First Landing

by Robert Zubrin

  Was that all it was? Townsend turned to Rebecca for her answer. The biologist said nothing. Instead, she just shook her head and stared tiredly at the table. Was that the look of defeat?

  “This is the sample at eight thousand times magnification,” her voice continued on the video. The TV image enlarged. Inside the hexagons, the liquid swirled.

  It was apparent even to Townsend with his rudimentary background in biology that the motion was cytoplasmic in character. He turned to stare at Rebecca.

  The doctor looked up from the table and spoke in a tired monotone with no hint of triumph, only certainty and completion. “It’s alive.”

  Alive! The whole crew was speechless. Townsend turned to Luke, Gwen, McGee; all were transfixed watching the incredible swirling image on the screen. For a minute he, too, stared in fascination; then he looked back at Rebecca to congratulate her.

  But the biologist was fast asleep in her chair and had begun to snore.

  CHAPTER 9

  OPHIR PLANUM

  DEC. 18, 2011 16:10 MLT

  BY LATE AFTERNOON of the next day the atmosphere in the Hab was relaxed, even happy. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and the door between the galley and the lab was open.

  McGee looked up from his volume of The Complete Shakespeare and peered into the lab where Haydn’s Creation was playing. While she bustled about taking measurements, peering through microscopes, and typing at lightning speed on her computer, Rebecca sang along with her prep school–trained classical voice. He thought she sang like an angel.

  The biologist danced out of the lab and snatched a muffin off the galley table, flashed him a smile, then flitted back to her work. The smile made him feel warm inside.

  The rest of the crew sat around the table eating, but apparently hadn’t noticed. Townsend and Gwen were poring over maps while they ate, and Luke was examining some rocks with a magnifying glass.

  “Now that is what you call one happy camper,” McGee commented.

  Townsend put his map aside. “I’ll say. Well, I’ve delayed communication of the discovery long enough for her to get her ducks in a row. I think it’s about time for a data dump.” The colonel called out in the direction of the lab. “Excuse me. Excuse me! In the lab there.”

  Rebecca stuck her head out the door. “Yes?”

  “If Miss Lily Pons would care to suspend her concert for a moment, the rest of the crew would be pleased to receive a briefing.”

  Lily Pons? Rebecca thought. Hardly a current star of the opera stage. She wondered how Townsend had even heard of her. Lily Pons had achieved popular fame singing the “Marseillaise” for the Free French during World War II. Oh, that explains it. She switched off the music and swept into the galley.

  “Okay, here’s the scoop. As I said yesterday, it’s life.” She smiled. “But it is not life exactly as we know it on Earth. Pre-cellular life, of course, more primitive than the living fossil blue-green algae back home. It has DNA and proteins, to be sure, and most of the amino acids and sugars are identical to those of terrestrial organisms, but I’ve found a few slightly different amino acids in the proteins. One of the four nucleotides in the DNA has a hydroxyl radical where DNA nucleotides on Earth just have a hydrogen ion. The DNA is organized into genes, which are dispersed in a redundant manner throughout the cell, rather than being centralized in well-ordered chromosomes. It’s a simpler and less efficient arrangement than we see in terrestrial life, but much more robust against radiation damage during long periods of dormancy. There are also some novel proteins that act as a kind of antifreeze, greatly lowering the freezing point of the cytoplasm. It’s a close cousin to terrestrial life, but not flesh of our flesh.”

  Gwen looked at her perplexed. “‘Not flesh of our flesh?’ ”

  Townsend seemed equally puzzled. “But it’s still fundamentally the same kind of thing as we might find on Earth?”

  “Similar, but not the same. Actually, the basic chemistry is so similar that there may be a common ancestor.”

  “Or it could be that both were created by the same God,” Gwen suggested.

  Rebecca looked at the flight engineer. Gwen, how can you believe such things? You’re on Mars. Modern science has put you here. Why do you insist on rank superstition? However, being in a good mood, she decided to be diplomatic. “That theory I’ll leave for you to publish in your own article. All speculations aside, from the evidence here I’d bet the farm on two independent origins. You know, I’ll probably get a special issue of Scientific American, with a foldout of me holding an ultracentrifuge tube up to the light and saying ‘Eureka.’”

  McGee tapped his camera. “I’ve already taken the shot.”

  “I’ll bet you have, and I’ll bet I looked a mess.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Townsend looked around the room, then out the window; sunset was upon them. “Well, I’d say that this is cause for a celebration. Two major discoveries in the same week.”

  “Right,” Luke chimed in, as if wrestling with his pride. “Rebecca, I’m sorry I doubted you. I’ll be eating some NASA prepackaged crow from the ship’s stores.” He pulled a bottle of champagne from under the table and began unwrapping the foil around its neck. “But if you’ll forgive me, perhaps you’ll do us all the honor?”

  “Luke, I feel so good today I could forgive Hitler. Apology accepted.”

  She took the bottle from the geologist and pushed hard on the cork with her thumbs. The cork popped off and the champagne foamed hugely in the 5 psi cabin air as everyone cheered. Merrily, she poured out glasses for her crewmates.

  Townsend held up his glass to make a toast. “To a successful mission and a safe voyage home.”

  “Hear, hear!” Gwen cheered.

  Luke eyed the vigorous bubbling in his glass. “To some good drink for a change.”

  “To the Discoverers!” McGee said, saluting her with his drink.

  Rebecca held up her glass and looked at it speculatively. What to say at a moment like this? Suddenly she remembered her grandfather’s favorite toast. How appropriate. Thanks, Grandpapa. “To Life!” she shouted, and with a single dramatic motion tossed down the drink and hurled the empty glass to the galley floor.

  To Life! To Life indeed, here and throughout the universe. It was great to be alive. Her very being glowed with the joy of it. McGee looked at her in wonder.

  The party went on for hours. The professor entertained them with folk songs accompanied by his own guitar, Townsend and Luke told stories, and Gwen even performed a Celtic fling. One by one, everyone except McGee and Rebecca drifted off to their bunks. By midnight they were sitting alone by the window.

  McGee strummed softly on his guitar. “The Streams of Mars” was a turn-of-the century Mars Society reworking of the ancient Irish ballad “The Minstrel Boy.” Of all his repertoire, McGee knew this was the song that moved Rebecca most. He had saved it for this moment, and his tenor carried it well.

  The streams of Mars are dry and cold,

  No current runs, no water fills them.

  Frozen still now since times long old,

  They wait for those who can revive them.

  Land now parched, but with hopeful art,

  Another world may someday be.

  One force with Reason thy life shall start.

  One spark of mind shall make alive thee.

  Rebecca smiled as she listened to the serenade. Outside the Hab window shone Phobos and Deimos, the two small bright Martian moons. Her luminous eyes reflected the faint globes. “Look at them, Kevin. How beautiful they shine tonight.” Her voice was husky with transcendent thought.

  McGee had never seen her look more lovely. “Not as beautiful as the light that is shining in your eyes, my princess.”

  “ ‘My princess’? Isn’t that the term of endearment John Carter used for his darling Dejah Thoris?”

  He was surprised she recognized the Burroughs reference so easily. “Yes, it’s what a Martian man says to the woman he adores. The proper reply is �
�my chieftain.’”

  Rebecca laughed. “Well, you’ll have to wait a long time if you expect me to call you that. Still . . . it’s a sweet custom. Perhaps we should make it the law for our future Martian civilization.”

  “Yes, my princess, I think we should.”

  Rebecca drew back a little. “Oh, really. Stop being silly.”

  McGee felt a sinking feeling. “Who’s being silly?”

  “You are. You know the two of us can’t get involved.” Now she smiled at him in a sisterly way.

  “Because I’m not a scientist? I share your passion for discovery, you know.”

  Rebecca shook her head, her tresses glinting in the soft double moonlight. “I know,” she said sympathetically. “It’s not that. It would just be wrong for the crew.”

  “Oh, I see. Bad for morale. Can’t have that.”

  Rebecca put her hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes. “Please don’t take it hard.” She regarded him affectionately. “When we get back to Earth, things will be different.”

  McGee felt a surge of hope. “Really?”

  “No promises—but, yes.” Rebecca tousled his hair. “I really do think you’re sweet, Kevin. It’s just that now, with everything at stake, the mission has to come first. Just don’t give up hope.”

  McGee sighed. “You sure have me where you want me.”

  She chuckled mischievously. “I suppose so, but that’s the breaks. You know I’ll always owe you for letting me get the live sample from under that boulder. And the idea of driving back at night using celestial navigation—what can I say? You broke all the rules, and that’s what made the difference. If anyone else but you had been there, it never would’ve happened.”

  McGee felt a glow of pride. He took Rebecca’s hand and gazed out the window. “So, the stars. They’ve always spoken to explorers. The other night they showed us the way home. What do they say to you tonight, my beautiful Columbus?”

  Rebecca looked out the window with him. Once again the moonlight glowed in her eyes. She was silent for a while, but when she finally spoke, her voice was moved with vision. “They’re telling us that they’re alive. That the universe is filled with life and civilizations. Those science fiction stories you like so much may be fiction, but they’re not fantasy. There are star sailors out in all that vastness right now living such tales.”

  McGee gazed at the star-studded sky, then at Rebecca Sherman, deep in contemplation. His thoughts soared to poetry.

  O brave new world, that has such creatures in it.

  CHAPTER 10

  NEW YORK CITY

  DEC. 22, 2011 21:00 CST

  GARY STETSON ACKNOWLEDGED the warm applause of the studio audience with a smile and a feigned gracious nod. Keeping his smile in place as the clapping faded, he turned to face his interviewer, a sleek and fashionable TV talk-show host.

  “This is Leslie Nelson,” she began, “with Good Evening America. Here in the studio to talk with us about the latest and most profound discoveries of science on Earth and throughout the universe is noted author, lecturer, and scientist, Dr. Gary Stetson. Welcome, Gary.”

  More applause. This time Stetson added a little wave of his hand to his nod and gracious smile. He let the host wait while he absorbed the cheers, then favored her with his most sincere smile. He had practiced it in the mirror. “Hi, Leslie. Glad to be here.”

  Nelson seemed gratified. “So, Gary, your new book Enthalpy is a bestseller of pop science. How does it feel to be the author of two in a row?

  “Leslie, it feels great—not because of the money but because it proves that there’s such a large intelligent reading public out there, who are willing to investigate important new ideas.”

  Again his fans applauded. This time Nelson joined them. Stetson glowed.

  “Let’s see. Your previous book was The Illusion of Time, in which you demonstrated the need for nonsequential thinking. You showed how important it is to view the world not just in the instinctive way that’s been hard-wired by biology into the human psyche, but also to use the more holistic forms of apprehension practiced by insects and trees.”

  And which outsold its one-million-dollar advance to boot, thought Stetson. “Yes, Leslie. Not only was that book widely popular at its time of publication, but it has since become the basis for retraining programs for upper management of most of corporate America. It has introduced a paradigm shift in intelligent thinking.”

  “And now, you’ve published Enthalpy. What’s that about?”

  It’s about a two-million-dollar advance, you dummy. “Well, ‘enthalpy’ itself is a fundamental concept in physics. Basically, it’s the measure of the ability of a physical system to do useful work. You cannot create enthalpy, it can only be destroyed, and when it’s all gone, then no more work can be done. The system and everything in it is dead. The Earth started out with a certain allocation of enthalpy, which we humans are using up today at an astounding rate. If we are going to prolong the life of this planet, we are going to have to drastically cut the rate at which we are consuming enthalpy.”

  Nelson responded with a smile that looked even more sincere than Stetson’s best. This caused him a momentary pang of jealousy, but he managed to let it go. After all, the interviewer was a professional. Like himself.

  “You certainly have done a lot of profound thinking about some of the most important issues facing humanity today. Tell me, Gary, how do you feel about this new discovery of life on Mars?”

  The question took Stetson off guard. He had been expecting and hoping to keep plugging his book . . . but Mars? Who gave a damn about Mars? He looked at the audience. They clearly did, and awaited his judgment on the recent discovery. His mind racing, Stetson spoke slowly, giving himself time to develop his thoughts as he went along. “An interesting question, Leslie. I have to say that I agree entirely with all the leading medical experts. This is a very, uh, dangerous situation.”

  Nelson arched an eyebrow, surprised. Now she was genuinely interested, and so was the audience. “Dangerous to us here on Earth?”

  Fear’s the ticket. It always is. Stetson caught his stride. The line of attack was now clear. This issue could be played up for millions. “Yes, absolutely. The astronauts have been exposed to organisms against which no terrestrial plant or animal has any defense whatsoever. Alien organisms.” Yes, that was the word to use. “If those reckless astronauts are allowed to return here, not only humanity but the entire terrestrial biosphere could very well be devastated by unstoppable epidemics. We have no way of guaranteeing the safety of the human race. None.”

  He spoke more forcefully now. “Under no circumstances must we allow that to happen. Unfortunately, our political leaders are so bound up with the macho American ‘can-do’ baloney that they’re willing to bring five daredevils home and commit genocide, risking billions of lives, rather than allow their precious mission to fail by ordering the astronauts not to return.”

  Now it was Nelson’s turn to be taken aback. The interviewer stared at Stetson for several seconds before responding. “So you feel that in the best interests of humanity, the astronauts should be . . . quarantined away from Earth? Forever?”

  Stetson summoned his storehouse of inner rage, adding synthetic conviction to his argument. “Look, all five of those people on Mars willfully, knowingly, and maliciously violated the fundamental laws of cosmic bioethics.” Nelson seemed puzzled. No matter, he could make it clear. “Ask yourself, who gave them the authority to contaminate Mars? How dare they trespass on another world after we’ve reduced our own Garden of Eden to an ecological cesspool?”

  Nelson nodded in apparent or at least simulated understanding. “I’m starting to see your point, Gary.”

  Stetson continued with vigor. “And that awful Dr. Sherman actually suggests cross-linking Earth and Mars genetic material to create artificially engineered Frankenstein plants that will grow on the surface of Mars, or invade the few remaining pristine deserts on Earth. Read her report—she says it he
rself. Abomination! We need to keep Mars red, as much as we need to keep Earth green. We must not mix Earth life and Mars life, or the results will annihilate life on both worlds, mark my words.”

  The audience applauded, more for his performance than his rationale. He observed Nelson taking this in, gauging the audience’s mood. Was she playing with the idea of a barbed counterpoint? They’re with me already, Leslie. Don’t even think about posing opposition.

  “But what can the average American do about it?” Apparently she’d gotten the message.

  Stetson faced the camera boldly, emphasizing his reply with a raised fist. “This is not the time to wait and let the bureaucrats muddle through. If ever there was a need for immediate grassroots action, it’s now! Don’t wait, or the human race will be sorry. People need to take to the streets and demand that the reckless astronauts not be allowed to contaminate our planet. They wanted Mars, let them stay there.”

  He leaned even closer to the camera. “We need to march on Washington, and on NASA Mission Control at the Johnson Space Center in Houston. Take whatever action is necessary. We need to tell our so-called leaders what we think. Keep Earth green! Keep Mars red! We must make our voices heard. The life of every living being on this planet could depend on it.”

  The audience cheered. Then someone began to chant, “Keep Earth green! Keep Mars red!” Quickly several others, then more, then all, joined in. “Keep Earth green! Keep Mars red! Keep Earth green! Keep Mars red!”

  Stetson beamed. A new Movement had been launched.

  WASHINGTON DC

  JAN. 6, 2012 13:10 CST

  On the sidewalk in front of the White House a mob of hostile demonstrators chanted: “Keep Earth green! Keep Mars red!” The crowd was mostly leftist-looking, including many young people wearing antiglobalist slit jeans, anarchist black, or ecogoth brown, but interspersed among them and marching alongside were older, more soberly dressed types carrying signs that read REPENT! SAVE OUR HOME! and PRIDE GOETH BEFORE THE FALL.