by Ben Bova
“That’s pretty damned bad,” Connover agreed. “Are you sure we’ll be that low on water?”
“The numbers don’t lie, Ted. Even if you land on Mars by yourself and load the ascent stage with all the water stored in the habitat, that will postpone the kidney failure and death part by about a month or so, but it’ll still happen. This will be a ghost ship by the time it reaches Earth.”
Connover took a deep breath. “So you want me to take the lander down by myself, load up the water, and then come back here and die?”
“I don’t much like the dying part, but yes, that’s the situation.”
Leaning a little closer to Benson, Connover asked, “What if I told you I had a better idea?”
“I’d say I wouldn’t be surprised. That’s why I’m here. I’m all out of ideas and the bright boys back in Houston are just as stumped as I am.”
Connover broke into a boyish grin. “Bee, I’ll be glad to take the lander down to the surface and load up the water. But I want to take some people with me.”
“People? As in more than one?”
“As in more than one.”
His brows knitting slightly, Benson said, “I can see you wanting to bring somebody with you to help with the loading work. I was thinking of Hi, if we could separate him from Catherine for a couple of days.”
Connover started to shake his head, but Benson continued, “But do the math, Ted. I’d rather not have an extra person on the ascent stage taking up valuable weight that could be used for water.”
“You don’t understand, Bee. I’d like to take as many people to the surface with me as I can. I’m staying there, and I hope some of the crew will stay with me.”
“Stay? On the surface?” Benson looked alarmed at the thought. “You want to die on Mars?”
“I don’t want to die at all, either on this ship or on Mars.”
Benson’s expression morphed from disbelief to suspicion. “You want to be a martyr.”
Very seriously, Connover replied, “Just after Vicki and Thad died, yeah, I wanted to die too. But not now. Now I’ve got a mission to do and I don’t intend to die doing it. And nobody who comes down to the surface with me is going to die, either.”
“So what you’re saying . . .”
“What I’m saying is that some of us go to Mars and live in the habitat while the rest of you go back home with enough water to see you through.”
Benson blinked several times, trying to digest the idea.
“But if you send the habitat’s water up to us, what will you do for water?”
Connover actually chuckled. “Are you kidding? We’ve know since the old Viking landers that Mars has water, and lots of it. It’s frozen below the surface. Permafrost. We’ll just go out and get it. The ECLSS system in the habitat can recycle water with the same efficiency that the undamaged system here in the Arrow could. We’ll have plenty of water.”
“Huh. Maybe. But what about food?”
“None of our food here in the ship was damaged by the accident. We’ll take down whatever food we would have consumed on the trip home and add that to the stockpile that’s already in the habitat. We can also start up the experimental hydroponics garden and grow some vegetables to supplement our supplies. And we can reduce our caloric intake to extend the food supply.”
“What about air?”
“Come on, Bee. You know that’s not a problem. We recycle the air up here with close to one hundred percent efficiency. Same thing down in the habitat. We can even electrolyze some of the Martian water to get all the oxygen we need.”
Benson rubbed his jaw. “But, Ted, even with all that, you’ll run out of food sooner or later. You’ll die down there! There aren’t going to be any more missions to Mars.”
Connover’s grin widened. “Aren’t there? You think the public will stand for those fart-brains in Washington letting us die on Mars when they could send the follow-on mission to rescue us? Bee, they’ll have to let the follow-on mission go ahead! Either that, or be accused of murder.”
Benson sagged back in his chair. “Ted, you’re either suicidal or brilliant. Maybe both.”
“I’m not either one. I’m just a guy in a tough situation looking for a way out of it. I think this plan will save our lives and just might be the right thing for the human race in the bargain.”
“You know mission control won’t stand for it.”
“Fuck mission control,” Connover snapped. “If you decide to do it, what can they do to stop us?”
“There’s a dozen different ways you could get killed on Mars.”
“Any of them as bad as dementia and kidney failure?”
Benson had no answer for that.
November 1, 2035
11:47 Universal Time
Mars Arrival Plus 6 Days
The Galley
Benson watched as the rest of the crew came into the galley and began loading their trays with lunch. He noticed that they were all very careful about filling their bottles with water. Several of them added nutri-shake powder to their drinks. Benson found himself wishing for a smoothie.
As soon Nomura entered, he glided over to her.
“Taki,” he said, keeping his voice low, “is Mikhail well enough to come to the galley?”
Nomura nodded somberly. “Well enough physically, but he’s in a real Russian funk. He prefers to be alone.”
“Would you ask him to join us here? It’s important.”
She looked puzzled, but turned in mid-air and pulled herself through the hatch.
Everyone else was seated by the time Nomura came back with Prokhorov. Mikhail doesn’t look so bad, Benson thought. Maybe he’s lost a little weight. But the expression on his face was bleak. I guess I’d look the same way if I were in his place, Benson said to himself.
Prokhorov saw that Benson was eying him. He drew himself into a parody of a soldier’s stiff posture and raised his right hand to his brow.
“I am present, my commander, as you ordered.”
Benson couldn’t help smiling. “How are you feeling, Mikhail?”
“Terrible, thank you.”
Nomura took him by the elbow and steered him weightlessly to the fridge and microwave.
Most of the others were already eating by the time Taki and Prokhorov had strapped themselves into their chairs.
Gripping the back of his chair to keep himself from drifting away, Benson said, “Ted and I have been talking about a plan he’s cooked up that might save our necks.”
That got their attention. Even Prokhorov’s head snapped up to look intently at Benson.
“Ted, it’s your show.” Benson pulled out his chair and forced himself down onto it.
Without getting up from his own chair, Ted said simply, “Several of us go down to the surface and live in the habitat while the rest of you go back home, with enough water to take care of you for the whole trip.”
For a few heartbeats no one said anything. They all looked wordlessly at Connover, digesting the idea.
At last McPherson spoke up. “And what happens to the people who volunteer to stay on Mars? Do we build a memorial to ourselves?”
“We live on Mars,” Connover replied, “until the follow-on mission comes to pick us up and bring us home.”
“But the follow-on’s been cancelled,” Virginia Gonzalez said.
“They’ll un-cancel it.”
Amanda Lynn broke into a bright smile. “You mean you’ll shame them into sending the follow-on.”
“That’s extortion,” said McPherson.
“It’s either that, or they’ll be responsible for our deaths,” Connover said, grinning crookedly.
Their questions came thick and fast after that. Water. Food. Air. Much the same as the questions Benson had asked earlier, and Connover gave them the same answers.
“We can do this,” he insisted. “And we might even get a little exploration work done while we’re down on the surface.”
Prokhorov quieted them all by spread
ing his arms in a gesture for silence. “Ted, if your plan works, it could mean that I return to Earth alive and able to undergo medical treatment.”
Connover nodded. “I guess it does, Mikhail.”
Benson floated up from his chair again and resumed command of the discussion. “I have a question for all of you to consider. Should we ask mission control’s opinion of this plan or should we just go ahead with it on our own?”
“On our own,” Connover immediately replied.
“We can’t do that,” Gonzalez objected. “Houston’s got to know.”
“Not ahead of time,” Connover insisted. “If we tell them about it now, they’ll want to clear it with NASA Headquarters, the White House, Jesus Christ and all twelve of the apostles.”
Amanda giggled.
“No,” Connover said, “we present them with a fait accompli.” Turning to Clermont, he asked, “That’s the way it’s pronounced, isn’t it, Catherine?”
She smiled. “Close enough, Ted.”
Benson said, “We’ve all got to agree about this. Do you want to go ahead with this or not?”
Prokhorov shrugged his shoulders. “Ted’s plan gives us a glimmer of hope, at least. Otherwise we all die somewhere between here and home.”
Taki said, “Mikhail, I can’t guarantee that you’ll make it all the way home. I don’t have the facilities, the training . . .”
The Russian smiled benignly. “Not to worry, little doctor. If I die, I want to die fighting.”
“Is anybody opposed to Ted’s plan?” Benson asked.
“I want to go down to the surface with you, Ted,” McPherson said.
“Me too,” said Catherine.
“One more?” Connover asked.
Amanda raised her hand. “I’ll have a chance to confirm what the Chinese found. Maybe even find actual Martian microbes,” she said.
“Anybody opposed?” Benson asked again.
No one stirred.
“Right,” said Benson. “Ted, you work out the details. We don’t say a word about this to Houston until the four of you are on the surface.”
“Then all hell breaks loose,” Gonzalez muttered.
“Let ’em boil in their own juices,” Connover said. “It’s about time somebody made those assholes do the right thing.”
Benson said nothing, but in his mind he pictured himself standing blindfolded before a wall, facing a firing squad.
What the hell, he said to himself. Even that would be better than dying of thirst halfway between Mars and Earth.
November 4, 2035
14:12 Universal Time
Mars Arrival Plus 9 Days
The Gym
Connover was working on the treadmill, puffing and sweating for the three hours Taki had demanded from each person who intended to go down to the surface.
Build up your muscle tone, he told himself. Strengthen your bones. No good going down to the surface if you can’t stand up to Mars’ gravity. It’s only one-third gee. Three hours a day isn’t that much.
It wasn’t easy work. He had to hold on to the handlebars every minute of his workout. Even at that, if he let his mind wander his feet might drift up off the treadmill’s surface and he’d be floating weightlessly instead of improving his muscle tone.
Benson glided through the gym’s hatch and hovered before him.
Without breaking stride, Connover asked, “What’s up, Bee?”
“We’re in the home stretch, Ted. I just want to check out a few details with you.”
“Go right ahead,” Connover puffed, glad that he’d been prescient enough to wear a headband. Otherwise sweat would sting his eyes and he’d have to stop his workout to wipe his brow and that would send him floating up off the treadmill altogether.
“Hi and Catherine are set to go with you, right?”
Connover nodded. “And Amanda.”
Benson’s expression tightened. “Is she . . . all right with this?”
“With what?”
Obviously distressed, Benson said, “Well, Amanda’s going to be living in a tin can with you for months on end and—”
“Hey, what’ve we been doing in this tin can for months on end?”
“I know, but down on the surface it’ll be different: just the two of you, really. I mean, Catherine and Hi are paired up and that means you and Amanda . . . well, you know.”
The bell on the treadmill chimed and Connover stopped running. “Bee, Mandy’s a grown woman. She knows what she’s doing.”
Benson looked unconvinced.
“I’m not going to attack her, for God’s sake.”
“Do you think I should talk to her?”
“About the birds and the bees?” Connover snapped. “I think she already knows about that.”
“I worry about what Houston’s going to think about it. And the news media.”
“Who cares?”
“I guess I’m too straightlaced,” Benson admitted. “But, well, you’re going to be the first human being to set foot on Mars, Ted. I don’t want some preacher to dirty the moment.”
Connover laughed as he reached for the towel that’d left in midair. “You want me to take a vow of chastity? Or maybe we could rig a chastity belt for Amanda.”
“Be serious, Ted! The first person to step on Mars. We don’t want a sex scandal ruining everything.”
Connover felt a jolt of emotion. “Hey, that’s right. I’ll be the first guy on Mars! I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Well, you’re no Neil Armstrong, Ted. You’re doing something that’s either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Maybe both. But you’re going to be the first human being to set foot on Mars.”
His voice lower, Connover said, “It was supposed to be you, Bee.”
Benson tried to shrug nonchalantly. “I’m okay with it. No worries on that score.”
Connover searched Benson’s face for a sign of regret, or jealousy, or perhaps even anger. Nothing. Whatever was going on in Bee’s head, his face wasn’t showing it.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay,” Benson repeated.
Connover was certain that Bee had prepared a statement to make when he first set foot on Mars, something appropriately historic.
“Hey!” he suddenly thought. “What about Catherine and Hi. They’re actually going to be shacking up once we get down to the surface, I bet.”
A pang of alarm flashed across Benson’s face. “That’s right. They’ve been together for so long that I think of them as a married couple.”
Connover couldn’t resist poking, “Maybe you ought to give them the morality lecture, instead of Amanda and me.”
Clermont and McPherson were huddled again in the observation cupola, staring at Mars.
“Tomorrow we go down there,” Hi said to her, softly.
Catherine arched a brow at him. “Adam and Eve on their new world?”
“It’s hardly the Garden of Eden,” he said.
“It will have to do.”
Suddenly feeling awkward, McPherson stammered, “Catherine . . . before we go . . . I think we ought to get married.”
Her eyes widened. “Hi, are you proposing to me?”
“Yes. Will you marry me?”
Her smile warmed the Solar System. “Yes. With all my heart and soul, yes.”
He wrapped his arms around her and they kissed passionately.
But then Catherine pushed away, slightly. “How can we be married? There is no priest here, no minister, not even a justice of the peace.”
McPherson grinned at her. “We have a captain, don’t we?”
“Bee? He can marry us?”
“The captain of a ship can. Why can’t the captain of this vessel do it for us?”
Catherine broke into a delighted laugh. “Tonight! Before dinner!”
“Let’s find Bee!”
They squeezed through the cupola’s hatch, only to see Ted Connover coming at them through the narrow passageway. For an instan
t, Hi’s senses told him that Ted was dropping down the tube toward them. He blinked and registered that he and Catherine were above Ted, and he was rising to meet them.
“Ted, where’s Bee?” Hi asked, a huge grin splitting his beard.
“I just left him, back in the galley. He wants to talk to the two of you.”
Catherine said, “Hiram has just asked me to marry him. And I accepted.”
Ted burst out laughing. “I think Bee wants to talk to you about that.”
“Let’s find him,” McPherson said.
All three of them laughed as Connover started backing weightlessly along the tunnel, with McPherson and Clermont using the handgrips to propel themselves in the same direction. Ted was humming “Here Comes the Bride” loud enough for them both to hear him.
They found Benson in the command center and broke the news to him.
“Me? You want me to marry you?”
“Yes!” the replied in unison.
“I don’t think that’s legal.”
Connover groused, “Come on, Bee, there isn’t a lawyer within thirty-five million miles.”
“But—”
Very seriously, McPherson said, “Bee, legalities aside, we want to be married. It’s the morality of the situation that we’re talking about. We can always do it again when we get back.” Turning to Catherine, he added, “You want to get married in the Vatican?”
Her laughter was delightful. “The mayor of my home town in Normandy will do just as well. And it will be less expensive.”
Benson was just as serious. “You’re certain about this? Both of you?”
“Yes,” said Catherine.
McPherson said, “Even if we die on Mars, I want Catherine to be my wife.”
Breaking into a smile, Benson said, “Right. I’ll be proud to do the honors.”
Connover added, “And you can honeymoon on Mars.”
November 4, 2035
