Final Battle

by Sigmund Brouwer

  What was complicated about a baby on Mars?

  Let me put it this way. Because of planetary orbits, spaceships can reach Mars only every three years. (Only four ships have arrived since I was born.) And for what it costs to send a ship from Earth, cargo space is expensive. Very, very expensive. Diapers, baby bottles, cribs, and carriages are not exactly a priority for interplanetary travel.

  I did without all that stuff. In fact, my wheelchair isn’t even motorized, because every extra pound of cargo costs something like 10,000 dollars.

  Just like I did without a modern hospital when I was born. So when my spinal column twisted funny during birth and damaged the nerves to my legs, there was no one to fix them. Which is why I’m in a wheelchair.

  But it could be worse. On Earth, I’d weigh 110 pounds. Here, I’m only 42 pounds, so I don’t have to fight gravity nearly as hard as Earth kids.

  I had written that when I had barely turned 14 in Earth years. I knew now, of course, that the spinal damage hadn’t been an accident. But a lot of things had happened since that first journal entry. On Mars, Terratakers had tried taking over the dome. They’d tried to fake evidence of an ancient civilization and then attempted to gain control of a space torpedo that would let them dominate the Earth. And on Earth, they’d tried to kill all the vice governors of the World United Federation. They’d forced us robot-control kids to become an army of soldier robots.

  And in the middle of all that had been my only journey away from Mars.

  I saw the entry I’d written during the space trip to Earth nearly three years earlier, and I remembered the incredible feeling of homesickness.

  A little over two weeks ago, I was on Mars. Under the dome. Living life in a wheelchair… . Then, with the suddenness of a lightning bolt, I discovered I would be returning to Earth with Dad as he piloted this spaceship on the three-year round-trip to Earth and back to Mars… .

  I’d been dreaming of Earth for years.

  After all, I was the only human in the history of mankind who had never been on the planet. I’d only been able to watch it through the telescope and wonder about snowcapped mountains and blue sky and rain and oceans and rivers and trees and flowers and birds and animals.

  Earth.

  When Rawling had told me I was going to visit Earth, I’d been too excited to sleep. Finally, I’d be able to see everything I’d only read about under the cramped protection of the Mars Dome, where it never rained, the sky outside was the color of butterscotch, and the mountains were dusty red.

  But when it came time to roll onto the shuttle that would take us to the Moon Racer, waiting in orbit around Mars, I had discovered an entirely new sensation. Homesickness. Mars—and the dome—was all I knew.

  Dozens of technicians and scientists had been there when we left, surprising me by their cheers and affection. Rawling had been the second-to-last person to say good-bye, shaking my hand gravely, then giving me a hug.

  And the last person?

  That had been Mom, biting her lower lip and blinking back tears. It hurt so much seeing her sad— and feeling my own sadness. I’d nearly rolled my wheelchair away from the shuttle. At that moment three years seemed like an eternity. I knew that if an accident happened anywhere along the 100 million miles of travel to Earth and back, I might never see her again. Mom must have been able to read my thoughts because she’d leaned forward to kiss me and told me to not even dare think about staying. She’d whispered that although she’d miss me, she knew I was in God’s hands, so I wouldn’t be alone. She said she was proud of me for taking this big step, and she’d pray every day for the safe return of me and Dad.

  The first few nights on the spaceship had not been easy. Alone in my bunk I had stared upward in the darkness for hours and hours, surprised at how much the sensation of homesickness could fill my stomach.

  Who would think that a person could miss a place that would kill you if you walked outside without a space suit… .

  Since that journey to Earth, these three years had passed. I was 17 now. I’d seen robot-control technology get better and better. In fact, in comparison to some of the kids just learning, I was considered an old pioneer of robot control. Just like Ashley.

  Yet, exciting as Earth was, I always missed Mars.

  Our fleet was so close now—that after three years— within 24 hours I would finally be back.

  Home.

  Where now it looked like immediately I’d have to help start a defense against the first attempted planetary invasion in the history of humankind.

  CHAPTER 8

  We didn’t land on Mars.

  Instead, Dad hooked up our spaceship to the Habitat Lander, a shuttle permanently parked in orbit around Mars. The shuttle was designed to take passengers and equipment down to Mars from the larger spaceships that arrived from Earth.

  While it was routine, it was still tricky. If Dad came into the friction of Mars’ atmosphere too steeply, the heat would overcome the disposable heat shield and burn the shuttle to cinders. Too shallow, and the Habitat Lander would bounce off the atmosphere toward Jupiter.

  Because of my body cast, I was the last one to get strapped in. But at least we were still in low gravity. I wasn’t looking forward to being on the surface, where people would have to move me around like a piece of furniture.

  By now Dad, Ashley, all the other kids in the shuttle, and I knew each other very well. Traveling through space for months in a vehicle with as much living space as a house would do that.

  “Ready, guys?” Dad asked.

  There were a few cheers and nods. I looked at the faces around me. All these kids had become my friends over the past several years since Ashley and I had helped rescue them. Some, like Joey, seemed nervous. Others, like Michael and Ingrid, looked excited. I reminded myself that except for Ashley and Dad, none of them had been on the red planet before.

  Dad hit a few buttons. The hatchway between the shuttle and our spaceship sealed. The Habitat Lander’s rockets fired softly, and the shuttle moved away from the spaceship. The spaceship would stay in orbit until the return trip to Earth.

  Five minutes later, Dad aimed the nose of the Habitat Lander at the top of Mars’ atmosphere.

  I knew that a lot of people from the dome would be outside in a platform buggy watching the night sky anxiously for the brightness of our approaching shuttle. The supplies that came with our fleet were crucial to their survival.

  If the Habitat Lander crashed, our deaths would be quick and theirs a lot slower.

  I prayed, taking comfort in knowing that because of God’s love for us, death isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person.

  And then the bumping began as we hit the top of the atmosphere.

  Dad had warned us to expect a roller-coaster ride, and he was right.

  First came the tumbling around as the atmosphere thickened. Loud screaming filled the air inside the shuttle. But it wasn’t any of us. It was the shrieking of the heat shield against the intense friction of Mars’ atmosphere.

  Next came a clunk and the dropping of the heat shield.

  Then the pop of opening parachutes. It felt like a giant hand had just jerked us upward. That’s when I got my first reminder of gravity after six months of weightlessness.

  The roar of the retro-rockets guided our landing.

  And finally, a soft bump as we landed.

  The shuttle exploded with cheers.

  I was home.

  “Tyce?”

  “Mom!”

  Boy, did she look good. Her thick, dark hair was still cut short, like an upside-down bowl, but this time she’d carefully styled it. For the first time I saw a streak of gray.

  Lying on my back on the floor of the platform buggy, I grinned at her, despite how dumb I felt.

  Although she was smiling, her eyes were searching me.

  It had taken at least a half hour for Ashley and Dad to get me in a space suit so I could be transported from the shuttle to the platform buggy. Once inside
the safety of the minidome of the platform buggy, I’d removed my space helmet.

  “Tyce!” Mom exclaimed again. Seeing me in a body cast was no surprise to her, I could tell. We’d been able to send e-mails back and forth the whole time I was in space. She leaned down quickly, then hesitated.

  I guessed what she was thinking. That maybe after three years I was too grown-up to be affectionate. Especially in front of the other kids in the platform buggy.

  “Mom! Don’t I get a hug?” I said enthusiastically.

  Her lips curved in a big grin and she hugged me as best as she could. Even though I was in a body cast wrapped in a space suit, that hug felt great.

  When she let go of me, there was a single, shiny trail of a tear on her cheek. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said.

  “Me too.”

  Mom stood and hugged Dad, then kept holding on to his hand. This time seeing their embrace didn’t bug me, as it had earlier times when Dad had come home to Mars. It was good to see them together again.

  My homecoming on Mars would have been perfect. I saw Flip and Flop, the two Martian koalas I’d rescued from death. It was great being in my own bed. The other kids had settled into their temporary quarters. And it felt very right being with both Mom and Dad again.

  Yes, my homecoming would have been totally perfect.

  Except for an emergency air leak the next morning that threatened to kill everyone under the dome.

  CHAPTER 9

  Just after breakfast, I was in a wheelchair in Rawling’s office. It had been great to see his smiling face as soon as I was carried into the dome.

  Already I missed zero gravity. The seat back of the wheelchair had been tilted so my body could recline. Before, when I was in a regular wheelchair without a body cast, at least I could wheel myself around the dome. Now, lying close to horizontal with the cast holding my body rigid, I was totally dependent on other people to move me.

  Which was why I was in Rawling’s office, where the walls still displayed framed paintings of Earth scenes like sunsets and mountains. I knew Rawling hated the paintings because of what they stood for—that the previous director, Blaine Steven, had used valuable and expensive cargo space to bring such things to Mars for his office. And because of his role in almost killing 180 people under the dome during the oxygen crisis, Steven was still in a World United Federation prison on Earth. But he didn’t seem to mind. At least he was safe from the Terrataker rebels who had threatened to kill him.

  So why were the paintings still there? I grinned. It was typical of Rawling to take his responsibilities so seriously that he didn’t even take the time to remove the paintings. After all, he was the current director of the Mars Project and also one of only two medical doctors under the dome.

  “How long?” I asked—for the 12th time in the last few minutes. Rawling had just passed an X-ray wand over me. On the floor was the lead shield that he’d wrapped around the parts of my body that weren’t being X-rayed.

  “Just waiting for the film to print out. I’ll compare it to the doctor’s notes that were e-mailed from Earth. Then, finally, I’ll be able to give you an answer. I refuse to guess until then.”

  For me, Rawling was a mixture of older brother—in his late 40s, much older!—buddy, teacher, and doctor. Rawling had worked with me for hours every day ever since I was eight years old, training me in a virtual-reality program to control a robot body as if it were my own. His short, dark hair was even more streaked with gray than I remembered. His nose still looked like it had been broken once, which it had. When he was younger he’d been a quarterback at his university back on Earth, and his wide shoulders showed it.

  “I think it’s finished printing,” I said rather impatiently.

  “Old age has made you cranky, huh?” he replied wryly.

  He still had the same dry sense of humor I remembered. Although 17 was a lot older than when I’d last seen him, it didn’t seem like three years had passed. It felt so good to be around him again.

  “No, this body cast.” I was already feeling itchy, and it wasn’t even close to time for the body powder.

  Rawling leisurely got out of his chair, grinning because he knew I was impatient. He read the X-ray film, then looked up at me.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Well, what?” he threw back.

  “Lost your eyesight since I was last here?” I knew him well enough to tease him. “Need bifocals?”

  “Ouch, not even funny,” he said. “Because it’s true.” He laughed, then scanned the medical charts from Earth again. “Your dad must be exhausted. How many shuttle trips are he and the other pilots making?”

  “Quit stalling.” I knew Rawling already knew. Each shuttle trip took two hours. Dad had to make one shuttle trip for each spaceship but could do only five trips per day. Ours was the only one that had been unloaded last night, since it was so late in the evening. Today some of the passenger spaceships would be unloaded. For the passengers in the other spaceships, one extra day in space wouldn’t seem too long, not after the length of the trip. After that, Dad would bring down the equipment and supplies from the unmanned ships. And then the major work would begin. Assembling the carbon-dioxide generators. In the meantime, the other kids were getting a tour of the dome and settling into their new home.

  “Stalling?” Rawling asked as innocently as possible. “You accuse me of stalling?”

  “When can I get the body cast off?”

  He smiled and read the X-rays one more time. I tried to grab them from him, but he was just out of reach. My arms flailed.

  “You can feel your leg and wiggle your toes, right? That’s good news.”

  I groaned. “Come on, Rawling. I already showed you. It’s no fun in this body cast. When can we get rid of it?”

  Suddenly serious, he scratched his chin. “The X-rays show something strange here. At the bottom of your spine. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was an implanted pacemaker. Except smaller.”

  “I know what it is. It sends out small electrical impulses that are supposed to help the nerves splice better.”

  “I don’t see mention of it on the charts.”

  “Well,” I said, “that’s what one of the doctors told me. All I care about anyway is getting this cast off. When!”

  He grinned again. “Tomorrow.”

  “All right!” I said.

  And that’s when the dome horns began to scream.

  We both knew what it meant. The horns blew for only one reason.

  “Oxygen alert!” he shouted above the horns. “Got to go!”

  He did.

  Seconds later he reappeared with a mask and oxygen tube. He strapped the mask over my face. “If you can’t breathe, all you need to do is twist the top of the tube to release the oxygen!”

  All across the dome everyone else was doing the same thing. It had been drilled into us again and again. It was the first thing new arrivals learned. When the horns signal an oxygen emergency, go for an oxygen tube. There were at least two in every living area. And dozens and dozens of others scattered across the dome. It meant that anybody at anytime could reach one within 10 seconds of hearing the sirens. Each tube had enough oxygen to last 30 minutes.

  “Get one for you too!” I yelled at Rawling. Not that he was likely to forget.

  He nodded. “Got to go!”

  With that, he was gone.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ashley rescued me.

  Not that I was dying, but it was very frustrating to be stuck in Rawling’s office in a body cast in a wheelchair with loud horns vibrating your head and an oxygen mask on your face.

  She ran in, her black hair flying around the edges of her own mask. “Rawling said you’d be here!” The only way to communicate was by shouting from beneath the mask. “You all right?”

  I nodded. “What’s happening?”

  “Something punctured the dome!”

  “Big hole?”

  “The size of a baseball. You should have s
een the stuff getting sucked through the hole!”

  I could imagine it. The dome was made of a thick, black glass and was powered by huge solar panels hung right below the roof. The dome was pressurized, of course, so air would have escaped through that hole with hurricane force.

  “Can you take me out there?” I yelled.

  “What?” Ashley exclaimed above the horns.

  “Can you—?” I stopped shouting. The horns had finally quit. Someone must have been able to put an emergency patch over the hole. Suction from the outer atmosphere would keep it in place while it was permanently repaired.

  I smiled weakly as we both removed our masks. “Can you take me out there?”

  “Sure,” she said. “But how about you leave this body of yours behind for now.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. I looked at my watch. “Good idea. We’ve got time.”

  “Time before what?”

  I didn’t answer. My next headache was scheduled to arrive in exactly an hour.

  “I’ll explain when I can,” I promised. “Trust me, all right?”

  After wheeling me to the computer room, Ashley hooked me to the X-ray transmitter that would put me in contact with my robot, which had already been unloaded and was parked at the far end of the dome.

  Ashley ran me through the checklist.

  “Check, check, and check,” I said. “I’m ready for the helmet.”

  She lowered it on my head, then snapped the visor in place.

  My world instantly became black. The only sound was the faint whoosh, whoosh of my heartbeat.

  In the darkness I gave a thumbs-up, knowing Ashley was waiting for the signal that I was ready.

  I waited too. For a familiar sensation, as if I were falling, falling, falling off an invisible cliff into total blackness.