light that were Nereid and a couple of other small satellites.

  Then Triton exploded.

  The pale circle suddenly was a ball of intense white, that grew brighter and brighter, and then the screen went white with static.

  It darkened again and an unfamiliar voice said, “This is real time."

  The view was the same as before, but the dot of Triton was surrounded by a glowing circle, visibly expanding as we watched.

  Red was standing in the door. “What's happening?"

  "Maybe you can tell us,” Paul said. “The Other evidently did something interesting."

  Jhangiani came back into the cube. “That explosion reached a brightness of—27 magnitude. For a moment, it was slightly brighter than the Sun."

  "Forty times as far away,” Paul said. “So for a moment, it was putting out 1600 times as much energy as the Sun. How could it do that?"

  "Perhaps Red can tell us,” Jhangiani said. “This is the message it sent, a few words of English and then the slowed-down Martian.” He nodded at someone. “We've sped up the Martian for you."

  The David Brinkley voice again: “I monitor your news broadcasts, of course, and the most recent ones have forced me to make a decision. I am sorry. You already know too much.” Then there was about two minutes of accelerated Martian. And then static.

  Red didn't say anything. “What did it do?” Jhangiani asked.

  "It ... went home.” He hugged himself. “It may have literally returned to its home system. Or it died. The words could be the same. As if, if someone goes to Earth, he could be going to a planet or being buried.

  "On going home, it destroyed every trace of its technology that was on Triton. It didn't want to risk humans finding it and copying it."

  He paused and continued in a halting monotone. “It did this even in the knowledge that soon there will be no humans alive on Earth. The hundred on Mars will presumably live."

  I swallowed back bile. “What's it going to do, Red?"

  "It's already done.” He rocked back and forth. “I'm sorry. I swear I didn't know.” He shook his head.

  "Didn't know what, Red?” Oz said. “Is there anything we can do?"

  "I'm a time bomb. A Trojan Horse. The Other wanted me on Earth, or nearby, before it turned on the beacon that started all this. So that ... if things didn't work out, I could be forced to put an end to it."

  "How can that be?” Paul said. “Even if all your mass was turned into an explosion—"

  "I mass about a hundred kilograms. By em-cee-squared, that comes to nine times ten to the eighteenth joules. That's equivalent to twenty hundred-megaton nuclear weapons.

  "Earth could survive that, since we're 22,000 miles away from the surface. But fusion doesn't begin to describe the forces involved. Could fusion have accounted for the Triton explosion?"

  "I guess not?” Paul said. “No, of course not. Did it say how big ... how destructive you could be?"

  "Enough to boil away the ocean on the side of the globe we're facing. Blow off a lot of the atmosphere."

  "When?” I asked.

  "Days.” He shook his head. “Maybe two, maybe three.

  "The energy doesn't come from here. It's bleeding off a thing like a black hole in an adjacent universe. We've been using it domestically since we first came to Mars."

  "The mysterious power source for all the machines,” Oz said. “The light for the hydroponics."

  "I suppose. I knew nothing about it until today. But the Other says it had another thing like me on Triton, and it only drew off power for a couple of hours, concentrating it for the explosion. This will be orders of magnitude more."

  "With all due respect, Red,” Moonboy said, “we should lock you into the shuttle right now and fling you as far away as possible."

  Red agreed. “That might be the most practical course. Or you could kill me, or I could kill myself, in case the collection process requires me to be alive.

  "But the Other didn't say anything about either possibility. It could be that I would explode prematurely, automatically, if I died or left the vicinity of Little Mars."

  "Which might be desirable,” Sophie said, “if it caused an explosion with less force. We ... would die, but the Earth might be spared."

  Red nodded. “I can't say, one way or the other."

  I tried to listen with Dargo's skeptical ears. The Other might have been lying to him. Or Red might be lying to us. “It could just be a test,” I said. “The Other observing to see how we react to this extremity."

  "If it were a human or a Martian, I would say that was possible.” Red shook his head. “Not the Other. I don't think we have any hope in that direction. Moonboy is right; I should be sent away. But I don't know that I can go far enough in two days."

  "I have an idea,” Paul said. He licked his lips and stared straight ahead. “Let's put Red on the other side of the Moon. Get three thousand kilometers of solid rock between Earth and the explosion."

  "Ha ha. Perfect. I'll do it now."

  "You're not doing it yourself. You need a pilot."

  "Paul..."

  "We don't need the whole shuttle; just the Mars lander. We'll compute the right time for a slingshot transfer and have it blow the separation bolts. We do the transfer and I come in ass-backwards, kill velocity, look for a place I can land with skis."

  "It's suicide,” Moonboy said.

  "No, I can do it; plenty of smooth areas on Farside. I'll take a few weeks’ life support. If Red doesn't blow up, the Tsiolkovski will be coming in with a pilot next week. She can come get us."

  "You don't have to be aboard,” I said, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice. “You can pilot by VR."

  "Afraid not. No repeater satellites. Once I'm on the other side of the Moon, I'm out of contact with here. It's seat of the pants, just look and do. I'm confident I can land it."

  "And if you're wrong,” Red said, “we'll just crash. That might set off the explosion, or it might prevent it."

  "You're so cheerful,” I snapped.

  "We don't agree about death,” he said. We had argued about that, on Mars and here. He invoked the human philosopher Seneca, saying that he had not existed for 13.7 billion years and apparently enjoyed that state. One spark of a couple of centuries’ life, and he'd be back to not existing for some trillions of years and would enjoy it as much as the previous billions.

  "Which leads to a solution,” he said. “Paul, if we just set up the thing to crash on the other side of the Moon, we won't need a pilot. I'll just be the cargo. Dying is not so important to me."

  "Red, that's great! You don't have to be a fucking hero, Paul!"

  Paul didn't look at me, but he wasn't looking at anybody. When he spoke, it was like a class recitation: “Red, I appreciate it, but it's not a simple computation. The Mars lander was not built for this, and it will be out of touch for the most crucial phases."

  "So he crashes!" I said. “He just said—"

  "No. With one kind of mistake he crashes, but with most others he stays in orbit. It's not like dropping a ball. Things in orbit tend to stay in orbit, at least in the short term. And whenever he was not directly behind the Moon, he'd be the doomsday machine for Earth."

  "How long would the flight take?”
Oz asked.

  "I could get it down to a day and still have plenty of fuel for the landing maneuver."

  "We'd better get busy."

  "Can I ... could I come?"

  His face was completely still. “No. Darling. Minimum life support, maximum maneuverability.” He stepped toward me and took me in his arms.

  He whispered, speaking slowly and carefully. Only I could hear: “You know I am not so far away from Red with the death thing. I love you and will regret the years we would have had together—do miss them already—but at worst, in one instant I'll only be back to where I spent most of forever.

  "And we had a wonderful time while we had it. Better than most people get."

  I was crying and didn't try to say anything other than the obvious.

  * * * *

  11. Endings, beginnings

  In the last few hours neither Paul nor I brought up the possibility that nothing would happen and he would be back in a couple of weeks. As if talking about it might have jinxed us.

  Red did drop a hint, though, obliquely. I was waiting by the airlock that led to the shuttle, and he came walking up with a bundle tucked under a large and small arm. It was the gauzy tent he wore when he ventured out onto the surface of Mars.

  "Just for safety's sake,” he said. “You never know.” It would protect him for a couple of hours’ EVA or moonwalk, or keep him alive for a while if the shuttle's life support shut down.

  Paul came out of the airlock looking like a Space Force recruiting cubeshot, gleaming white spacesuit. He had shaved his head and had feelie contacts pasted on his skull.

  I was composed. Oz had given me a couple of slap-on tranquilizers, but I wanted to hold off on them until after the launch.

  Paul put his helmet down and swept me up in an armored hug. That was not exactly the way I wanted to remember his body, hidden behind bulletproof plastic. But I could imagine what was underneath.

  "You remember the day we met,” I said, “throwing a pebble at the iguana?"

  He smiled. “Yeah."

  "Think you can manage to hit the Moon?"

  "It's a lot bigger.” He gave me a last hard kiss and stepped back. No good-bye or see you. Just a long intent look and then he picked up his helmet and went through the airlock.

  When it closed, I put one of the patches on my wrist. When the reverberating bang meant they had launched, I slapped on the second.

  We had saved one bottle of the imported Bordeaux for some future celebration. I held it for a long time, remembering. But then I put it back and went down to the mess and made a glass of grape juice laced with ethanol.

  I carried the drink up to Earth A, where almost everyone else was gathered. I almost wished they had let Dargo out to watch the consequences of her judgment. But I would probably have said something or done something I'd later regret. If there was a later.

  The Hubble showed the little ship drifting along in the bright sunlight, occasional background stars going by unhurriedly. Paul talked with technical people here and on Earth, and Red kept up a constant monologue. Fly-in-Amber said it was all apparently in Red's own language, a message for his successor. Or perhaps for the Others, eventually.

  The alcohol and drugs made me very sleepy. I ate a hamburger because I knew I had to have something and then went up to my quarters and slept dreamlessly for twenty hours.

  I awoke to my own timer, the phone, and the computer screen all buzzing and pinging. I turned them all off, knowing what they meant, and went to the head. Splashed water on my face and jerked a comb through my hair and went up to Earth A.

  They weren't using the Hubble, because the Moon is too bright for it to focus on. Oz said it was a telescope in Hawaii. It showed the Mars lander as a small cylindrical shape, moving toward the limb of the Moon. I knew it would be decelerating, but you couldn't tell by looking.

  Paul's voice was suddenly loud. “We'll be making planetfall, moonfall I guess, in about twenty-two minutes. Twenty-one. Lose radio contact in less than a minute."

  The image of the ship and the Moon's limb were almost touching. “Hmm ... I don't have any last words. ‘Crash’ Collins signing off. Hope this works. Dargo, I'll see you in Hell. Darling ... darling ... good..."

  Well, at least Dargo would get all of her message, even if mine required a little imagination. Josie came up and held me from one side, and Meryl from the other.

  Meryl sobbed. “People won't know he already had the nickname."

  The view shifted to earthside, the nearly full moon high over a placid ocean. Maybe it was from the Hawaiian mountaintop where the observatory was.

  After what seemed a lot longer than twenty minutes, a voice from the cube said, “One minute to touchdown."

  We held our breath for a minute. Then another minute. We didn't know what to expect.

  After twenty minutes or so, people started drifting away, back to their quarters or down to the mess, or just to wander.

  For some reason I kept staring at the moon, maybe wishing I was there in Hawaii, maybe not thinking anything much—whatever, I was one of the few people actually watching when it happened.

  At first there was just a faint glow surrounding the moon, as if a wispy cloud had moved in front of it. Then it was suddenly dramatic.

  People who have seen total solar eclipses say it was like that, but more so. A brilliant nimbus of pearly light spread across half the sky, the full moon suddenly a black circle in the middle, dark by contrast.

  A crackle of static and a human voice. “Holy shit. That was close.” Paul!

  * * * *

  It was Red who had suggested the plan, which was probably not something a sane space pilot would have come up with.

  After touchdown, when he was careening along on skis trying not to live up to his nickname, he should look for an area that was locally “uphill.” Try to stop with the lander pointed at least slightly skyward. Then Red would get off, stand clear, and Paul could hit full throttle—get over the horizon and try to make orbit. When he disappeared from sight, Red would measure off ten minutes and then open his suit and die. That would give Paul time to make orbit. But not so much time that he would go completely around and be over Red when he died.

  The supposition that Red's death would trigger the explosion turned out to be a good guess.

  It was a combination of luck and skill. He could steer to a certain extent with the skis, and so when he had almost slowed to nothing, he aimed for the slope of some small nameless crater. When he slid to a stop, he was pointing about fifteen degrees uphill, with nothing in the way.

  Red was already wearing his gauzy suit. He cycled through the airlock and picked his way down the crater side. As soon as he said he was clear, Paul goosed it. Once over the horizon, he tweaked the attitude so he got into a low lunar orbit and waited.

  When it blew he was almost blinded by sparkles in his eyes, gamma rays rushing through, and he had a sudden feverish heat all over his body. Behind him, he could see the glow of vaporized lunar material being blasted into the sky.

  That little crater that saved him really earned the right to a name. But it had boiled completely away, along with everything else for hundreds of kilometers, and in its place was a perfectly circular hole bigger than Tsiolkovski, previously the largest crater.

  I thought they should name it Crash.

  * * * *

  So every January first we present a petition for lifting the quarantine, and every year our case is not strong enough. But now there's a Space Elevator on Mars, so there's a lot of pretty cheap travel back and forth within the quarantine. After five years on New Mars we went back, and it was good to have a planet beneath your feet—and over your head as well.

  Oz invented a Church of Holy Rational Weirdness so that he could marry me with Paul and not offend any of our sensibilities. I was pregnant and thought there were already too many bastards on Mars.

  My first was a girl, and I named her after her grandmother, so I could see her smile. Her middle name is
Mayfly, and I hope she lives forever. The second, with the same middle name, was a boy.

  People who don't know us might wonder why a kid with jet-black hair would be named Red.

  Copyright (c) 2008 Joe Haldeman