“I think it’s time,” said Steve.
Clive went up to the porthole and began peering into the darkness, holding his palms to his head like blinkers so that the internal lighting would not make it impossible for him to see anything outside.
“Yes, it’s probably time,” he agreed.
Steve got up and went over to his harrier. He sat on it and switched on the ignition. The instrument panel lit up, showing many parameters on the screen. Clive followed his example and sat, lowering the visor of his spacesuit.
“Testing, testing, how do you read me?”
“Reading you loud and clear.”
The comms were excellent quality, as if Clive were speaking directly into Steve’s ear.
“Then let’s go.”
Clive started up the harrier and gave a command to the onboard computer to let him out of the ship. The hatch under the harrier opened, and Clive jumped out. Steve followed him. Although the force of gravity was much weaker than on Earth, Steve had not expected simply to be thrown out of the belly of the ship along with his harrier.
“Wooooow!” exclaimed Steve, when the harrier gently came to rest half a metre above the ground.
“Are you OK?” asked Clive. There was a hint of mockery in his voice.
Steve’s heart had briefly fallen into his boots, but all the same, he managed to give his voice a carefree intonation.
“Just like on a roller-coaster,” Steve replied nonchalantly.
The ship’s hatches closed slowly, and the light which had been coming from the cargo compartment disappeared as they did so. It became completely dark. After the bright illumination inside the ship, Steve could barely make out Clive, sitting on his harrier. Steve switched on the night vision. The whole desert was visible, looking less attractive than ever. Although the planet’s reddish light was quite gloomy, it did at least add a little variety.
Clive raised his right hand with his thumb sticking up to show that he was OK, indicated the direction of their route with a gesture, and tore off towards the mountains. Steve moved in behind him about fifty metres back, a little to one side, in accordance with best military practice. Or that was what Steve thought, anyway. He began to like playing at spies, acting under cover. When you have something to keep you busy, you soon stop paying attention to the depressing landscape, and your spirits rise.
They had to cover about twenty kilometres through the Martian desert to reach the foothills of the mountains round the crater they wanted. They travelled without lights, using only the night vision instruments. The image was clear although it was not in colour. The spacesuits had a special beacon radiating in the infrared band, so that Steve and Clive could see each other quite clearly, even from a great distance and through the dust raised by their harriers.
The harrier was rather like the old-fashioned motorcycles, and was intended for moving over rough country. Small irregularities and stones were no obstacle to the harrier. Using ventral jets, harriers glided over the surface of the planet at an ‘altitude’ of half a metre. The turbines used atmospheric gas as the working mass to create thrust, sucking it in from outside, ionising it inside and accelerating it to tremendous speeds by means of a strong magnetic field. The plasma ejected created sufficient thrust to keep the harrier and its driver, one passenger and their baggage in the air.
There was an additional turbine at the rear to provide horizontal acceleration. It had special flaps to provide reverse thrust. Steering was done by jets located in the nose. Although they were something like a vertical takeoff aircraft, harriers could not climb any higher than one metre, since they used the ground as a landmark. At greater heights, they became unstable and difficult to control.
It was a simple and reliable means of transport, and could move at virtually any speed, limited only by what the driver sitting on it could stand. The atmosphere of Mars was very rarefied compared with that of Earth, so a headwind was less of a problem.
Steve and Clive shot across the desert at a good hundred kilometres per hour. The sun had already set and bright stars could be seen in the sky. Steve was the first to notice its unusual beauty. Putting on a bit of speed, he drew level with Clive and gestured towards the sky. Clive was absolutely indifferent to all forms of romanticism, with one great exception: astronomy and everything connected with it. Without losing speed, Clive looked in the indicated direction. There was no great difference in comparison with the Earth’s sky, except that the Moon was not there. It was harder to find Venus and Mercury, they were much less bright; but most importantly, there on the horizon was Earth. Clive found it immediately. Looking alternately at it and at the road, he admired it for some time.
“There’s our home, Steve,” said Clive, pointing to the sky.
Steve nodded. Who knows, would he be able to say the same a year from now? Steve was filled with unpleasant forebodings. Perhaps the Earth was already not theirs, but they just didn’t know it? Perhaps the mechanism had already been started and all they could do was watch the countdown? What did the Mayas feel the first time they saw the sails of Spanish ships off their shores? Perhaps we too are looking through our telescopes at this mysterious object in orbit round Jupiter, and do not understand that our days are numbered. Steve shook his head, as if in that way he could shake off these unpleasant thoughts. Surprisingly, this seemed to help.
A short while later they were standing at the foot of the mountains, considering what to do next.
“Well, what do you think, shall we try to get there on the harriers?” proposed Clive.
“Let’s try it, it’s a fairly shallow rise,” replied Steve.
“OK then, you try it first.”
Steve increased the thrust and tried to start up the slope, leaving Clive to observe from the bottom. As soon as he started to climb, a river of small stones rolled down the slope, raising vast clouds of dust.
“Stop, Steve, stop!” shouted Clive, as if it were necessary to shout.
“What’s up?”
“You’re creating such a landslide, they can probably see us from orbit. It’s no good, we’ll have to go on foot.”
Steve turned the harrier round and came down the slope. The dust was really way too much. He switched off the harrier and reluctantly slid off it.
“Ok, let’s get going on foot,” he said to Clive.
The slope of the mountain was quite shallow, and with the lower Martian gravity, it didn’t cause them much difficulty. All the same, Steve and Clive were fairly exhausted by the time they reached the crest of the mountains. Sweat was pouring off them, but the spacesuit coped splendidly with the acclimatisation of the microclimate. Their underwear was only slightly damp, and they only had to wait a minute for it to dry out.
Hiding behind the nearest boulder and taking up a convenient position for observation, they both lay down. The inside of the crater lay before them plain to see. The mountains round the perimeter not only formed a natural barrier providing protection against dust and storms, but with their numerous irregularities, created many opportunities for concealed observation.
Inside the crater, everything looked deserted and lifeless.
“Not much traffic is there, for such a big warehouse,” remarked Steve.
The artificial illumination was switched off. Steve got out his binoculars and peered through the lenses. He looked at one sector for several seconds, then went on to another, froze, moved on to the next place... It didn’t take him very long. In less than a minute he understood the situation. He lowered the binoculars.
“It’s all empty,” was all he said.
“What, completely?” asked Clive, taking the binoculars from Steve’s hands and applying the visor of his helmet to the lenses.
“See for yourself.”
Clive took even less time to become convinced that Steve was right.
“Hell! All that effort, and in vain. We could have simply flown over the crater and everything would have been clear,” said Steve, with obvious regret in his voice.
“What now, shall we go back to the ship? Damn!” swore Clive.
Steve drew himself up to his full height. There was no more need for concealment, the warehouse was empty and lifeless.
He kicked the nearest stone as hard as he could. It rolled down the slope, describing high arcs because of the low force of gravity.
“Help me up, Steve,” said Clive.
Steve, laughing, stretched out his hand to Clive.
“What, is your pot belly upsetting your balance?” asked Steve with a laugh.
“Get away, Steve,” growled Clive, without malice, smiling at Steve’s joke.
They got up and set off down the slope. As they were descending, it seemed to Steve that there was some sort of creeping about going on at the foot, where they had left their harriers. He tugged Clive’s sleeve, making him stop.
“Did you see it?” asked Steve.
“Yes, I thought so,” replied Clive.
They exchanged glances. Steve raised the binoculars. Several figures were moving about round the harriers.
Steve instinctively sat down, pulling Clive down with him. They crept to the nearest projection and hid behind it. Steve switched off his space suit radio, and without waiting for Clive to do the same, switched his off too. He indicated with gestures that they should go over to the laser communication channel, so as not to break radio silence.
The laser channel used a narrow directional beam, which targeted the contact partner’s receiver and had the advantage of being virtually unnoticeable to anyone else, particularly if they were some distance away.
“I saw someone at our harriers,” reported Steve.
“Who was it?” asked Clive. He sounded frightened.
“How should I know, they weren’t holding name plates,” replied Steve, frustrated by such a naïve question.
“Do you think they were military? Tracking us?”
“No, they didn’t look like the military.”
“Then who?”
“God knows. Maybe robbers.”
“Robbers?” repeated Clive in horror. It was clear from the image on the internal display of his spacesuit that Clive’s heart had dropped into his boots.
The people working on the surface or in the mines of Mars often told tales of robbers roaming the planet and robbing the automatic transporters. Sometimes, usually after too much to drink, someone would remember that someone of his acquaintance knew of a case in which robbers had attacked people too. But they were most likely just fairytales. Steve and Clive had heard such tales more than once at parties in the university, but these stories were just ridiculed. The robbers were only tall stories, like the Loch Ness monster. But now, sitting in the middle of the Martian desert at night, they didn’t feel at all like laughing.
Seeing Clive’s eyes widen in horror, Steve was alarmed too. He also felt ill at ease.
He knew that fear was contagious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Fear is concealed in the uttermost depths of the human brain. It is one of the most primary and fundamental emotions, embedded in the lowest level of the subconscious, and as such is not subordinate to the younger, logical centres of the brain.
The robbers were probably hanging around nearby because there was a warehouse there. In principle, they could only be looking for things with cash value, so they had absolutely no need to do any harm to Steve or Clive. At least, that was what Steve tried to persuade himself, in an attempt to suppress his fear. But on the other hand, it was night now, they were in the middle of the desert, there wasn’t another living soul for thousands of kilometres around them, so who could tell what these robbers might take it into their heads to do?
“Are you in contact with the ship?” asked Steve.
“I’ll check right now.”
Clive began feverishly trying to establish contact.
“We have contact,” he said after some time, “but the signal is very weak and keeps breaking off. We’ll have to climb back to the ridge. It ought to be better there. Do you want to call it up by remote control?”
“Look, the ship is quite a long way from here. It can’t be seen from the ground, not from where the robbers are. You take a bit of a diversion with the ship, fly round us at a distance, below the horizon, and come in from the other side of the crater. Then pretty soon it will be hovering over us, we can jump into it, and by the time the robbers realise what’s going on we shall be a long way away,” proposed Steve.
“I can’t approach silently, they’ll notice the ship as soon as it appears above the horizon,” objected Clive.
“Firstly, they’re at the foot of the crater, the mountains will block their view...” replied Steve.
“They’re probably in groups, watching the sky in case the military or the police turn up,” interrupted Clive.
“And secondly,” continued Steve, as if not having heard Clive’s objection, “the ship might alarm them, so the first thing they’ll do when they see it is to get the hell out of there.”
“Do you think they can tell a military ship from a civil one?”
“Clive, you’re freaking me out. Shut up and do as I tell you.”
Steve was fed up to the back teeth with this typical response from Clive about what problems would arise and why this plan would not work. He understood all these things himself, but sometimes you just had to act instinctively.
Clive obediently shut up.
“We have to get to the ridge. From here I can barely transmit the flight trajectory parameters, I’m losing contact all the time,” he said after a short pause.
“Then let’s go!” answered Steve.
In a semi-crouch position, they hurried up the slope. However hard they tried to avoid it, each step caused a flow of gravel to run down the mountain. It was lucky for them that they hadn’t got too far down before they noticed the robbers. There was hardly any distance left to the ridge. Stopping behind the next rock, they got their breath back. Clive checked the contact.
“OK, here the signal is strong enough to transmit the flight mission,” he said to Steve, who nodded.
“Remote control is online; I’m setting the flight parameters.”
“Don’t forget the ship has to fly at minimum altitude. We don’t want them to see us till as late as possible. And switch off the navigation lights,” Steve reminded him.
Clive was totally absorbed in his work. Meanwhile, Steve cautiously peered out from behind the boulder and got out the binoculars to look at the place where they had left the harriers. There were more robbers now, Steve counted four of them. They had moved a little way away from the harriers, and were obviously discussing something.
Steve turned the binoculars away from them and began studying the surrounding area. He couldn’t see any group left on guard, as Clive had suggested. Perhaps there was no guard. Or perhaps at that very moment, hidden somewhere, a guard was observing Steve through binoculars. Or a telescopic sight.
This thought made Steve feel ill. Without making any sharp movements, he crawled back behind the rock. After thinking for a bit, Steve put the binoculars aside, disconnected the camera from his helmet and put it on the rock so that it was looking towards the harriers. Now he could see what was going on without risk of being seen. Without the binoculars, the robbers could only be seen from afar, without detail, but Steve could still easily see all four of them.
“How’s it going with you?” he asked Clive.
“I’m working on it,” answered Clive curtly, and began dictating the flight parameters.
“Minimum approach distance in fly-by, twenty-five kilometres. At end of trajectory prepare to receive personnel,” Clive rapped out like a true navigator. “Maximum permissible acceleration... how much, Steve?”
“Tell it maximum.”
“OK. Maximum thrust. Permissible acceleration up to technical limitations,” Clive commanded the ship.
Having received the flight parameters, the Falcon’s onboard computer, a good twenty kilometres away, instantly simulat
ed the landscape along the forthcoming flight route. There were two possible trajectories available: to fly round the crater from the south or from the north. From the south, the topographic map showed several big boulders along the route, which would force the ship to increase altitude to fly over them by at least ten metres. Having been instructed to minimise flight altitude, the computer selected the flight round the crater from the north. On this route, the flight could be at altitudes from eleven to thirteen metres. After calculating the route, the computer shot a stream of information to Clive’s receiver. At that same moment, a visualised flight plan and a list of the main parameters appeared in front of Clive’s eyes.
“Flight time?” asked Steve.
“About 85 seconds. Maximum acceleration ten Earth g,” replied Clive.
“Start it!” was Steve’s instant reaction. He added, “There go my cherries.”
Steve adored cherries; his favourite variety was yellow with red sides. He had bought half a kilo back at the spaceport on Earth and had got though half of them on the way to Mars. But alas for his cherries! Acceleration of ten Earth g would turn any fresh fruit into a puree.
Clive was much less bothered about the cherries. Having got the go-ahead from Steve, he commanded, “Start!”
In Earth’s atmosphere, as inside Clive’s spacesuit, sound travelled at three hundred and thirty metres per second. Within the spacesuit, the distance from Clive’s lips to the glass of the visor and on to his eardrum was about twenty-five centimetres. It took sound ten milliseconds to travel this distance. In that time, the laser signal from Clive’s transmitter had already reached the ship’s receiver and given it the latest command.
Before Clive had even heard the echo of his own words reflected from the helmet visor, the ship’s computer had commanded the thermonuclear reactor to go to full power. At that moment, the reactor’s injectors shot thousands of superfine jets of helium into its very heart. A high-frequency shudder went through the entire ship. The helium burned in an atomic fire, releasing monstrous energy. A few instants later, the reactor sent five and a half gigawatts of electricity to the terminals of all four of the ship’s turbines.
The Contact Episode Two Page 6
