First Landing

by Robert Zubrin

  Gwen took another tiny step forward. She could see that the slow timing of her approach to the altar had McGee on edge, so she shot him a mischievous look and answered his objections with a grin that spoke as clearly as telepathy. This girl’s only getting married once, and I intend to make the most of it. Relax. I’ll get there soon enough.

  McGee smiled sheepishly. What a nice smile, Gwen thought. As a little girl, she had secretly hoped that she would meet her Prince Charming someday. Not finding him among the rough types that surrounded her, she’d preferred to make herself one of the boys rather than allow herself to be one of their objects. Then she had met Kevin McGee, so good, so fine, so smart, so light spirited and strong hearted. The more she’d gotten to know him, the more she liked him. It had seemed impossible that the distinguished historian might ever notice a simple country girl like her. Then he had, and showed himself when she’d needed him most.

  Back on Earth, it was night in North Carolina. She thought of her family back home. Perhaps they were looking up right now, seeing Mars in the sky.

  I’m getting married in the sky, she marveled. This is a marriage made in heaven. She reached the altar, and turned to face McGee.

  Townsend began reading.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to . . .”

  CHAPTER 27

  OPHIR PLANUM

  APRIL 9, 2013 02:12 MLT

  IT WAS THE middle of the night at Mars Base 1, and only one member of the crew was awake. Four months had passed since the wedding, allowing plenty of time for research and rethinking. In the solitude of her cabin, Rebecca stared at the medical records displayed on her laptop. Their message was dismal.

  Two of Gwen’s aunts, one cousin, and one of her grandmother’s sisters had died in childbirth. Poor rural medical facilities were partly to blame, but that wasn’t the whole story. Genetics had loaded the decks against them. The family had a history of large, late infants, which, when combined with the tight-hipped boyish build of most of its women, made for high-risk pregnancies. It was the first baby that was usually the killer. After that, the anatomical changes brought about by the first birth made things a lot easier. But, though she might be able to deny her fears, Gwen was in for a nightmare.

  Abortion was now out of the question. Rebecca would not even consider bringing it up. Tears of shame fogged her eyes when she recalled her previous disgraceful behavior on that matter. Oh, Gwen, how could I have been so cruel as to try to trample on you like that? I was so arrogant, so sure I was right. All I thought about was saving the program. I never thought of you. Forgive me. Forgive me.

  And whose program had she really been trying to save? NASA’s. Send a crew to Mars and return them safely to Earth. For what purpose? For the purpose of gratifying the political needs of some Washington windbags? Was that a cause worth destroying Gwen for? Was that the cause to which she had dedicated her life?

  Hardly. Nor was it exobiology. As important as such research was, Rebecca knew it was just a respectable cover for her deeper passion.

  No, the real cause was—

  Life to Mars, and Mars to Life.

  The old Mars Society slogan had stirred her soul as a youth and recruited her to the movement. It was for that she had braved the freezing winds and falling scaffolds of Devon Island. It was for that she had poured out her spirit in a decade-long campaign to move a nation to reach for Mars. It was for that she had given up a life of security and privilege to take on the tough and risky career of an astronaut.

  But when the chips were down, she had acted as if it were all a lot of hot air. It was Gwen—poor, uneducated Gwen—who had really accepted the challenge.

  For the reality of the poetic-sounding slogan would be harsh. It would be a pain-ripped woman facing death on a blood-soaked table in an inadequate delivery room.

  Gwen, forgive me. I betrayed you. I betrayed myself.

  I’ll do anything to help you now.

  Alone in her bunk, the proud doctor cried.

  OPHIR PLANUM

  JUNE 28, 2013 21:23 MLT

  “What’s her status?” Townsend asked Rebecca.

  In private conference with the colonel in the Beagle’s galley at night, Rebecca surveyed her charts. “Almost due. I’d say she has about three or four weeks to go.”

  “No sooner?” He gritted his teeth, as if hoping for a reprieve.

  Rebecca had no choice but to disappoint him. “Two weeks at the earliest,” she said with certainty.

  The colonel slammed his fist down on the table. “Dammit!”

  The doctor was taken aback by the violence of his reaction. “What’s the problem?”

  With effort, Townsend calmed himself. “Today is June 28. Our window for a fast-transfer trajectory return to Earth closes on July 6.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “She won’t have given birth by then. And there’s nothing I can do to induce labor. Those kind of drugs weren’t in the standard medical kit for a Mars mission, you know. And as it is, first deliveries are notoriously late.”

  Townsend walked over to contemplate the wall calendar. “So, either we leave her here in the midst of labor, or stay to help out and miss our launch window.”

  Rebecca stared in silence for several significant moments. “Colonel,” she said firmly, “we’ve got to stay.”

  His face a turmoil of despair and indecision, Townsend whirled on her. “Why? McGee will be here with her. You can instruct him on what to do. And Gwen is as tough and healthy a girl as ever was. If anyone can handle a natural childbirth, she can.”

  “Wrong,” Rebecca was firm. “Tough’s the problem. That tomboy build of hers will cause trouble when it comes to getting the baby out. I’m medically certain this is going to be a rough delivery, Colonel. She’ll need professional assistance.”

  Townsend looked about the room as if seeking help. “Can you do a C-section and deliver the kid early?” he said, a hint of desperation in his tone.

  The doctor was emphatic. “No way. The equipment for surgery here is completely inadequate, to say nothing of the problem of caring for a premature infant.”

  For several moments, Townsend remained silent. She could see something unspoken going on in his mind. She locked her eyes on him and waited, silently commanding him to come forth with the truth.

  A few seconds later, Townsend offered in a quiet but tortured voice, “Mission Control wants us to take both of them with us by force.”

  “What!” Rebecca was shocked.

  “That’s right.” Townsend lowered his furious eyes. “And I have orders directly from General Winters himself, representing both the Joint Chiefs and the White House. They can’t afford having us abandon those two here, even if Gwen wasn’t in labor. And under present circumstances . . .”

  Rebecca cut him off. “Taking them is absolutely out of the question. Trying to deal with a birth in the zero-gravity environment of the ERV would be a disaster. And spending the first five months of its life in zero g would leave the child hideously crippled, if it survived at all.”

  Townsend looked at her. “I thought you were the one who wanted the baby aborted.”

  “That was then, this is now. That was abortion, this is infanticide. Ethically I can’t allow it.” Rebecca crossed her arms and returned the colonel’s look with a level gaze.

  “You realize what you’re saying?” said Townsend, totally flustered. “After the sixth, the only way home is a slow transfer orbit that gets us home in May instead of January. Ten months in that little ERV cabin instead of six. It’s only designed to provide life support for two hundred days at most.”

  “But there’ll only be three of us instead of all five. We can make it.”

  “Maybe, except for one thing. Even the slow return window closes after July 21. What would you have us do if the baby hasn’t arrived by then?”

  “If that happens, Colonel, you do what you think best.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll do what I have to do,” the doct
or said softly.

  OPHIR PLANUM

  JUNE 29–JULY 16, 2013

  The concept of “launch window” in astronautics is a relative term. In principle, it is always possible to get from one place to another—if one has sufficient propulsive capabilities and sufficient time. However, if the propulsive system is fixed, and the flight time allowable is limited by available consumables, then the otherwise vague edges of the launch window during which it is possible to get from one planet to another can become very sharp.

  Luke Johnson marked the calendar hanging in the galley with two important dates. On July 8 he wrote in green, “End of fast transfer window.” On July 21 he marked in red, “Last chance to launch.”

  The first of these days was somewhat arbitrary; it was the last date during which the dynamics of the solar system would allow the ERV Retriever to make the transit from Mars back to Earth within the limits of the two-hundred-day flight it was rated for. A day later, the required trip time grew to 209 days; while outside specs, the returning crew might risk that much without too much fear. But if launch were delayed even one more day after that, they would need 218 days, and so on, until July 21, when a risky 306-day transfer was still possible.

  But after July 21, no amount of time would do. The Earth would simply have moved too far for the ERV to make the trip.

  As each day passed, Luke placed an X in one square after another. McGee questioned whether Townsend should have let this demonstration of anxiousness-to-leave continue, but he did, and the crew grew more nervous with each X. Finally the day came when Luke placed an X on July 8.

  “Last chance for a quick flight,” the geologist commented.

  But Townsend just continued his reading.

  Thus, the first critical day passed without incident.

  Then another day was marked off, and another, and another, until July 16.

  With nothing left to do but wait, the entire crew gathered in the galley. Gwen, Luke, and McGee were watching a Braves game. The TV sportscaster blared, “Bottom of the ninth, Atlanta trails 5:2. Two outs. Runners on second and third.”

  Sitting next to Rebecca, off to the side, Townsend whispered, “How much longer do you figure, Doctor?”

  The sportscaster announced: “Coming to the plate for Atlanta is slugger Stan Slominski. Slominski, batting 342, twenty-nine home runs so far this season.”

  “Come on, Stan!” Gwen shouted. Stan was the man.

  Rebecca shrugged. “I don’t know. It could be today, could be tomorrow. Could be two weeks from now.”

  Townsend clenched his fist. “Dammit. We don’t have two weeks. We don’t even have one week. Isn’t there anything you can do to push things along?”

  “The pitch, high and outside. Ball one! Looks like Slominski’s being given an intentional walk.”

  Rebecca briefly eyed the group watching the game with clinical interest, and then answered her commander. “No, nothing safe. At this point, Mother Nature’s in charge.”

  Oblivious to the doctor’s disdain, the sportscaster announced: “Two outs. Bases are loaded. Coming to bat for Atlanta is Carlos Gomez, a rookie who hasn’t done very well this year. Gomez, batting 195, is at the plate. Here’s the pitch, strike one!”

  Gwen rose from her chair and turned away from the TV in disgust. “I don’t want to see this.”

  “Strike two!” the sportscaster called.

  Gwen walked to the refrigerator to get something to drink. She returned with a cup of juice and stood behind her chair, facing away from the TV to avoid witnessing the final debacle.

  “And it’s a powerful drive deep into left field!”

  Gwen whirled in amazement. The sportscaster went on. “It’s . . . it’s . . . over the fence! A grand slam. Carlos Gomez has knocked the ball right out of the park! Atlanta wins, 6:5.”

  “Yes!” Gwen shouted.

  Then she doubled over in pain, dropping her cup onto the floor. Stricken, Gwen clutched at her swollen belly. “Ahhhh! Help! I’m dying!”

  Rebecca was up in an instant. “Quick,” she shouted, “get her into the lab.”

  McGee tried to help his new wife walk, but her legs wouldn’t work, so he put his hands under her arms and motioned to Luke, who lifted her legs. The two men carried her, moaning and screaming, into the lab. Rebecca slammed a cot mattress onto the table, and the men placed Gwen down on it. In a few moments, her screaming stopped, but her breathing remained agonized.

  As Gwen’s breathing slowly became more regular, Rebecca put on her doctor’s coat and sterile gloves, and moved to unfasten Gwen’s pants. “We better have a look—”

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Gwen angrily pushed the doctor’s hand away.

  Rebecca tried to be cool. “I’m going to deliver your baby.”

  Gwen’s eyes went wild. “No you’re not. No you’re not! Do you hear me, Colonel. I don’t want that atheist bitch to lay a finger on me!”

  Flustered, Rebecca backed away before mustering her courage to try again. “Gwen, this is going to be hard. You’ve got to let me help.”

  Gwen shoved her away violently. “You stay away!”

  Rebecca turned to her commander for assistance. “Colonel, she could die. I’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

  Townsend didn’t know what to do. “Try talking with her,” he offered helplessly.

  Rebecca took a deep breath to calm herself, then approached again, taking care to stay out of arms’ reach of her wild patient.

  “Gwen, listen to me,” the doctor said softly. “I’m sorry about what I said. I’m sorry about trying to make you have an abortion. I was wrong. Now I want to help. Please let me help you.”

  Gwen glared at her. “Why should I believe that?”

  “I’m a doctor. It’s my oath.”

  Curiosity modified the hostile expression on the mechanic’s face. “What good’s your oath? You don’t even believe in God, do you?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “No, Gwen, I don’t. But I believe in truth. Have you ever known me to lie about anything?”

  Gwen thought for a moment. “No, I reckon not.”

  Rebecca knelt by the table. “Listen to me, Gwen,” she whispered with a kind of passion. “I swear this to you on all I hold holy. I want you to have this baby. I want you to live, and I want the baby to live, and I want you and McGee to raise your child here on Mars. I believe in what you’re doing, Gwen. I believe in it with all my heart. If I had the courage, I’d do it myself. I don’t.” She drew a breath. “But I have the skill to see you through this. Gwen, I can help you win. Let me help.”

  Gwen was bewildered. The doctor’s outburst was honest, that was obvious. But still . . . She shook her head. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve hated you? I think I’d rather die than let you help me.”

  Rebecca looked her softly in the eyes. “And the baby, would you rather have her die?”

  Gwen stared at Rebecca for several seconds. “Her. You called my baby a ‘her,’ not an ‘it.’”

  Rebecca nodded. “Yes, Gwen, your baby’s going to be a girl.”

  Gwen was dumbfounded. “How long have you known?”

  “A long time.”

  “But you didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t think you would want to know ahead of time.”

  “You were right.” Gwen’s expression softened a bit. “Thank you for considering my way of thinking.”

  “Sorry I let it slip.”

  “That’s okay,” Gwen smiled. “We all make mistakes. A girl. A baby girl!”

  Rebecca leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. “We’re the only women within seventy million miles. Don’t you think it’s silly for us to be always, always . . .”

  “Tearing at each other like cats?”

  Rebecca nodded. “Precisely.”

  “You think maybe us behaving that way is giving women a bad reputation around here?”

  Rebecca nodded again.

  Gwen looked down at her swollen bel
ly. “My daughter wouldn’t like that.”

  Rebecca shook her head and smiled. “No.”

  Gwen regarded the doctor. “You know, Rebecca, I always thought you were a really fine person—for a damn Yankee atheist bitch, that is.”

  Rebecca grinned. “And I always thought you were super, Gwen, taking into consideration the fact that you’re an ignorant Bible-thumping hillbilly, of course.”

  The two women exchanged smiles of recognition. Gwen slowly extended her hand to Rebecca, who clasped it warmly. “Go ahead, Doc. Do your stuff. Let’s even up the odds around here.”

  For a moment Rebecca felt choked with emotion. Oh, Gwen, if only we could have been friends sooner. Then she mastered herself. “Okay, now let’s have a look,” she said clinically.

  Rebecca opened up Gwen’s pants. What a mess.

  The mechanic saw her expression. “It’s the bag of waters, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Membranes have ruptured.”

  Gwen gritted her teeth in pain. “Uh-oh. It’s happening again.” Then suddenly she screamed.

  The noise was startling, but Rebecca quickly gathered her wits. She looked at her watch. “That’s five minutes since the last one. She’s coming soon.”

  Gwen reached out. “Could I have some . . . privacy?”

  Rebecca stood up and faced the three watching men. “All right, everybody out except the father.”

  For a moment, McGee and Luke looked at each other. Both women watched curiously, with similar thoughts. Let’s see who stays. The confrontation didn’t take long. McGee stood his ground. Luke hesitated and then looked to Townsend, who motioned the geologist to follow him out to the galley.

  Seconds after the door closed behind the two departing men, Gwen screamed again.

  The scream bespoke a pain that edged on death. McGee was terrified. “What’s going on? Is this normal?”

  Rebecca’s voice was coolly professional. “We’ve got engagement, descent, and flexion. Internal rotation nominal.”