by Ben Bova
“Jinny, I don’t give a damn whether Maggie would understand or not. My marriage was over before we ever left for Mars. We’re here together and who knows what tomorrow might bring?” Benson barely got those last words out before Virginia’s lips met his.
But then she pulled away slightly. “What about Taki?”
“You want her to join us?” Benson grinned.
“No! But I don’t want her watching, either.”
He sighed. “Well, there’s only a few places on this ship where we can get some privacy, and she just might wander in on us, unless we tell her blatantly not to.”
Virginia straightened up and pushed her hair back away from her face. It floated weightlessly around her head, like a dark halo.
“I’ll tell Taki to stay away from the cupola for the next hour or so,” Virginia said. “That is, I assume you’ll want me to tell her.”
Benson said, “Right.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek and then pushed herself off toward the hatch. Benson sat there alone, wondering how all this had happened, astounded at his good fortune. The most beautiful woman on the team and she wants me! He broke into an ear-to-ear smile.
Then he realized that he was the only male left aboard the Arrow.
Taki Nomura was in the Arrow’s minusucule infirmary, scanning readouts of the last physicals they had all taken. I’ll have to do complete workups on each of us, she was thinking, to see if the radiation storm did any somatic damage.
Virginia glided through the hatch and hovered before her, smiling contentedly.
Looking up at her, Taki said, “Wipe the canary feathers off your chin.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“I’ve been wondering how long it would take you two to get together. You know his marriage is a mess, don’t you?”
“I had heard . . . something.”
“So he finally broke through his inhibitions?”
Almost giggling, Virginia admitted, “I helped him a little.”
“Good for you.”
“We’re going to be in the cupola, and—”
“And you’d appreciate some privacy. I know. Don’t worry, I’m not a voyeur.”
“I . . . thank you, Taki.”
“Nothing to it.”
Virginia started to leave the infirmary, but hesitated. “Taki . . . I’m sorry that . . . well, that there’s no one for you.”
Nomura made a smile that hardly looked forced at all. “Don’t worry about it. I’m from Japanese stock, remember? Stoic.” Her grin widening, she added, “Besides, I’ve got some VR simulations that would make a sailor blush.”
December 15, 2035
11:34 Universal Time
Mars Landing Plus 40 Days
Elysium Planitia
Hi and Catherine were glad to be out of the habitat, doing what they had come to Mars to do. This was their eleventh walkabout since they had landed; they’d collected several hundred pounds of rocks and dirt that definitely included biomarker chemicals but, so far, they’d found nothing that Amanda could identify unequivocally as a living organism, or even a fossil.
Nor any trace of water ice.
Their water situation wasn’t critical yet. The recycler was working at close to ninety percent efficiency, and Ted had calculated that at their present rate of usage they had enough water to last for another month, maybe a little more. But with each passing day they were losing a bit more of their water supply.
Both the geologists knew the vital importance of finding water, and had shifted the focus of their explorations from geology “for the sake of science” to geology “for the sake of survival.” They no longer bothered to collect samples unless they thought that particular location might be one that could yield water. But each of the sites they had sampled had turned up dry—
Mission protocol required that they stay within sight of the Fermi, but they had bent that rule slightly and Connover, in his growing worry about the water situation, had let them get away with it. Now, as they headed back and caught sight of the Fermi’s dust-stained structure standing against the dull orange sky, they both felt weary and defeated.
Catherine said disconsolately, “I know there’s ice out here somewhere. There has to be!”
McPherson tried to shrug inside his excursion suit and, as usual, failed. “If we were at the poles, we’d be swimming in the stuff. The gamma ray spectrometers on the satellites showed frozen lakes just below the surface, enough to fill Lake Michigan twice.”
“We should have landed there,” said Catherine.
Shaking his head inside his helmet, McPherson said, “The mission planners thought it’d be safer down here, closer to the equator.”
“Not if we don’t find water.”
“The satellite data showed there are pockets of hydrogen all around this area,” he said, “but they’re isolated and it’s impossible to say for sure if the hydrogen is in the form of water ice or bound to some other chemical in the soil.”
Catherine clasped Hi’s gloved hand as they walked.
“We’ll find water here,” she said firmly, as if trying to convince herself. “This area was once full of streams and rivers.”
“A couple billion years ago.”
“I cannot believe they all evaporated without leaving some reservoir underground, some pockets of ice. We simply have to keep looking. We have time.”
Less time every day, McPherson thought. But he kept silent.
They trudged back toward the habitat. Catherine remembered the sense of wonder and excitement they had both felt when they’d started exploring this new world. That was almost gone now. Now their walkabouts were more like drudgery—with the fear of failure behind it.
“Hey, you guys, quit being so depressed out there.”
Amanda’s cheerful voice startled them. They hadn’t had much contact with the habitat during their walkabouts, and had unconsciously acted as if their conversations were private—which they were not.
“Amanda,” Catherine blurted. “You surprised me.”
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t trying to scare anyone. But your doom and gloom isn’t doing any of us any good, you know.”
McPherson replied sourly, “So, you’ve got something to be chipper about?”
“You betcha! Ted and I finished the prototype garden this morning and we’re eager to show it off to you. Come on back in. We’ll grab some grub first, and then we’ll give you a tour of the first garden on Mars.”
Breaking into a grin, McPherson said, “We’re on our way, Amanda.”
“Cheerfully,” Catherine added.
Two hours later all four of them were gathered in the left wing of the habitat gazing at a four-foot by four-foot rectangular box with a clear lid. Inside the box was a long tray punctured by holes regularly spaced along its bottom. Below each hole was a short, hollow tube. On each end of the box was a telescoping boom that extended to a height of about four feet above the plastic flooring. On top of each boom was a shiny, reflective ball with wires running from their bases into a small electronics pad that was attached to the big rectangular box.
Connover, standing beside Amanda, was smiling with satisfaction.
“While you two guys have been out taking leisurely walks, Amanda and I have been busy with the 3D printer and some spare parts putting this together.”
“This is a garden?” McPherson asked, his voice heavy with skepticism.
“Damned right it is,” Connover said. “We made the box, the stand, and the growth chamber out of the same plastic we used to make your wedding bands. It’s strong, resistant to the environment outside, and we layered it so as to provide some additional thermal protection.”
Amanda took over. “In the growth chamber you can see the trays that we’ll fill with water. We’ll plant the seeds we brought along for the hydroponics experiments that we were going to do.”
She pointed to the two-by-two-foot experimental hydroponics chamber that was part of the Fermi’s built-in e
quipment.
“It was too damned small for growing enough food to feed us,” Ted resumed, “so we copied its design and used parts of it for our garden chamber. Of course, we had some help from the engineers back home.”
Amanda said, “Hey, they’re not here, so we can take all the credit.”
Pointing, Connover explained, “We put some resistive heaters along the walls and on the bottom. The clear lid gives us an airtight seal. We can’t have our summer harvest freezing in the balmy eighty below out there.”
“You’re going to put this outside?”
Nodding, Connover went on, “Daytime power will come from the solar arrays on the tips of the booms. We printed those, too, same way that dirt farmers in Africa are printing their own solar panels.”
“The spheres will generate enough power to keep the chamber warm during the day,” Amanda said. “Plus, they’ll charge up the batteries that’ll run the heaters overnight.”
“Once we fill it with water we’ll plant the potato sprouts for our first crop,” Connover said.
“Potatoes?” Catherine asked.
Amanda said, “They don’t need seeds to reproduce. We just plant the sprouts. We’ll let the first harvest sit around for a week or so, until they start developing ‘eyes’ and sprouting their own roots. Then we’ll cut ’em up and grow more potatoes.”
“And you’re going to move this rig outside?” McPherson asked again.
“Yep,” Amanda replied. “Then we’ll plant bamboo. It’s a root runner, spreads in the water and shoots up new bamboo plants. Houston’s sending me some bamboo recipes.”
“And we’ll grow mint, too,” said Connover. “Amanda wants to flavor her tea.”
“Later on we’ll plant tomatoes, beans, peas and the other vegetables we were going to grow in the hydroponics rig. With any luck, we can get them to self-pollinate so we can keep the lines going.”
“We should have brought some bees along,” Catherine murmured.
McPherson asked, “But why outdoors? Why are you going to so much trouble to put in heaters? Can’t we just use the artificial lighting in here to grow food? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
“If we were only planning on one or two hydroponics units,” Amanda answered. “But we need enough to feed ourselves, and this place is too small for that. We need the great outdoors.”
Connover said, “I’m going to put a camera in the box so we can monitor their growth from here in the habitat.”
Amanda pointed out, “One of the reasons we picked potatoes to start with is that they have all the nutrients the human body needs. We can live on potatoes alone, if we have to.”
“Like the Irish,” said McPherson.
“Potato soup,” Catherine said. “Perhaps even bouillabaisse.”
“Okay,” said McPherson. “Looks to me like you’ve thought everything out. When can we expect our first harvest?”
“About four months,” Amanda said.
“God willing and the creek don’t rise,” Connover added.
December 17, 2035
16:08 Universal Time
Mars Landing Plus 42 Days
NASA Headquarters, Washington D.C.
Bart Saxby got to his feet and came around his desk as Robin Harkness led Sarah Fleming into his office. Saxby noted with some surprise that the president’s red-headed staff chief was a centimeter or two taller than his director of human spaceflight. Then he saw the spiked heels she was wearing.
Gesturing to the small round conference table by his office windows, Saxby said graciously, “Welcome, Sarah. It’s good to see you.”
As they settled themselves on the chairs, Saxby’s administrative assistant carried in a tray bearing a silver coffee pot and three delicate china cups and saucers.
“First of all,” Fleming said, “the president sends his congratulations. Your team got through the solar storm with flying colors.”
Harkness’ lean face broke into a smile. “They’ve been well trained.”
“And I understand the group on Mars is starting a vegetable garden?”
Saxby nodded. “They’re settling in for the long haul.”
“They confirmed the Chinese discovery, but they haven’t managed to find any water yet.”
“No,” Saxby admitted. “Not yet. And please quit calling it the ‘Chinese discovery’.”
Fleming folded her hands on the tabletop as Harkness reached for the coffee pot. “Sugar?” he asked her. “Milk?”
“Do you have any cream?”
Glancing at the tray, “Looks like milk.”
“I’ll call for cream,” Saxby said, pushing his chair back from the table.
“Don’t bother,” Fleming said. “Milk will be fine.”
Once their cups were filled, Saxby said, “I presume this visit is about the follow-on mission?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “We have a tricky political situation on our hands.”
Harkness glanced at his boss, but said nothing.
“On the one hand,” Fleming began to explain, “you have four people who will die on Mars unless we send the follow-on to bring them home.”
Saxby said, “I don’t think there’s another hand. We’ve got to save them.”
Shaking her head slightly, Fleming said, “There is another side to this. And it’s loaded with dynamite.”
Both men fell silent.
Looking stern, almost grim, Fleming continued, “Senator Donaldson is already yapping that this whole situation has been engineered by you NASA people to blackmail the government into sending the follow-on to Mars.”
“That’s not true!” Saxby snapped.
“It doesn’t have to be true,” Fleming said. “It just has to be believable.”
“We didn’t set this up! We didn’t steer the Arrow into the path of that meteoroid! We didn’t tell Connover and the others to stay on Mars!”
“Of course you didn’t. But Donaldson is going to sing that song to the public. And isn’t it convenient that the rocks that contain biomarkers are among those that remained on Mars and not in one of the rocks on the ship headed for Earth?”
“He’s a prick,” Harkness said, with some heat.
“But Congress has cut the funding for the follow-on,” Fleming pointed out. “Do you have any idea of how hard it will be for the president to get it put back into the NASA budget?”
“The hardware is all but finished,” said Harkness. “It’s going to cost more money to terminate the contracts than to go ahead and finish the job.”
“It gets worse,” said Fleming. “Suppose you send the follow-on and your people on Mars die while it’s on its way. Senator Donaldson and his followers will claim you knew there was no chance of them surviving, but you used them to get the funding back for the follow-on.”
“That’s a goddamned lie!” Harkness burst.
“But it will play well with the news media.” Before either of the men could say anything, she added, “And suppose the follow-on mission runs into trouble. What then?”
“Wait a minute,” Saxby said, fighting down the sullen pain in his chest. “The polls show the public is solidly behind sending the follow-on: nearly sixty percent in favor.”
“Yes, but if they get to Mars and find your team dead, or if themselves get killed, the public may swing a hundred and eighty degrees against you. Future Mars missions will be just as dead as those four people.”
“So what’s the president want to do? Let them die on Mars?”
Fleming shook her head once more. “You have to understand that the president is a lame duck. His term ends in thirteen months. He has very little leverage with Congress.”
“And Donaldson wants his job,” Harkness muttered.
“He certainly does. And if Donaldson gets into the White House, human spaceflight beyond the Moon will be a dead issue.”
Saxby leaned back in his chair and wished the pain in his chest would go away. Heartburn, he told himself. You always get heartburn when you
get excited. Calm down. Calm yourself, dammit.
Harkness was asking, “So what is the president going to do?”
“He hasn’t made up his mind yet. Viscerally, deep in his guts, he wants to authorize the follow-on. Politically, he’s worried that it will turn into a fiasco and hand next year’s nomination to Donaldson.”
“Why doesn’t he just come out and tell the people that Donaldson’s wrong about this?”
“Because Donaldson belongs to the president’s party, and the president doesn’t want to tear the party apart and hand the White House to the Democrats.”
Saxby squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then said, “So what you’re telling us is that the next election is more important to President Harper than those four people struggling to survive on Mars.”
Fleming glared at him. “What I’m saying is that the president has to look at all sides of this. It’s not as simple a matter as you think.”
“Seems simple enough to me,” said Harkness. “Life or death.”
“The president wants to save your people on Mars,” Fleming insisted. “But he’s got to find a way to do it that won’t play into Donaldson’s hands.”
Saxby stared at her for a moment, then turned to Harkness. “You’d better tell Connover and his team to stay alive.”
Fleming smiled tightly. “It would help if they found some water for themselves.”
Saxby had to agree. “That it would, Sarah. That it would.”
December 18, 2035
16:00 Universal Time
Mars Landing Plus 43 Days
Fermi Habitat
Ted Connover turned away from the window and surveyed the habitat’s central compartment. Hammocks hung on the walls. Chairs were scattered haphazardly.
Looks like an encampment more than a temporary shelter, he thought. All we need is a fire for toasting smores.
After weeks of daily excursions, the ground outside was churned with bootprints. And despite all the vacuuming they did every day, the floor inside the habitat was smudged with the pink ridges of their boot tracks.
