The Orthogonal Galaxy

by Michael L. Lewis

  “Dmitri,” Garrison’s voice cracked with concern. “How often does this happen?”

  “Must be less than once every two years. I have not seen this happen since I come.”

  “What could cause a power outage?”

  “My guess is malfunction in power delivery grid.” He set the toolbox down. “This will likely put our gauge repair work on back burner.” He said this lightly and with a smile, hoping to ease the concern of his new comrade.

  He placed the headset from his space helmet over his head and turned in on. “Mission Control, this is Boronov. We notice power failure in bunker at local time…” He looked down at his digital watch, which kept track of two different time zones. “…Local time: 17 hours, 21 minutes; central time 07 hours, 22 minutes. Please advise of repair work or maintenance procedure required.”

  Boronov looked up at his companion. “We should hear from mission control in 10 minutes. Meantime, we go look at power array control panel.”

  “Yeah, maybe it’s something simple that we’ll spot quickly, like a plug that fell out of an outlet?” He smiled in order to prompt Boronov on his joke. The Russian returned the smile and began walking back to the bunker entrance. As O’Ryan placed a firm grasp on the lever of the steel door connecting to the underground tunnel, Dmitri noticed a sensor panel next to the handle.

  “Het!!!” shouted the Russian slipping into his native tongue, but the warning was too late.

  With a click of the latch, the door flew outward and O’Ryan fell face first onto the concrete floor. Blood stained the spot where he landed, lacerating his forehead upon impact. He clawed at the ground, but found himself being dragged slowly on the surface by a gale force wind, as if a vacuum was sucking all of the oxygen out of the bunker. Boronov embraced a support beam on a workbench near to the door and gasped for oxygen as the rushing wind of the bunker replenished the depressurized tunnel. He shielded his face and head as best as he could, while small objects flew by. An assortment of hardware glanced off of the Russian’s body as they sped through the recent breach in the environment. Worried about his partner, he peeked under his arm to see the body pulled by the unseen force, a small trail of blood marking the straight trajectory of the body as it slid down the poorly lit tunnel.

  As Garrison gasped for oxygen, he felt his lungs filling with more dust than air. Realizing how helpless he was during this violent turn of events, he attempted unsuccessfully to scream for Dmitri’s help just as everything stopped as abruptly as it began. He lay on the ground, drained of energy and choking in a mix of dust and blood that was trickling into his mouth. He looked up to see a pair of astronaut boots arrive.

  “Garrison, you alright?” asked a voice in a thick Russian accent.

  Coughing more than answering, O’Ryan rolled to his back, lifted his head and nodded. “I—think—so.”

  Boronov collapsed to the ground and rested his back against the wall. Breathing heavily, the two astronauts took some time to recover in the dusty, dark tunnel. At last Boronov raised himself and ran down the tunnel towards the greenish hue where Garrison was standing at ease just a couple of minutes before. The sound of footsteps dimmed, faded away, and then quickly resounded their echo into the tunnel. Dmitri kneeled at the head of his colleague. Lifting his head with one hand, he slowly poured water into Garrison’s dry mouth with the other. As the liquid trickled down his throat, it had the effect of a life-giving elixir.

  Raising up on his elbows, Garrison’s senses were returning. “Dmitri, what happened? What is going on here?”

  Boronov took a deep breath. “When you went to open door, I remember environment sensor. Green light means environment on other side of door is safe. Red light is not safe.”

  “So, the light on the sensor was red?”

  “No, the light on the sensor was out. It had no power. On Mars, one must never assume environment is good.”

  Garrison hung his head. “Dmitri, I’m so, so sorry. I—I—“

  “Friend,” whispered Boronov. “It was easy mistake, with big lesson. At least we are both ok.”

  As O’Ryan’s faculties slowly returned, he looked around him. The tunnel was too dark to see anything. He could only see the entrance with its green glow about 15 feet away along with a dark black streak marking the trace of blood left by his head as it was dragged down the tunnel. “Dmitri… if the atmosphere was depleted, then why didn’t all of the oxygen escape…” He lowered his voice, “…and continue to drag me unprotected to who knows where?”

  Boronov answered by flashing a torch towards the dark end of the tunnel away from the bunker. Garrison looked around to see a steel door sealing off the tunnel about three feet from where he lay.

  “I still don’t get it,” said O’Ryan shaking his head slowly. “What caused the breach in the environment if that door is closed?”

  “There is mechanical pressure release on every door leading away from bunker. With sudden drop in bunker pressure, a latch releases the doors from ceiling, and closes off the breach.”

  Garrison was trying to piece the puzzle together. “Ok, so when I opened the door, this tunnel was vacant of oxygen, the sudden change of pressure created a wind that felled me like a tree to the ground and dragged me here. Then, this huge door drops out of the sky and seals off the bunker and tunnel.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you realize that if the mechanism had released any later than it did…” Garrison gulped for more air. “…I’d either have been crushed by that door, or I’d be outside flopping around for air like a fish out of water?”

  Dmitri did not need to answer that question.

  “Come,” said Dmitri. “I help you up off floor. There is cot in bunker where you can rest.”

  Dmitri helped his companion off the ground. O’Ryan’s head throbbed violently. Holding his forehead with one hand, he braced the other on Boronov’s shoulder as the two walked back into the bunker. The slow walk to the cot proved painfully long for O’Ryan, as his head continued to pound with each step. At last, he swooned onto a cot which, by comparison, felt more comfortable than any bed he had ever slept in. His eyes fell closed, blocking the blue-green light from view until Boronov returned with a first aid kit and dressed the wound. Garrison winced as Dmitri dabbed antiseptic all around his forehead. With the bandage in place, O’Ryan fell into a state of restful unconsciousness.

  …

  A voice echoed in the distance. “Boronov to Mission Control. I still have not received response. Please copy.”

  Garrison O’Ryan opened the eye which was least swollen and at first saw nothing but a green hazy glow about him. Opening the other eye as far as he could, he focused and looked around to see racks of boxes. The perspective was not helpful, so he sat up to get a better look around. His rebellious head did not approve of the maneuver as a pain shot from his forehead to the back of his neck. Looking around again, he saw another cot across the way, identically to the one on that he was on. He saw a small stand next to his own bed with a tumbler of water and a dish with large round cracker-like bread. He suspected that Dmitri had set this down for him in order to nourish himself after his accident. Since his mouth was dry and throat parched, he first drained a few ounces of water from the glass and took a bite of bread. “Ah, yes.” He thought to himself. “A meal fit for an astronaut. How does NASA come up with this awfully engineered stuff? It’s like I’m back on the Mars shuttle again.”

  Regardless of his disliking for the nutritive, he knew that his body needed the sustenance, so he methodically consumed the plate of bread, chewing only as fast as his head would allow without convulsing in pain.

  Dmitri returned to check on his colleague and sat down on the edge of the cot opposite of Garrison’s, looking dejected, concerned.

  “Dmitri,” called Garrison quietly as he looked up with his head askew and with eyes half open. “How long have I been sleeping?”

  “About three hours.”

  “Dmitri, about the door… I’m very sorry
.”

  “No need to worry. All is fine,” reassured the senior astronaut.

  “What have you heard from Mission Control on this whole affair, Dmitri?”

  “Nothing.”

  O’Ryan paused to grasp the meaning of this short answer. “You mean they don’t know what has caused the power failure?”

  “No, I mean I have not heard anything. It appears that along with power failure, there is comm failure too.”

  “I would’ve hoped that communications were on battery backup.”

  “They are supposed to be. The failure must be worse than we fear, since we have lost power and comm,” Boronov pointed out.

  Garrison tried to stand up in anxiety for their welfare, but his head began to throb intensely as he did, so he laid back down on the bed with his hands clasping his temples.

  “Dmitri.”

  “Yes, Comrade?”

  “If we can’t communicate with Mission Control, then we must assess the situation and figure out what to do.”

  “I agree,” said Boronov flatly. “As you have slept, I have been thinking of this too. The main thing we must do is assess why power failure has occurred. We must restore the power if we are to evacuate.”

  “Evacuate?” inquired O’Ryan, sitting up to the edge of the bed again. “Well, you don’t think it is that dire, do you, Dmitiri?” I’m sure we can make repairs for anything that might have problems.”

  “But, we will not be able to speak with Mission Control on repairs needed. We have some maintenance manuals here in bunker, but any difficult repair instructions need to come from experts on Earth.”

  “Okay, but you just said that we’ll need to repair power to evacuate. Why do we need power, and more importantly, what if we are not able to repair the power or comm problems ourselves?”

  Boronov weighed these questions, drew a deep breath and began to explain. “To answer first question, we need power to operate SAR pad. It requires much power, and cannot operate on battery backup. The SAR pad is necessary, because without it, we have just one parachute.”

  Garrison strained to understand, but didn’t understand why a parachute was needed. He raised his eyebrows, and threw up his hands in the air.

  “Garrison,” said the Russian leaning forward on his cot. “Iowa is only Mars Shuttle on site. You flew it here from Moon. It only carries one person. Without SAR pad, we cannot replicate other shuttle to carry both of us back to Earth.”

  “Dmitri, I think we’re crossing bridges before we come to them. Let’s first go see if we can assess the problem with the power, and then we’ll start planning any contingencies that might be needed to solve our problem.”

  “It is nighttime now,” pointed out Boronov. “I believe we must wait for daylight to venture above ground.”

  “But what will we do if we can’t restore power?”

  “Ah, yes. If that is case, you will become very familiar with this room, as we will remain here until rescue.”

  “Wait, here? Until rescue? How long will that take?” Concern rang through O’Ryan’s voice.

  “Do you not recall emergency procedure? In worst-case scenario, we must wait in here, as it will provide up to three months of nourishment, water, and oxygen.”

  “Let me guess,” Garrison said rolling his open eye. “The CO2 scrubber doesn’t work on battery backup either, huh?”

  “Yes, it does, but battery will not last forever, neither will food or water. Three months. We must hope rapid preparations are made on Earth if rescue should be required.”

  “Is three months long enough to be rescued?”

  “One piece of good fortune, my comrade, is that you just arrived. We both know that this means the distance from Earth to Mars is nearly at its closest proximity. Support vehicle carrying rescue crew travels slowly compared to Mars Shuttle, but three months will be enough time for them to arrive.”

  After a few moments of reflection on the part of both astronauts, Garrison broke the silence with another question. “Dmitri, didn’t you say that the depressurization sealed us off with those steel doors?”

  “We will not be able to exit through tunnel. We must take trap door, instead.”

  “Trap door?”

  “In back of bunker is emergency exit, complete with pressurization chamber. We can safely enter the chamber without risk of much loss of oxygen since chamber is very small. This chamber opens into tunnel which goes up to manhole cover, which we called ‘trap door’ if I recall correct from training.”

  “Oh, yeah… I remember too now that you mention it. I’m a little slow right now with this head injury.” Dmitri looked up as if to see the wound on his forehead, and felt it with an index finger. It was well-dressed, but moistened with blood and needed to be changed. Knowingly, Dmitri picked up a first aid kit from the floor and placed it on O’Ryan’s side table.

  “Thank you, Dmitri. I should redress this.”

  “Yes, and then we must both try to rest until daylight there isn’t much else we can do for now, except…”

  Dmitri stood and faced away from his companion, as if trying to hide something. He turned on his headset and spoke, “Boronov to Mission Control, do you receive communication? Please copy.”

  He returned and sat back down, watching Garrison change the bandage on his forehead slowly, but thoroughly. As he did so, he counted the seven stitches that his companion must have given him while he was unconscious. Garrison looked up at the green cast lights, looked back down at his companion and began to chuckle lightly.

  “What is funny?” Boronov asked with as much curiosity as irritation.

  “In this room with its light, I can’t help thinking about how we must look like little green Martians in here.”

  Boronov’s lips slowly curled upward as he snickered at the thought. “Yes, we must be an odd set of life forms in this universe… Anyway, we must lie down and rest now. Tomorrow we will need energy and good thinking to figure out what we need to do.”

  As Dmitri lay on his cot and cover himself with a light weight blanket, O’Ryan sat for a while longer on the edge of his bed, but without conversation, found that he was feeling effects of extreme exhaustion, so he lay down and both astronauts fell into a restless sleep.

  …

  Garrison woke up feeling groggy and looked over to find his companion’s cot empty. He sat up and called out for Dmitri. At once, he heard the steps of boots on the concrete floor approaching.

  “Garrison, how are you feeling?” Dmitri asked with concern in his voice.

  “Better. Say, what time is it, Dmitri?”

  “09 hours, 13 minutes,” answered Boronov, consulting his watch.

  “We must go look at the power array.”

  “Yes, yes, but you must eat first.” Boronov gave Garrison an energy bar and drink for breakfast. “I have already breakfasted this morning.”

  Garrison smiled and shook his head knowingly at the nourishment. “Ah, yes. An astronaut’s manna, this. Still no cheese steak sandwich for me, eh, Dmitri?”

  “I fear there will be no more for either of us, until we get this camp back in order.”

  “Well, I guess if it worked for me on the ride in the shuttle for a couple of weeks, I can gag down a few more of these bars. I wonder how they compress the sawdust into such perfectly shaped rectangles.” He shrugged and accepted the nourishment. Standing slowly, he found that he was actually better on his feet than he expected. Suiting up took about ten minutes, while Boronov disappeared to do senior astronaut work, apparently. Placing his helmet under his arm, he ventured off, not knowing exactly where he was in this cavernous bunker in relation to the entrance the pair of astronauts had come through the night before. Wandering amidst stacks and stacks of well-supplied shelves, he studied his surroundings. At last, he heard a rustle somewhere to his left. He ventured down an aisle to follow the noise, and discovered Boronov working at a workbench.

  “Right. You are ready, then?” asked Dmitri when he spotted his partner appr
oaching.

  “Yes,” said Garrison. “Let’s solve this problem and get back to the mission at hand.”

  “I’m just packing some tools and manuals that we will want in our investigation of the system.” He patted the top of a large spiral bound manual.

  Garrison looked at the cover. ‘Camp Mars: Power Subsystem.’

  Dmitri closed the box and started away with determination. Garrison followed shortly behind as they ventured deep into the recesses of the bunker, until they came to a door, similar to the fateful door which O’Ryan will never forget opening in error.

  “There’s no light on the panel, Dmitri.”

  Nodding, he replied, “I expect that to be. We will chance this door, for two reasons. One, it is a small pressurization chamber. Very little oxygen will be lost. Two, we must trust that the containment door dropped on this passageway as well. It is a chance we must take.”

  The pair placed and sealed their helmets, and Garrison deferred the job of opening the door to Dmitri this time, fearing that he should make another critical mistake. As the door opened, there was no rush of air. The environment on the other side was identical. O’Ryan peeked in to see another door just a couple of feet away. Boronov stepped inside and motioned for O’Ryan to do the same. Upon closing the door, Dmitri reached for a lever which opened a vent. The sound of rushing air reminded Garrison of the tour that he made with Ayman and Dmitri just the day before, when the garage of the workshop was depressurized in preparation for departure in the Mars Terrain Vehicle.

  Dmitri grabbed the handle on the outer door of the pressurization room. “Nobody has stepped into this next tunnel,” stated Dmitri with an air of concern and suspense as he looked at his companion.

  “But we must go on,” reassured Garrison. “What could you do so wrong, Dmitri, after seeing what I did to us last night?”

  Encouraged, Dmitri pulled the lever release and opened the door without incident. Both astronauts leaned forward, gazing into the darkness. Dmitri lit his torch first and shined it into the tunnel. The beam of light shown through a haze of red dust particles. Garrison flicked on the beam of light from his torch and followed Dmitri into the narrow tunnel, barely tall enough to fit their statures comfortably. They walked for 50 yards until arriving at a stair well.