First Landing

by Robert Zubrin

“Look. Remember the morning after the riot here? When the news came in that the ERV propellant had been dumped, I checked through all its flight systems. I remember it clearly—the primary flight CPU indicator read green.”

  Rollins felt a surge of pity. Tex obviously felt guilty for having missed the indicator. Well, no one else had caught it either. “Are you sure? It could easily have been missed in the confusion—”

  “It wasn’t missed, because it wasn’t there. I know what I saw. Both the JSC and ERV computer logs are lying.” Tex stared at his partner with certainty.

  The younger man decided to take the matter seriously. “Well, then, unless you’re willing to believe that there are saboteurs both at Mission Control and on Mars, there’s only one answer. Our system has been hacked.”

  “Hacked?”

  “Broken into from the outside by computer wizards who are sending mission-wrecking commands through our system.”

  Tex didn’t know much about computers, having been born too soon. But he had heard about such things. He had only one question. “What can we do about it?”

  “We need to be very careful about what we uplink to Mars. Everything containing an executable code should be sent to the simulator first. And I can try setting some traps, to see who modems into the system at key moments.”

  “Traps, huh?” Tex liked the idea. “In that case, we better keep it a secret. Don’t even tell Phil. You know how he is about stuff like this. He’d never believe it.”

  Rollins nodded. It was clear that Chief of Operations Mason viewed Tex Logan as eccentric and semi-senile, especially when he talked conspiracy.

  “And besides,” Tex said, “the fewer people who know about the traps, the better the odds are that word won’t leak out. I want to catch that bastard.”

  CHAPTER 22

  OPHIR PLANUM

  OCT. 30, 2012 06:05 MLT

  THE CREW AWOKE while it was still dark and began preparations for the sortie that would decide their fate. By dawn, it was time for the rover to depart. As the Sun’s edge peeked above the horizon, bathing the entire landscape in an eerie red glow, Townsend and Gwen put the vehicle through its final checkout. Moving quickly, they spoke to each other only in clipped, businesslike phrases.

  In the lower deck of the Hab, McGee worked with Rebecca to assemble a formidable array of mountaineering equipment into two large backpacks. Finally, he shouldered one of the packs, and Rebecca handed him the other for the colonel. “So it looks like you’re finally going to get to do some mountaineering on Mars, Kevin.”

  Slightly embarrassed by the intimacy of her tone, he answered, “Maybe a bit more than I bargained for. The Valles Marineris is three miles deep. We’ll have to rappel down in stages, and hope we can leave enough ropes in place to enable a climb out.”

  The doctor stepped closer to him. “Kevin, I . . .”

  Her eyes were luminous, her gaze beautiful. McGee felt choked for words. “Yes?” was all he could muster.

  But the moment was interrupted by the crackle of Townsend’s Marsuit radio. “Hey, what’s taking so long? We’ve got to get going.”

  Rebecca smiled and put one hand behind McGee’s neck. “Kevin, be careful,” she said, and kissed him softly on the lips.

  McGee was awed.

  Her big brown eyes searched his. There was affection in those eyes. Warmth. “Besides, if you were to kill yourself . . .” She paused, leaving McGee speechless.

  Then she grinned broadly. “I don’t know what I’d do for a game of Scrabble around here.”

  Her sudden flippancy enabled him to talk. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back home as soon as—”

  Rebecca kissed him again, a long kiss, but as soft as the first. It was the kind of kiss a man remembers for decades—a statement, a farewell kiss that is almost a vow, a woman’s final approval of a man’s worth, a warrior’s sendoff.

  Her eyes searched his once more. “Take care.” Then, stepping back into the lock that led to the upper deck of the Beagle, she closed it softly behind her, giving McGee a parting smile in the process.

  It took him a moment to swallow the lump in his throat; then he snapped down his helmet, switched on the Marsuit respirator system, activated the pumpdown, and opened the airlock outer door. As the door opened, his eyes were greeted by the red-lit landscape of a spectacular Martian dawn.

  Townsend stood beside the rover parked twenty meters from the Hab, its engine already running. Gwen, her work done, had backed away from the vehicle in the direction of the ERV. In the dim morning light, the ruddy landscape of Mars was stark and strange, both more beautiful and more threatening than ever. Somehow the sight brought home to McGee the immensity of this planet, its weird novelty, and the formidable nature of the expedition he was about to begin. It was a scene to engrave upon memory, and his mind reached for poetry:

  “As when dawn lifts her rosy hand above the horizon . . .” Homer, would that you were here to chronicle this Odyssey.

  Townsend waved him forward. “Let’s go, Professor.”

  McGee strode down the ramp and entered the rover, followed quickly by the colonel. Moments later, Townsend closed the hatch and shifted the engine into gear. As they trundled away, McGee looked back to see Rebecca peering out the Beagle’s upper-deck window, waving farewell. Then, as they approached the ERV, Gwen stood outside in a Marsuit. She gave the rover crew a thumbs up, which Townsend returned. Within minutes, the base receded into the distance, and they were alone.

  As they drove out onto the plain in the direction of the vast canyon, McGee dropped a disk into his electronic book and started to read aloud: “Here’s what Carr says in his old write-up. ‘Valles Marineris. The canyons are mostly flat-floored with steep, gullied walls. Many contain thick, partly eroded, layered sediments . . .’ ”

  Townsend cut the lecture short. “Bottom line, McGee. Does he recommend a route?”

  McGee shook his head. “From what he says, I think our best shot is to drive about half a day along the edge of the canyon, park near map point G-22, and make a descent along the series of natural switchbacks that appear to lie below it.”

  The colonel set his jaw. “Very well. Make it so.”

  Now where have I heard that before? McGee smiled inwardly.

  “Yes . . . Captain Picard.”

  The two exchanged a comradely grin.

  AURORAE PLANUM, NEAR CAPRI CHASMA

  OCT. 30, 2012 10:20 MLT

  Four hours later, the two men arrived at the edge of the largest canyon in the solar system. Exiting the rover, they advanced to the cliff, and looked down into its vast depths.

  McGee’s memory flashed to his first view of Earth’s Grand Canyon. He had seen it before in pictures, movies, even on Imax the night before—but nothing had prepared him for the real thing. Now Mars’ canyon made Arizona’s look like a ditch. Though he had already seen a part of it on that first rover sortie with Gwen a lifetime ago, the Valles Marineris still sent his mind reeling.

  Townsend motioned to McGee, and they started down together. At first the descent was easy. A ledge ran along the side of the slope, and though the path was steep, it offered no significant difficulty. Then, without warning, the ledge ended in a sheer cliff.

  McGee was prepared. Uncoiling a thin nylon line, he fastened one end securely around a massive boulder, and threw the other into the yawning gulf below. It would be an impressive descent, almost two hundred meters.

  He looked to the colonel and gestured to the rope. “After you, Alphonse.”

  Townsend smiled. “After you, Gaston.”

  McGee picked up the line, fastened it to his safety belt, and walked to the edge. “See you at the bottom,” he said, and kicked off.

  Over the edge he went, and then down. After so many months on Mars, McGee was accustomed to the low Martian gravity, but this was the first time he’d let himself fall in it. He noticed the obvious slowness of the acceleration during his drop. One-third g meant that he could fall three times the distance that he c
ould on Earth before he reached an equivalent speed. Both going down and climbing back up, rappelling on Mars would be a lot easier than on Earth.

  Thank God for small favors, he thought. After so much adversity, they would take any advantages wherever they could find them.

  Still, the two-hundred-meter drop was awesome—and it was just the beginning. They successfully rappelled several more times, alternating with bouts of walking, bouldering, scrambling, rock climbing, and scree sliding.

  After several hours they paused for water and a brief rest. Townsend, clearly more worn by the constant effort, turned to the historian. “It seems that I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  McGee had noted Townsend’s limited technique during the descent, but had said nothing, mindful of the commander’s pride. The military man was tough and game, and appeared to have been taught the basics of mountaineering at some point, but his lack of real experience was painfully obvious.

  “Take it easy, Colonel. The gravity here is only about a third of Earth’s, but the weight and clumsiness of our spacesuits and breathing gear makes this at least as tricky as a climb down any terrestrial canyon.”

  Townsend rubbed his sore left shoulder and added ruefully, “With the plus that if you fall and crack your faceplate, you die a blood-coughing, vacuum-breathing, agonizing death.”

  “Even a broken ankle could doom us, Colonel. So be very careful.”

  Tired as they were, they had little choice but to immediately resume their advance. Again they had to rappel, scramble, scree, march, and boulder. The pair made it to another good traveling ledge, which turned into a miniature canyon contained within the larger canyon’s wall. As they marched downward quite a distance along this route, all view of the greater world beyond was cut off. Then suddenly the path bent, and before them was a sheer canyon wall towering thirty meters above them.

  Trudging back several miles to the head of the channel and trying an alternative route was a prospect too demoralizing to contemplate. There could be no turning back. “We’re going to have to make a frontal assault on this cliff face.” McGee pulled a set of steel pitons from his pack, and turned to the mission commander. Sheer guts and grit wouldn’t be sufficient here. For once his voice was authoritative. “I’ll climb the face alone, Colonel; then you can use my safety rope to follow.”

  For an instant it seemed as if Townsend would argue, but then he thought the better of it and simply gestured for the professor to proceed. McGee had to admire the man’s courage. Good, he’s brave enough to be realistic. We might make it yet.

  He stepped up to the wall and perceived a tiny handhold above, and the slightest sliver of a foothold at about chest height. Carefully, he surveyed the remainder of the wall, a bump here, a crack there, and the concept of a route upwards jelled in his mind. It had been nearly three years since he’d gone rock climbing, but his eyes were still practiced. Yes, there was a way. Five pitons. He selected six and put them in his belt pouch.

  This wouldn’t be so hard . . . if this were Earth, and I weren’t wearing this Marsuit. Oh, for a T-shirt, shorts, and an old pair of climbing shoes. His mind went back to the first time he had rock-climbed, in Boulder. He’d been taken to an impressive formation called the Maiden by Kelly, a lithe young female climber, on a first date. Though he was an experienced hiker and mountaineer, ascending that sheer rock face had seemed impossible. But up Kelly had gone, ascending easily by means of invisible handholds and footholds. Then she’d waved for him to follow, merrily trapping him into attempting to duplicate her feat of terrifying lunacy. What had she called out to him?

  Make yourself one with the rock.

  Boulder philosophy. The Zen of rock climbing. Oh well, as bizarre as it seemed, it had worked that day.

  Make yourself one with the rock.

  He pressed his body as close to the cliff face as the suit would allow, dug his fingers into the cracklike handhold above, put one foot sideways on the minute shelf of a ledge below, and pushed. The suit scraped across the rocky wall, but it did not tear, and he was up nearly a meter.

  Townsend’s voice crackled in his helmet radio: “Careful you don’t cut that suit.”

  “Roger that.” He found his next set of handholds and footholds, and pushed again. Up another meter. At least the muscle part of this is easy, he thought. One-third g is very cool for rock climbing. Eat your heart out, Boulder.

  He pushed again, and again. Now he was halfway up. The next handhold did not exist . . . but there was a hairline crack. He took his first spike and inserted its tip, then pulled the hammer from his belt and tapped lightly. The rock was sandstone and the spike went in easily enough. He lowered a climbing line to the ground, attached part of it to the spike with a carabiner, and then another portion to himself. This was “protection.” If he were to fall, he could now fall not much lower than the spike.

  Then up another meter, and another piece of protection. Two more spikes, two more pieces of protection, up again, another spike, more protection, up again, then another spike, up again, one more, another protection, then up, and up—and he’d made it to the top.

  He pulled himself onto the mini canyon rim, stood up, and surveyed the downward slope that would have to serve as their way forward. More boulders and cliffs, but it was all downhill. It should be passable enough.

  McGee fastened his end of the line around a medium-sized boulder, walked back to the ledge and waved to Townsend. “Come on up!” he shouted.

  The shout was unnecessary, since they were communicating by radio, and his loud voice echoed uncomfortably inside his helmet. OK, so I guess my adrenaline is up a bit, he admitted to himself.

  The rope went taut, and a minute later a panting Townsend appeared at the top. He looked McGee in the eye. “A bit excited, are we now?” he ribbed.

  McGee answered with a shrug and gestured toward the waiting path that led downward again. Without a word, they were on their way once more.

  More of the same for the next few hours. They had to rappel down one cliff face after another, and climb their way out of several more box canyons. As they made their descents, the dislodged pebbles that rattled down canyon walls turned into small avalanches. On more than one occasion, a hand slipped, and a body went swinging out on a cable, only to be hauled back in by a stalwart companion.

  Finally they reached the bottom and began trudging along a dry riverbed, flanked by the towering walls of the Valles Marineris. McGee and Townsend scrambled down boulders into a deeper ravine, which turned to the right, suddenly opening into a valley filled with huge stromatolites. Gigantic formations lay scattered everywhere, far more impressive than the stromatolites Rebecca and McGee had discovered on their earlier mission.

  The historian was awed. “If only Rebecca were here.”

  Townsend just shook his head. “She’ll have to settle for photographs. We’ve no room in our packs for any of those.”

  McGee took out his video recorder and scanned the stromatolites. As they marched on, the formations became progressively more complex and bizarre. In many places he saw the same blue-green signature that had led to the discovery of extant life, but here it was much more apparent. Some stromatolites even exhibited alternative varieties of blue-green pigment. There’s more life here than we thought. There is much here that is left to discover. His sense of wonder reawakened, McGee tried to zoom in on some of the more novel objects as he continued the trek without pausing.

  Eventually the two men made their way out of the ravine and into an open canyon floor region that was devoid of stromatolites. They marched on, trudging, bouldering, scrambling. Finally they rounded a bend in the canyon—and in the distance they could see the second ERV.

  Townsend and McGee stood gaping in amazement for a few seconds, then set off for the vehicle in as close an approximation of a run as the rough terrain allowed. Upon arriving at the ERV, they were winded, exhausted, but charged with excitement. They climbed the access ladder, Townsend first.

  The ou
ter airlock door opened easily enough, and the two climbed into the lower cabin without difficulty. The disorienting sight gave them a bit of a shock: Here were the snug, completely immaculate quarters planned for the next returning crew, who now would never be launched.

  McGee took a sidelong glance at the pantry loaded with edible rations. Unfortunately, the two would not be able to carry much with them on the way back out, but at least they would eat well tonight.

  Still, dining was not their mission, and they left the lower deck and climbed into the control cabin. Townsend ducked under the control panel, emerging seconds later with a computer card that appeared to be in perfect shape. The colonel applied a small electrical meter to two of the card’s terminals, and the meter’s green light flashed on. He applied yet another set of connectors, and the green light went on again. As one test after another showed green, McGee’s spirits rose. Finally the colonel gave him a big thumbs up.

  “Salvation,” McGee said in a hushed voice.

  Townsend put the computer card down. At the control panel, he threw switches and checked readouts. Satisfied with what he saw, he removed his helmet. “The life support system is working fine, Professor. We’ll shack up here for the night. It’s much too late to try an ascent today.”

  McGee was grateful for the opportunity to get out of his helmet and shuck his suit. “Can we call the Beagle and let them know we made it?”

  Townsend shook his head. “This ERV’s only radio is X-band, with no over-the-horizon capability. Its voice channel needs programming, and we don’t have time for that. But we can try sending a signal to the DSN, via the ERV’s engineering telemetry link, which is now up and running. That’ll at least let them know we’re here, and they can relay the good news to the Beagle.”

  But the thought of the untouched pantry downstairs and McGee’s growling stomach made it clear to him that they should have other priorities. “Great idea, but can’t it wait till after dinner?”

  Townsend grinned. “You bet it can.” The two of them raced down the ladder to loot the food supplies.