First Landing

by Robert Zubrin

  But they would not need to abort, and if the mission hadn’t been designed around that excessive safety option, the Beagle could have taken a direct trajectory that would have launched in December 2011 and gotten them to Mars the following June. That would have subjected the crew to only six months outbound in the can, and still given them fourteen months to explore Mars before the July 2013 return launch window.

  As things stood, the crew was already a bit frayed with cabin fever. Personality clashes they had all easily concealed from the NASA shrinks during the selection process were now coming to the fore, and under the stress of the mission, would almost certainly grow worse. Townsend knew his most critical job was to hold the team together. But could he? Barring an abort before the end of November, they would be here for another twenty months.

  A very long time.

  CHAPTER 5

  OPHIR PLANUM

  NOV. 7, 2011 08:50 MLT

  THE CREW GATHERED in the galley of the HAB, bent over a map spread out on the table as they studied the surrounding regions of Mars. Rebecca had spent years poring over such maps back on Earth, studying orbital photographs. Now she pondered the significance of color changes, fluvial features, apparent layers of sediment. Soon she would know what it all meant.

  Townsend began the meeting. “Ladies and gentlemen, now that our initial base preparations and local survey are complete, we can begin to explore. The question is, where?”

  Rebecca glanced at Luke Johnson. The geologist had no idea what the real questions were, and his priorities would be all wrong. She decided to take charge immediately. “The key places to search are these biologically interesting dry riverbeds and paleolakes. It’s virtually certain that they date back to the age when Mars had liquid water sculpting its terrain and providing the medium for prebiotic chemistry.”

  Townsend regarded her curiously. “Prebiotic chemistry here, Dr. Sherman?”

  “Yes, certainly,” she answered quickly. It was clear Townsend didn’t understand. To him Mars was obviously too barren to support life. Without a scientific background, he looks around and only sees the present. The past is invisible to him. She decided to take the time to explain. “You see, sir, Mars is cold and dry now—but it was once a warm and wet planet, a place friendly to life. It remained that way for a period of time, considerably longer than it took for life to evolve on Earth. Current theories hold that the evolution of life from nonliving matter is a natural process that occurs with high probability whenever and wherever conditions are favorable. What could be more favorable than a river or a lake? I say we start poking in riverbeds and the remnants of the nearest local lakes.”

  Townsend nodded, considering, but the Texan geologist was finally up to speed. “Ah’ll have to disagree.” He smiled unpleasantly. “That simply can’t be our initial priority. With all due respect to our beautiful ship’s surgeon, it’s plain as day that there is no life here and never was. As far as ah’m concerned, the unmanned Viking landers proved that over thirty years ago. If this mission is going to accomplish any serious science, right from the outset, we need to thoroughly examine the geologically significant igneous and metamorphic rock deposits in the areas of uplifted terrain. The rocks in those highlands come from the interior. They’ll tell us what makes this planet tick.”

  Rebecca groaned inwardly. It was bad enough that Luke was a chauvinistic jackass, but did he have to be an idiot too?

  “That’s ridiculous. We didn’t come this far just to go rock collecting,” she retorted. “The central scientific question concerning Mars is and has always been the possibility of life here, past or present. The place to look for life is where there is or was water, and that means those low-lying sedimentary beds.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Luke’s look was so patronizing it made her sick. “But at the scientific meetings that I have attended regularly for the past decade, the question of life on Mars has been rarely, if ever, discussed.”

  Rebecca’s temper rose. “Well, I’m sure the scientific meetings you’ve attended for the past decade have rarely, if ever, included real scientists.” Luke Johnson had never published a single refereed paper in any authentic journals. As far as she could see, what he called “scientific meetings” were probably little more than stag parties for the oil exploration industry.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Sherman, but my Ph.D. is as good as yours.”

  That was laughable. “Right,” she giggled, “from Texas A&M.”

  Rebecca had gone to Radcliffe and Cornell, places where the state universities are held in modest esteem. Actually, she had found the graduates of the state universities to be no worse scientists than those from the Ivy League, but she knew Luke had a bit of an inferiority complex on that score, so she decided to rub it in. The giggling was a good touch too. Gets to you, doesn’t it, Luke?

  Gwen broke into the brawl. “There never was life on Mars.” Everyone turned to look at her.

  Don’t get involved in this Gwen, Rebecca thought. I don’t really want to crush you. Why do you have to shove your nose into business of which you have no understanding? If you can’t be on my side, why can’t you just stick to your machines? The flight engineer stared at her hostilely. Oh, well, since you insist . . .

  “Oh,” said Rebecca, “and how would you know that?” This was going to be wild. Gwen had almost no scientific background at all.

  “The Earth is the only planet with life on it,” said Gwen. “It says so in the Bible—or didn’t you read that at Radcliffe?”

  The Bible! It’s been four centuries since Kepler; we’re on Mars, for crying out loud, and they’re still throwing that crap at us! “That does it!” Rebecca exploded. “That’s the limit! Colonel Townsend, I am the chief science officer on this expedition, and I insist that our science agenda be dictated by me and not by some redneck oilfield prospector or a Bible-thumping hillbilly mechanic. I—”

  Townsend made a chopping motion with his right arm. “Dr. Sherman, that will be all. Since you scientists cannot agree on an agenda, I have decided that the first rover sortie will be a photo reconnaissance conducted by Major Llewellyn and Professor McGee. Major, you’ll be in command.” He ran his finger along the map. “Take the rover along this ridge. That’ll bring you above the cliff faces and within sight of the big canyon. Try to get some nice pictures for the folks back home, McGee.”

  “You can count on it, Colonel,” said McGee.

  Rebecca was enraged. The first rover sortie, and she wouldn’t be on it. But at least Luke wouldn’t be either.

  Trying to be conciliatory, the mission commander said, “We have a year and a half here, people. You will all have an opportunity to pursue your pet projects. Very well, you two hop to it.”

  As Townsend returned to the control console, Gwen and McGee eagerly exited the galley to prepare for the trip. Rebecca looked across the table and noticed that Luke was staring icicles at her. Same to you, pal, she thought.

  Gwen eased up on the throttle, and upon reaching the top of the hill, shifted the rover into neutral. She set the parking brake and scanned the breathtaking horizon. Stretching out below her was a vast network of deep red-rock canyons extending in every direction. The spectacular panorama boggled her mind. She tried to compare it to the canyons she had visited during crew training in the American Southwest—but those were slit trenches in comparison.

  Beside her, McGee picked up his camera and chattered wildly into his minicorder. With half an ear Gwen listened to his narrative while continuing to admire the view. It was obvious that the professor was awestruck as well; too bad he couldn’t drop his academic baggage and simply take it all in.

  “We’ve just reached the crest of a hill looking down the north flank of the Coprates Chasma,” McGee said. “We can see a vast system of interconnected canyons and dry valleys that appear to have been formed by a combination of faulting and water erosion. The scale, the sharpness, the extreme nature of all the features is like nothing I’ve seen on Earth. It’s like someb
ody took the craggy peaks of the upper Cascade Range, turned them upside down and inside out, then stretched them out along the ground like an enormous region of spaghetti-like ditches. Most canyons are over three kilometers deep and some could be over a hundred kilometers across. In the central section, I can see three parallel canyons merge to form a depression that must be over five kilometers deep.” He drew a quick breath. “That’s deeper than Mount Rainier is tall! The sight of these cliffs is just incredible. They’re dizzying. Someday, someone will rappel down them—the very thought sends shivers up my spine.”

  Gwen turned away from the canyon to look at him. “You’ve done some rappelling, Professor? I thought you weren’t the military type.”

  He interrupted his monologue. “No, I’m not. My father was in the Army in World War Two, saw some combat, and advised me to steer clear of it. He said it was a very disappointing experience, not at all like the movies.”

  He smiled sheepishly at her. Not a bad smile, she thought. You should try it more often, Professor. You might make some friends. She decided to return it. “Oh, your daddy was right about that. I had my fill in the Desert War.”

  “So I hear. I saw the newscast when you brought that damaged copter filled with wounded GIs through the lines.”

  Gwen’s mind raced back to that day: the dead pilot beside her, the burning copter filled with screaming soldiers. Iraqi bullets shattering the windshield, ripping through the fuselage. Blood everywhere. The noise, the smell, the terror. She shivered.

  “It’s not something I’d like to try again.” How old had she been? Early twenties—barely out of her teens. It seemed like a million years ago. It seemed like yesterday.

  McGee looked at her as if he understood. How little he knew.

  “Anyway, my rappelling experience is strictly recreational. I used to do a lot of climbing in the Cascades. That’s where I taught school.”

  Gwen smiled. “Ah, the mountains. I grew up in the mountains you know, in North Carolina. My daddy mined coal, just like his daddy did, and his granddaddy did back in Wales. I loved the mountains, but I couldn’t stay and become a coal-miner’s wife, watching my husband cough out his lungs, and when he’s gone watch my kids go without shoes.”

  “So . . . you joined the Army?”

  “Yep. And only regretted it that one day during my entire life. Still, I’d sure like to see those mountains again, smell that clean frosty air in the morning, and listen to the crickets chirp at night.” She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Do you think we’ll make it home, Professor?”

  “Sure, how can we miss? We’ve got the ERV at the base, and if we really need it, we’ve got the backup return vehicle already landed on the floor of Valles Marineris, not sixty kilometers from here. The whole mission is checking out fine, isn’t it? We’ll get home, no sweat.”

  How can we miss? McGee clearly didn’t know a damn thing about quirky machines. “I sure hope so. This place is incredibly beautiful in its way, but . . .”

  “There’s no place like home?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” Was she like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, both ready and lost? She noticed the light dimming in the canyon. “Professor, it’s getting dark. We better be heading back to base.”

  She shifted the rover into gear and began driving downhill. McGee put down his camera. “The light is too dim for filming.” He paused. “Gwen, I’ve got a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “This morning, when Rebecca and Luke were arguing, you jumped in with a remark that there couldn’t be life on Mars, because the Bible says so. Now I’ve read the Bible . . .”

  Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Good for you.”

  “And it doesn’t say anything about the issue one way or the other.” He looked at her hard.

  Gwen blushed, but managed a bashful grin. “Okay, so I was bluffing a little.”

  McGee smiled his nice smile again. “Bluffing?”

  “Yeah, McGee, you know, I’m just a country girl, and where I come from, a lot of folks think like that. I’m not sure if I do; there’s a lot of ways to read the Scriptures, and maybe by searching here we’ll find out the truth. So I guess I was out of line. It’s just that that lady rubs me the wrong way. She always seems so sure of herself, and so ungrateful for everything that God and a world full of hard-working people have given her.”

  Again McGee nodded his sympathetic nod. But of course he could never really understand. He would never know what it meant to grow up being laughed at by the rich girls from town because you didn’t have proper clothes, and then to struggle up from nothing, and at the end of it all still be looked down on by someone who had it all given to her on a silver platter. Someone who laughed at the beliefs that gave strength to those who grew the food she ate, mined the coal that powered her city, or fought for the flag that protected her rights to life, wealth, freedom, and ingratitude. Someone who scorned a God who had blessed her with the looks of an angel.

  Someone who had once owned horses.

  When Gwen had been a girl, the one thing she had wanted more than anything else was a horse. Of course, her family’s poverty had made the dream impossible. As a teenager, though, Rebecca had owned two fine Tennessee Walking horses, kept for her occasional use in a stable outside the city. Shortly after they had all been selected, Gwen had read about it in one of the magazine articles about the crew. She had asked Rebecca about the horses, but the doctor said she couldn’t even remember their names, or what had become of them.

  A tear formed in Gwen’s eye. If she ever had a horse of her own, she would know its name until the day she died.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by McGee, who had pulled a diminutive guitar out of his rucksack.

  “Do you mind if I strum a little?”

  “Go ahead.” She had heard McGee play plenty of times on the outbound journey; he wasn’t too bad. Besides, it would be a long drive. McGee began strumming a vaguely Celtic tune, not too different from the Appalachian fiddle music she had often heard as a girl. Somehow it warmed her to hear it. She looked at McGee and smiled.

  “You’re a man of unexpected talents, Professor.”

  CHAPTER 6

  OPHIR PLANUM

  DEC. 14, 2011 21:00 MLT

  TOWNSEND, MCGEE, AND REBECCA sat in the galley of the Hab and watched the NASA broadcast. Luke and Gwen were away on a rover excursion. Lucky them, thought Rebecca. If I have to hear much more of Mason, I’m going to vomit. Too bad about the signal transmission delay. There’s a lot I’d love to tell this bozo real-time. Instead I just have to sit here and take it. She tapped her right foot on the Hab floor as Mason’s televised lecture droned on.

  “Look gang, due to reduced budget here in Houston, and the fact that you have some onboard artificial intelligence capability to provide advice, we’ve let you do your own minute-by-minute mission planning, within broad guidance parameters from us. As you know, your early mission abort window closed last week.”

  Thank Reason, Rebecca thought. At least that opportunity to wreck the mission is out of your hands.

  “You’re on Mars for the duration, and that means from here on you have to stay strictly within NASA-prescribed safety guidelines. The initial photo reconnaissance led by Major Llewellyn was by the book, but that first science sortie by Sherman and McGee was way out of line. They had no business going so far over the horizon from the base. We lost all contact with them for over seventeen hours, and let me tell you, I had the NASA Administrator himself all over my tail on that.”

  Rebecca looked at Townsend. Did the mission commander buy any of this? “Gee, sorry we worried his pretty little head. How were we supposed to reach the lake bed without going over the horizon?”

  The buffoon droned on, impeccably dressed, wearing another subtle silk tie. “Furthermore, Dr. Sherman should have known that distant lake bed was a low-priority site, as determined by the site selection board of the Mars Science Working Group.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “Right
. A committee of old farts making compromises with each other so that everybody can get something to publish in the Journal of Geophysical Research. Well, I’m here doing the hands-on work, they’re not.”

  Townsend gave her an indulgent smile. Surely as a combat veteran, he understood that the people on the ground needed the freedom to make their own decisions.

  Mason continued. “And, precisely as foreseen by the board, nothing of interest was found there. Unauthorized risk was taken, a week was wasted, and no results were achieved.”

  This was absurd. Rebecca slapped her hand down on the table to get Townsend’s full attention. “Colonel, this is post hoc, ergo propter hoc reasoning.”

  He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “You mean like Monday morning quarterbacking?”

  Now it was Rebecca’s turn to be puzzled. We’re not speaking the same language. Monday morning quarts of what? She turned to McGee; maybe he could translate English into Male.

  “That’s exactly what she means,” the professor said, causing the colonel to nod. Separated by the long signal lag, Mason continued, oblivious. It’s not really a technical problem though, Rebecca thought. He’d still be oblivious if he were standing in this room.

  Now he spoke directly to Townsend. “Andy, after that unscripted landing of yours, some of the upper-level managers here at JSC started remembering the Skylab mutiny and suggested the need to tighten the leash on the Mars crew. Since then, it’s been getting a lot worse. I know that if we take too heavy-handed an approach down here it’s going to hurt the mission, but if your guys keep operating open loop, the pressure will be too much for me to stop it. Goddammit, Andy, you’ve got to get the situation under control. That’s why you’re there. I know you can do it, you old battle-ax. Enforce discipline. We’re all rooting for you here. Keep up the good work. Mason, out.”