Lawrence: That’s what you get for throwing stones in a glass house Doctor.
Ghent: Uh, yeah… I guess so. Did you see that?
Lawrence: The rock? I could have done better myself though. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of Doctor Mendez, so I won’t throw one farther than you did.
Mendez: What a guy.
Ghent: I am not talking about the rock; didn’t you see that color change?
Lawrence: Well, I don’t know about that. Do you want anything? Mendez and I are going out; would you like us to pick you up a heart-attack in a bag, or do you want a lettuce wrap, maybe a senior omelet?
Mendez: I swear, if you talk about fresh food again…Well, it won’t be pretty.
Lawrence: Terrifying; just as long as you don’t try and force-feed me one of those tubes full of brown goo.
Anyway, don’t break our glass house while we’re gone, okay chief?
Lawrence and Mendez turn back up the pathway, leaving Ghent in his contemplative stupor. Ghent looks out over the pond again; the color appears to have returned to the pond-scum color that was prevalent before. Ghent reaches into his pocket to retrieve a tubular glass vial. He gingerly removes the cap with his afflicted hand, and dips the vial into the cool water at his feet.
Satisfied with his sample, Ghent retrieves a large plastic glow stick from his belt, breaks it to mix it and throws it out a few of meters. The glow stick floats for a moment and then begins to slip away under the surface of the water. For a moment or two the stick can be seen readily from the surface as it sinks slowly, then it fades into the absolute darkness below. “Looks like I’m going to have to do this the hard way.”
Mendez finishes putting her pressure suit on, just in time to catch up to Lawrence as he enters the airlock. As they are waiting in the airlock, Mendez notices that Lawrence has now folded his arms and anxiously stands, awaiting the completion of the airlock procedures.
Mendez: Mr. Lawrence, do I make you uncomfortable? I’m wondering why you are so agitated that I’m going with you.
Lawrence: Maybe it is because you are always asking questions. It is also harder to ignore you when there isn’t anyone else to talk to.
Mendez: Alright, so you don’t like me. I will say that I like your honesty; you don’t seem shy about sharing your feelings. It gets stressful out here, so if you want someone to talk to I’ll be around. Don’t worry about what I think of you; you should just worry about what you have to do and everything else will work itself out okay.
Lawrence: How much is that going to cost me? Are we on the clock right now? Okay, let’s talk. What happened here? Nobody is saying anything at all, but we are all thinking about the same thing. Sure, it is great that we finally made it here to Mars. What happened to the other team? I don’t know, and that bothers me. Until I know for sure, I am going to be a little edgy so you should just deal with that.
Mendez: Alright, this is more like it; I just knew we would get along.
The outer airlock door releases with a faint yet distinct banging noise. As they walk out of the airlock, they both pause and look skyward. The golden sky above lends the rust-colored landscape an air of brilliance and wonder.
Lawrence: You know what Doctor, at least the weather is nice here; not a cloud in sight. The sky is golden and the sun is shining. Oh, I am driving by the way.
Lawrence looks over to the place where he had parked the solar rover yesterday afternoon. The remaining trace of the solar rig is the tread marks left by the tires as they fade into the rolling sands along the path from whence they had come the day before.
Lawrence: Wait a second! What happened to the solar rig? It was here last night. Maybe Long sat on the parking brake and it rolled away or something.
Mendez: I have absolutely no idea where it may have gone, or who may have taken it. Maybe E.T. got tired of riding in a bicycle basket.
Lawrence: You have a sense of humor; interesting. I am betting that Long is just playing with us. He probably parked it out back or something. Well, at least the large rig is still here, and it is plugged in. I guess I’ll get it ready.
Mendez: That’ll work, I guess. One thing bothers me though; I thought it was solar powered. It was there last night, and it is still early right now; it can’t be far. I mean, how could the solar powered rover drive away in the dark of night? Think about it.
Lawrence: Well, we’ll keep a weathered eye on the horizon for it. I don’t think that there are too many things on this planet that shine in the sun.
Mendez: What’s the difference between a weathered eye and a regular eye?
Lawrence: Smart remarks like that, well they’re my thing. Don’t suck the very life out of me by making any more of those.
The large, battery-powered rig has been plugged into the power of the dome via a long, heavy duty extension cord for years. Lawrence walks around the heavy rig, the large wheels stand about a meter high; there are a total of six wheels. The long red-painted body of the rig is lightly weathered by sun and sand-storms. Lawrence unplugs the rig, and walks over to the side of the rig. He extends a hand to Mendez, which she takes as she climbs up the rungs on the outside of the rig, from there she climbs into her seat.
Lawrence joins her from the other side of the rig. After being seated in front of the controls, he unplugs his air supply hose from his oxygen canister and locks it into the dashboard in front of him. A rush of air into his hose is the sound that he was hoping to hear; the oxygen tanks on board must still have enough pressure to extend their time outside.
Lawrence: Okay, let’s see if it still works.
Mendez: What happens if it doesn’t work? Do we have to walk there?
Lawrence: Too far to walk without having to drag extra oxygen with us, it would just be a waste of time.
Lawrence brushes the dust off of the controls in front of him and presses the power control on the glass control panel. A strong humming sound prompts him to relax a bit; the motor seems to be working just fine. With a few more presses of his thick gloves on the control panel, the rig begins to back away from the dome. The large wheels roll over several small rocks; the rocks are simply pressed into the soft sand underneath. Within a few short moments the rig disappears down the path as it ventures toward the first shuttle.
Time passes at a rate that is difficult for Mendez and Lawrence to calculate as they both sit quietly in the rig. Minutes, or maybe an hour pass as they look out over the scenic landscape that is still unfamiliar to them. The first shuttle comes into view as they descend down the last hill before reaching it. After the rig comes to a stop several meters away from the half-buried ship, they both unstrap themselves and get out of the rig. The wind has begun to pick up a little bit. Sand blowing upward into the thin air above them begins to render the sky a dusty red color. Small dust devils roam the landscape in the distance, and the sound of the grains of sand as they strike the glass visors is soothing to the ears, yet exhilarating to the cautious minds within.
Lawrence: I am betting that the door won’t just open for us, so I am going to grab the cutting torch to get it open. I really don’t feel like climbing through a broken window or anything like that today.
Mendez: Look at the vessel name painted on the hull there: Charon. I think that they could have picked a better name for that thing.
Lawrence: Why does it matter?
Mendez: I don’t really know that it does. Charon was the ferryman that ferried people to the underworld.
Lawrence: No wonder the mission failed, with a name like that, how could they have made it? Someone back at badlands had a much darker sense of humor than I. Then again, to the lay man it is just another name, isn’t it?
Mendez: Okay, make fun of me all you want. I still think they could have found a better name.
The hissing of gas as it rushes out of the nozzle of the cutting torch is almost loud enough to hear. As the sparks from the igniter fly past the gas it explodes into a furious flame. Lawrence adjusts the mixture and the s
ize of the flame before he presses the burning fury to the door jamb. The door is more accessible than it normally might have been because of its proximity to the sand below.
Lawrence: Okay, stand back. If there is still a portion of the hull that is still pressurized, then this door will fly off with a fury which hell hath not, if you know what I mean. If it hits you, it will seriously ruin your whole day. Who knows, it might just wreck your whole week.
Mendez: Right. I’ll just stand back over there. It’s nice to know you care… Wait! What if someone is in there? If it’s pressurized and they have been surviving in there then…
Lawrence: If all that stuff happened, then it will seriously ruin their day when this door comes flying off. Rapid depressurization isn’t fun, but it isn’t the worst way to go. I would rather die that way instead of being burned alive or something crazy like that.
After a couple of minutes of cutting the door falls off, exposing the interior of the shuttle. After shutting off the valves to the torch, Lawrence climbs up into the shuttle followed shortly after by Mendez. Lawrence heads aft and Mendez begins climb over the various crates laying all about as she makes her way to the forward compartment, where the cabin is located.
Control panels and compartment doors are broken off from their normal fixed places. They hang about the cabin and passageways; many are missing or shattered as well. Lawrence finds nothing of value in the rear compartments of the shuttle; access to the cargo area is relatively easy considering the doors that seal that section off are completely gone.
Lawrence: Mendez, there isn’t anything to speak of back here. Have you found anything of interest?
Mendez: Jim, you need to get up here… right away please.
As Lawrence hurriedly dodges the hanging debris in the shuttle as he makes his way forward, he stops suddenly upon entering the cockpit. In the copilot chair sits a pressure suit, presumably the suit has a body inside it. Ice crystals obscure the view through the helmet. As Lawrence attempts to move the suit, it becomes clear that there is indeed a body inside. The rigidity of the body suggests what is already quite apparent to them both, it is frozen.
After a short period, Lawrence raises his hand and brushes off the dust that covers the name patch, which simply reads “Winters” in large embroidered lettering. Lawrence’s breathing certainly changes and becomes more rapid and shallow, so much so that Doctor Mendez can hear it in her suit, over the radio. Resting his hand upon Winters’ shoulder, Lawrence firmly grasps a worn electronic tablet out of Winters’ right hand.
Mendez: Do you know him?
Lawrence: I think it could be said that I knew him, we served together.
Mendez: I am sorry to hear that.
Lawrence: Okay, well I figured we would probably find someone’s remains out here, but this is not exactly what I had expected…
For now, let’s get this tablet back to the dome and see if the contents can still be retrieved from it. I wonder what the pop-sickle was doing out here all by himself.
Mendez: I have a confession to make.
Lawrence: And what would that be?
Mendez: I have been waiting for you to make a comment about Winters having a bad day or something like that.
Lawrence: Too soon. Respect the dead. I was going to wait ‘till we got back outside before I dropped that jewel.
Mendez: I guess I should have seen that one coming, huh? You know, you have an odd way of coping with your stress.
Lawrence: Yeah, I get that a lot for some reason. I really don’t want to talk about it, let’s just get back to base with this thing already and leave it at that. That is unless you want to write all about my odd way in the case study that has my name on it.
Mendez: Okay, I get that you aren’t particularly fond of psychologists; my only question for you is, why?
Lawrence: You would ask that question, wouldn’t you?
Mendez: Yeah, I just did.
Lawrence: This is going to be a long mission out here. Anyway, you’re really bright, I am sure you can figure it all out on your own.
Chapter 6
Within the control room, Doctor Long has finally worked his way into a chair positioned in front of the main control panel. For no apparent reason Long is having a difficult time holding his hand still. He stares at the jerky motions produced by his once subservient limb. He takes his left hand and lays it on top of the right one to try and calm the convulsive annoyance. He then rests it upon the control panel to relax it. Blue light courses through the glass panel at lightning speed; buttons and controls are all illuminated brightly before him. The large glass pane hanging on the wall in front of him also begins to light up.
The power control system is the first system that appears on the large panel in front of him. A crude schematic of the solar panels, the power storage array and power-consuming devices is plainly displayed in silver light. The sun’s output is measured and is displayed next to the readout on consumed power. Similar displays for the water utility system, comprised of pumps and filters, are displayed on the overhead screen in dark blue. Atmospheric controls and measurements are displayed to the left of the water controls. Air temperature and pressure, as well as oxygen levels and carbon dioxide levels, are all displayed in sky blue.
The display that really catches Long’s eye is the solar calendar, which is displayed as a diagram of the solar system. The alignment of all of the planets and relative dates are all displayed boldly, as to be read easily. Two planets rotate around the sun, in the same exact orbit, but on different sides of the sun. One of these planets seems pretty familiar to Long; it is where he has lived his whole life, Earth. The other planet, opposite Earth in the schematic appears only as a black circle and has no name attached to it. “That can’t be…”
A sharp movement on the far left side of the screen draws his gaze; the power input from the solar panels is dropping quickly, power in the storage array is failing. Warning messages on the screen appear in the power section. As Long is studying the control panel in front of him, the screen shuts down. Emergency lights, mounted along the walls at the ceiling in the control room all switch on as the screen goes clear. The faint humming of the computer in the room ceases; all goes absolutely silent.
A single reflection on the blank sheet of glass overhead draws his eyes slowly from the reflection of the emergency lights glowing in the background. The reflection is familiar enough to him; it is the reflection of his own face, weary and dejected. Despite the weight of his eyelids, Long widens his gaze to stave off his exhaustion. His arms lie on the arm-rests, his head leans back into the neck support of the chair. His extremities go completely flaccid, yet his mind quickens.
With his body completely relaxed and limp, his senses sharpen, drawing his focus to the smallest detail. The reflection of his eyes in the glass encapsulates his every thought. A single particle of dust causes his focus to intensify as he watches it drifting from up above to its settling place on the glass panel.
After staring at the dust particle, his gaze delves ever deeper into the eyes which stare back at him by way of the glass pane. Slight movements seen in the eyes in the reflection presses a surge of panic through him from his lips to his fingertips. Motionless and immobilized, he studies the movement of the eyes in front of him. Distress comes into plain view in the glass eyes; quick movements left to right in the eyes draw every reserve of mental acuity and capacity as he strains his mind to figure out how his gaze upon the reflection can remain so unshaken, yet his reflection looks about so. His relaxed muscles leave him at the mercy of gravity as he slowly slinks down the back of the chair.
His focus upon his reflection is broken only by the sound of a squeaky toy wheel as it rolls very slowly within an arm’s reach of the chair he sits in. The old toy’s wheels wobble on their bent axels as it rolls across the flat, level floor of the control room. The car rolls under the control panel, which is fixed in place just in front of him. Through the clear, plain glass Long watches the car as it rol
ls up to the wall behind the controls as it bumps into some frayed live wires. Sparks fly as it rests against the surging metal wiring. Smoke rises off of the floor and begins collecting on the ceiling. The windowless room only has a single door out, the door that is steadfastly shut behind him.
Cool clean air is tainted with foul smoke; the blue emergency lights quickly become concealed in the thick gray smoke. The waning light penetrates less and less through the building smoke. Smoke begins to descend slowly from the ceiling as Long lays helpless and paralyzed in his chair. His eyes widen as he watches the smoke begin to swirl around; it reaches down toward him. Long struggles against paralysis as he draws in the foul air. The strong smell of burning wood, which reminds him of campfires as a child, fills his nose and burns his throat. Weak coughs ensue as the smoke encapsulates his entire face. The world around him is constricted in a dark gray cloak; a final view through the narrow tunnel of vision is the last view of the faintly lit car as it smolders on the floor in front of him.
Deeper Into the Void Page 6
