The Far Shore

by Glenn Damato

  “On this day I am free. No matter what happens to me, on this day I am free!”

  The voice is swallowed by the rising buzz. Sideways jerking against the harness, up and down too, like racing over a bumpy road. The force is back. The roar of the atmosphere becomes an overpowering screech. Taking in air is like inhaling honey.

  Time mushes again. All is brighter, somehow.

  Altitude thirty kilometers! Sunlight on my face! On the left is darkness, but not the black of space. Purple gloom, then mountains the color of chocolate and ashes. It drifts away like a dream, then the purple again. We’re spinning, the sun skimming past everything from all angles, over and over.

  The world tumbles and the edge of the aerobrake flutters outside the window, trembling against the atmosphere whistling past. A hard BANG shakes my seat. Something big flies off and away. Thin black lines form a striped square quivering against the pink sky.

  Ryder yells, “Chute!”

  The horizon steadies but at a crazy angle. Why is everything tilted? Now the ground is above us, mountains overhead.

  More BANGS and shakes. Nose fairing separation?

  Ryder reports, “High gate!”

  Machinery buzz. The engine housings extend outward, triggering more vibration. Bumps! Hard slamming back and forth, up and down, worse than entry. Panel flashing red.

  The GNC calls, “Misfire. Misfire. Misfire.”

  “Shit!” Ryder reaches for the chute release override.

  I grab his arm. “Leave it! Sixty percent! Need sixty percent!” That’s the minimum thrust for high-gate chute release.

  A throaty rumble, then a steady whine. Liberty lurches sideways. What’s happening with the engines? One of them fires—just one! More rumbling, then a hard jerk to the other side, then even pressure across the back of my seat. THUMP! Chute released!

  I cry out, “We’re good!”

  A tilted horizon, but at least the ground isn’t spinning overhead. Something white streaks past the window, downward and tumbling, trailing a twisted line of brown vapor.

  A spacecraft. Too big to be anything else. I screw my eyes shut then force them open.

  From behind, choking and vomiting.

  The spinning spacecraft is far away, a speck at the end of a trail of smoke. Too close to the lumpy hills . . . ugly flash of yellow. Exploded, impacted the ground.

  Dead.

  I turn away, grip the rosies tighter, and reach out. Ryder’s fingers are there, warm and wet. The explosion! Don’t think about it. Altitude forty-four hundred, last two digits dropping fast. Speed a hundred and fifty meters per second. Distance to touchdown fifteen kilometers.

  Hills and ridges, massive and close. We fly over an enormous mountain followed by a plain of craters and gullies. Flashes of light twinkle on the hillsides—sunlight glinting, but off what?

  Ryder calls out, “Low gate!” The thrusters shift tone twice, then up and down every few seconds. The ground is incredibly rough and so close. There! Suspended against the pale sky, a shimmer of sunlight off white. Another spacecraft! The conic shape is missing the whole top section.

  The horizon levels. Ground coming up! I scream, “This is it!”

  Swirls of dust streak upward past the window. The thrusters change pitch and we drop like going down a fast elevator. Past the churning dust there’s a dark gray thing moving straight across the surface directly at me. I flinch—but it’s Liberty’s shadow. Flying grit blocks the view. The engines scream, then lots of DINGS from the outside—rocks blowing with the dust.

  BAMM! Our seats bounce up and down.

  Another BAMM, softer, then a bounce, then one more. The engines fade to silence.

  The GNP displays green:

  TMP SEQUENCER COMPLETED

  09:27:51 PCT 3 GEMINI 54

  POS 42.187°N 48.062°E

  Ryder throws off his harness but doesn’t release his grip on my fingers. He stands, slow and shaky, eyes empty.

  “Somebody crashed,” I tell him.

  “I see it in your face.”

  He pulls me out of my seat. Heavy. Heavy all over. Mars gravity is two-fifths Earth, but feels every bit as strong. Stronger.

  Serious head swim. “Take it slow getting up,” I advise everyone. “It’s weird.”

  A wave of swirling dust washes over Liberty. A spacecraft meets the ground, the sparkling whiteness a stark contrast against the reds, browns, and grays of the terrain.

  That’s three. One crashed. We’re missing a spacecraft. Six people died. Which six? Did we lose Eric? Alison lies flat with eyes open, her chest coated with gritty beige vomit. She’ll have to wait.

  “Who did we lose?” I ask, as if they somehow know.

  Walking is different, easier and trickier at the same time. I shuffle across the control center and grab the edge of Paige’s seat to stop. The sleeper doors are vertical like ordinary doors, but narrower. Ryder and I look out from the windows on either side of the sleepers. We have a complete view of the surrounding area.

  Two spacecraft out there. Two. One of them rests slightly tilted at the bottom of a shallow depression. The upper section, now flat, is visible against a distant hillside. It would be easy for a spacecraft to hide behind one of the hills encircling us.

  I tell Mikki and Shuko, “Look for the other ship! There should be three total.”

  Eric comes over the com. “We’re good. We’re good. Check your cabin pressure. Check it holding thirty-five, look at your partial pressures. Don’t rely on the alarms. We don’t know what’s working yet.”

  So Constitution made it. Paige jumps and points out the window. “Over there! Right above the mountain!”

  There’s a faint dome of brown haze against the mustard-colored sky. “I saw a crash,” I tell them. “That could be it. Eric! Where’s the other spacecraft?”

  “Resolute impacted at high speed. Endurance is out of contact. They were connected on VHF and the data link until twenty seconds before we landed.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I demand. “Where’s Endurance?”

  “Cristina, I don’t know. We can see only one debris cloud. That’s reason for optimism. VHF is line-of-sight, and the five gigahertz data signal is short range. If they landed on the other side of these hills, we wouldn’t be able to talk to them except on single-sideband.”

  Vijay Mehta. Jessica Egan. Four others and I forgot their names. Dead.

  A hot wave of nausea shoots up my throat. I cover my mouth.

  Vijay!

  The heaviness pulls me down. Ryder and Paige take my arms and support my weight because my legs can’t do it anymore.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The dust settles and the outside vista sharpens. The distant hills are so crisp they appear close enough to touch.

  I sit alongside Ryder on the edge of Paige’s seat—how did I get here?

  Mikki glides to the window on light but clumsy feet. “Three out of six.”

  I snap, “We don’t know that yet!”

  Alison sits up and frowns at the puke on her chest.

  I call out, “Shuko! Check the master panel pressures, power levels, warnings.”

  “Did that, Cristina. All perfect.”

  Ryder runs his hand across my back. “Feeling better?”

  “Just the gravity. Too much of everything all at once.” I sniff and clench my eyes shut to keep the tears inside.

  Not now. Far too much to do.

  Eric booms from the com, “I’m in contact with Endurance via single-sideband radio. They landed hard but there are no injuries. From the coordinates Senuri gave me they’re seventeen kilometers northeast of us.”

  Ryder punches the wall. “Outstanding!”

  I turn to Mikki. “Four out of six.”

  Is that such an impressive victory?

  “I don’t know why they landed long,” Eric continues. “I suspect it had something to do with engine flutter. The engines hammered and didn’t start simultaneously. If one side fired alone after the chute relea
sed, the asymmetric thrust set up a spin.” He lowers his voice. “I think that’s what happened to Resolute.”

  “How do we know there are no survivors on Resolute?” I ask. “They might be injured, their radio smashed.”

  “Cristina, they impacted at three hundred knots. It exploded. I watched the vid twice to be sure. I’m sorry.”

  Alison says, “Endurance is out there all alone. They must be terrified.”

  Mikki adds, “No more terrified than I am right now.”

  I remind her, “We’re in good shape. Save the terror until there’s something to be terrified about.”

  With Liberty under gravity the control center feels tiny, more cramped than normal. Four seats take up most of what’s now the floor. The two forward seats are at chest level, blocking off a third of the interior.

  It requires effort and focus simply to stand. With the sleeper doors open I can walk about four meters in a straight line. I cover the distance in three easy strides but braking forward motion means grabbing something solid. The bottom of our flight suits are more like thick socks than shoes, so sliding is easy.

  We stack the seats so we have space to move. Alison says, “Does anyone else need to pee?”

  “Go in your pants,” Ryder tells her. “Live a little.”

  “Seriously, is the pit working?”

  The hygiene pit, the equipment bay, and the airlock are now below the control center. Ryder removes the grating from the access hatch and helps Alison climb down.

  “What about the people on Endurance?” asks Shuko. “They’re going to stay out there?”

  “I don’t think they should,” I answer. “But this is not up to me. Jürgen’s captain.”

  I stare out at Independence, Jürgen’s spacecraft, several hundred meters away. Nothing visible happening. Isn’t he planning to make a speech from the surface?

  Ryder whispers in my ear, “Don’t forget. Act as if.”

  Those three words trigger memories of the flight. He’s right—waiting won’t work. Too much at stake. I hit the com. “Eric! Can you show me how I can talk to Senuri? What did you call it? Single side?”

  “Single-sideband radio. I can activate yours and raise the antenna. Your master panel will show a channel selector. They’re on two one eight two, which should be your default. Give me three minutes.”

  A female voice yells, “We got an emergency! Jürgen’s in the airlock, he won’t answer, we can’t get it open! We need help fast!”

  Eric says, “Tess, calm down! Is he unconscious?”

  She screams, “He’s not moving! We can’t get the door open!”

  “Pressure difference,” Ryder mutters.

  “Listen to me, Tess.” Eric says. “Is the outer hatch shut? My indication here indicates shut.”

  “The outer? Shut? I think it is. How can I tell?”

  “You need to equalize the pressure. Open the inner vent now.”

  Sounds of shouting come through the com.

  “They’re panicked,” says Shuko.

  I bend toward the panel. “Tess! Let me talk to Walt.”

  She yells, “They don’t want to open the vent!”

  Ryder says, “Oh, shit.”

  Eric says slowly, “Tess, you’re going to need to open that vent. I have no readings from his suit, so I can’t tell if he’s breathing.”

  “He’s got the outer vent open,” says a male voice. The words come fast and trembling. “Know what that means? We override the interlock and open the inner vent, we lose our air before we open the hatch.”

  “Walt,” says Eric softly. “Get everyone suited right now.”

  “Screw you!”

  A different female voice. “Eric, we don’t know what happened to him. We’re not going to let our air bleed away until we know what went wrong with Jürgen.”

  That’s it. I know what to do. “Eric, I’m going out to Independence. I’ll secure the hatch from the outside.”

  “Don’t rush this, Cristina. Check your suit. I show minus twenty-eight degrees out there.”

  Ryder grabs my sleeve. “My suit’s tested too.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of going without you.”

  I put Shuko in charge of the airlock. Paige and Mikki pull the suits and thermal garments from lockers. The documentation says light green side facing out when in sunlight, reverse to dark green for night or working mostly in shade. This time we get to wear Mars boots. They’re like hiking boots with thick soles. They fit over the BioSuit so they don’t need to be pressure-tight. I transfer the rosies and I’m all set.

  The airlock is tighter under gravity, barely room for two people to stand on the bottom grating. Shuko shuts the inner hatch. I got the handwriting all around me again, with The Lord is my shepherd message. Don’t look at it! Out of nowhere: a hospital bed, a dead Paco. Am I going to remember that every time I set foot inside this airlock?

  Block it! Think here and now.

  Isn’t here and now enough?

  Ryder turns my helmet towards his face. “First humans to walk on Mars.”

  This is unreal. The little window on the outer hatch lets in a circle of golden light. That’s real enough—so much like any other morning sun. The visor display comes alive. Five degrees inside the airlock! Ryder’s shivering too; are these thermal garments really thick enough for the lower temperature outside?

  “This is Shuko, com check.”

  “Hear you!”

  A vibration from underfoot. “I’m running the evacuation pump,” says Shuko. “Conserves air, but it’ll take fifteen minutes. Eric wants you to open your vent to speed things up.”

  Ryder twists the handle. The suit actuators tighten instantly. He smiles. “Who’s going to be the first to step out on the surface? Big historic event, you know.”

  “We both do it at the same time.”

  “Not a chance. It’s got to be you. You earned it.”

  Why does this even matter? “We step out together.”

  “Okay. But you say the first words.”

  The panel shows less than ten kp and dropping fast.

  “No idea what to say.”

  “Better think of something!”

  I shake my head and ignore my pounding heart. Which is more overwhelming—venturing across the surface of Mars, or coming up with historic words right this minute?

  “I can’t think of anything good,” I stammer.

  Pressure down to three kp. Suddenly too warm. Ryder takes my hand. “Relax. Keep it simple.”

  I squeeze his fingers. I’m good at that now. “You do it. Say whatever you want.”

  He mouths the word no. “This is your moment.”

  Pressure less than one kp. I close my eyes. “We’re going to have a free planet.”

  “That’s a start. What else?”

  “We have arrived . . . at a free planet.”

  Ryder whispers, “Keep it simple.”

  “Humanity has arrived on Mars . . .”

  The airlock panel flashes OK to open hatch.

  Stomach tossing all over.

  I lock eyes with Ryder. “Humanity has arrived on Mars to establish a free planet.”

  “Perfect! Say it just like that.”

  Am I going to be able to remember? I repeat it slowly. “Humanity has arrived on Mars to establish a free planet.”

  Ryder says, “Shuko, we’re opening the hatch.”

  “Independence says Jürgen is moving. But he’s still in the airlock.”

  I bend down and pull the hatch lever. The mechanism turns and the seal gives a tiny pop as the last wisp of air escapes. A bit of dust puffs up from the ground. The surface is almost two meters below the bottom edge of the hatch—too far to step or jump.

  “See the handle for the ramp?” Ryder asks. “Can you reach it?”

  Mars is there, right there, wide open and waiting. Browns, reds, grays—ordinary colors, but impossibly, intensely beautiful. Or maybe I’m just hyper-stimulated.

  “Pull the handle to the righ
t, then up,” Eric directs. “That should make it drop by its own weight.”

  A silver frame sticks out from under the hatch. It drops so the bottom step is on solid ground.

  Ryder offers his hand. “Ready?”

  The hatch isn’t nearly wide enough for two. “You step out first.”

  Humanity has arrived on Mars to establish a free planet.

  He grins and puts both feet out on the top step. I offer my arm and he guides me through the hatch out into the sun.

  Madre María. Focus!

  “Together,” I remind him with a quiver.

  The stony ground is less than a meter below us. Is he ready? I step outward. He pushes me ever so gently. The surface grit crunches under my boots.

  All over—I’m standing on the surface.

  Ryder’s on the second step. Barely visible through his helmet visor, a satisfied little smirk. He did it deliberately. But it’s done. Only one thing remains. Say the words!

  “Mars,” I sputter.

  Shock, confusion, brain freeze.

  “Free . . . planet.” I screwed it up! “Shit!”

  My breath comes out in three quick pants.

  Eric asks, “What did she just say?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Wisps of brown vapor escape from the engine nozzles. Except for a few streaks and scratches on the nacelles, Liberty gleams pure white. The spacecraft is tiny from outside, especially with the nose faring gone. Our new star tracker is gone too. A palm-sized circle of adhesive serves as a reminder it wasn’t easy to get here.

  The com crackles. Shuko says, “Mars free planet, shit. That’s what I think she said.”

  “Mars free planet, shit.” Eric repeats. “How nice.”

  The sand under the engine nozzles is blown away to reveal a milky-gray surface. I swallow and regain control of my voice. “I think there’s dirty ice here, under maybe ten centimeters of sand.”

  “Noted,” says Eric.

  Hills in every direction—the grayness at the base of that ridge—a glacier? The sky! Not mustard, something prettier, a perfect butterscotch. Eerie for a sky; glorious, too.

  “I can’t believe what I see,” I whisper to no one in particular. “An untouched world for us, a gift we’ll have to earn over the rest of our lives. Thank you for this.”