“The engine must have started up on its own,” Theo declared, his voice sounding flat.
“Maybe,” she said.
“I’ll take a closer look at it,” he replied.
A good idea. He knew engines better than she did. It then occurred to her that there was something she had been suppressing—to recover the data, they would have to go inside the module. She would have preferred to do the engine evaluation. The module’s hull was ripped at the base, which was what had caused it to lose air. However, a person couldn’t fit through the gash.
“I’ll give the airlock a try,” Ewa said.
“Alright. Just call if you need me,” Theo replied.
I’d like you to take over this job, Ewa thought. Imagining something was one thing. Actually having to witness it in person might exceed her abilities. Still, she didn’t say anything.
“Andy, are you there?” she asked into the radio.
“Yep, as fresh as a daisy.”
It was good to hear his voice. He was so... alive.
“I’m going in now.”
“Have...” Andy faltered. He had probably been about to say, ‘Have fun,’ but had caught himself. “Good luck!” he said instead.
Ewa was already turning the lock. The door moved toward her. There was still air in the lock! Anyone who could have made it in here would have probably survived. But it had been too late by that point. She left the hatch behind her open. The internal door unlatched easily. If there was still any air in the module she would receive a warning, and even if the module lacked power, the door would remain locked for safety reasons.
But that didn’t happen. The universe was behind her and in front of her. She floated through the open hatch into the command module. There they were, all three of them. They were lying on the floor, which on her last visit had still been the ceiling. Chuck, Henrik, and Piotr, their bodies strangely twisted. Ewa had to avert her eyes while she choked down the bile in her throat.
“Can you see this?” she asked. It had just occurred to her that the others could watch what was going on around her via her helmet camera.
“Yes,” Gabriella murmured.
“Do you need some kind of diagnosis from me, Gabriella? Official time of death or something like that?”
“No, Ewa, they suffocated. That’s obvious.”
Ewa looked back at the three bodies. She had imagined death in a vacuum as more gruesome. Burst eyeballs and stuff, but there wasn’t anything like that here. Ewa wished she could say that they looked at peace, but that wasn’t true. They didn’t look peaceful, more like they had fought to the bitter end.
“Ewa? Shankar and Asha are still missing.”
The two technicians. A couple. They had both come from the Indian subcontinent and met during the training. Since then they had been inseparable, wherever they were. At the time of the accident they had been trying to start the engine. Ewa studied the circular floor. She caught sight of the wide gash that the engine must have created, causing the module to rapidly lose all of its air.
The engine room was located below this floor. Shankar and Asha had probably died before the three men up here. She searched for the access hatch, which was partially covered by Chuck’s body. She had to nudge him a little to the side, which took a considerable amount of effort on her part, but she had to do it. Ewa gave a start when his hand suddenly moved. That had to be caused by some kind of tension that was building up as rigor mortis set in.
She opened the hatch. The space beneath it was tiny. Could the two technicians have even fit down here? But then she saw them. They were wrapped in each other’s arms. It would have been heartwarming if it hadn’t been so unbelievably sad. She found herself imagining their conversation before they had climbed down here. ‘You or me? I’ll do it. No, let me. Alright, let’s do it together. It’s tight, but we’ll manage.’ Ewa switched off her microphone for a moment. Nobody needed to hear her sniffling or how deeply she was gulping air. When she got herself back under control, she reactivated the mic.
“They’re dead, too. You can see that.”
“Thank you, Ewa,” Gabriella said. “That’s enough for the report. We all saw it and are witnesses.”
“We should pay them our last respects,” Ewa said.
“We’ll do that. Later. First we need the data,” was Gabriella’s reply.
“Alright,” Ewa said. She slowly stood up again. After brushing imaginary dust from her knees, she shut the hatch.
The computer consoles were hanging from the ceiling. Ewa had to reorient herself. She shut her eyes and envisioned her last visit here. In her mind, the ceiling reverted to being the floor. She activated her angular thruster and slowly rotated 180 degrees. She opened her eyes again. The computer was now underneath her. I can’t look up, she thought. If I do that, the bodies will fall on me. It was an insane situation, so crazy thoughts had to be expected. She propelled herself over to the computers with a few arm strokes.
“Andy, are you there? Can you see this?”
“Yeah, it looks like the power’s out.”
“But where is the light in the module coming from?”
“The lights along the walls have their own buffers.”
“Understood,” she said. “What should I do?”
“Do you see the green switch there in the front? Flip it forward then backward.”
She followed his instructions, but nothing happened.
“Okay,” Andy said. “The computer isn’t responding. There isn’t much more you can do. Or do you have an emergency generator with you?”
“I could try to divert the power from the backpack attached to my suit.”
“That wouldn’t last long. Just bring me the memory panels.”
“If you can tell me—”
“You can access everything right beneath the console,” Andy said, interrupting her. “There you’ll see some thin tin sheets. You need to bend them forward and pull them out.”
Ewa knelt down. The memory boards were protected by metal sheets that were suspended in grooves at the top and the bottom. She needed a tool. Ewa reached into her suit satchel. Her fingers brushed against a screwdriver. That should do the trick. She shoved the blade along the bottom edge between the groove and the metal and pushed down on the handle. Through this lever effect the thin tin first bulged, then popped off its track, enabling her to remove it.
“Well done,” Andy said.
Ewa was startled by this, but then she recalled the helmet camera. “And now?”
“Do you see the boards? They’re in three rows of twelve.”
“Which ones do you need?”
“All of them, if possible. I don’t know when I’ll have access again to so many replacement parts at one time.”
“Really? I’m supposed to leave our friends lying here while I grab spare parts for you?”
“I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant it. The memory is on the three right-hand boards on the upper row.”
She touched the first of these boards with her glove. “You mean these?”
“Yes, exactly.”
Before leaving the zoo module, Ewa had attached a bag to her tool belt. She now took it off, carefully extracting the boards and placing them inside the bag. “I hope they survive the transport,” she said.
“They’re space-seasoned,” Andy replied. “No worries.”
Ewa ignored a temptation to hurl the bag with the memory boards against the wall. What good would that do? It would just give Andy other dumb ideas. “Theo, how’s everything with you?” she asked.
“I’m done with the engine. I was about to ask if I should join you.”
He was probably already outside the airlock, waiting. But she could understand his hesitation. She wished she could have spared herself the sight of all this. Ewa picked up the bag and floated toward the airlock.
Before she left there was one thing she still had to do. She looked up at the ceiling. It looked as if Chuck, Henrik, and Piotr were waving at her. S
he squeezed her eyes shut and left the damaged module.
“I’m finished,” Andy called. He was working his way out of his sleeping bag, where he had retreated to evaluate the data.
“That only took you two hours,” Theo remarked.
They had gathered at the center of the module—Andy, Theo, Gabriella, and Ewa in the middle, and the others grouped around them.
“What have we got?” Ewa asked.
“The analysis of the engine didn’t reveal much. It’s clear that it surged sharply at some point. The breach in the hull was a fatigue fracture. The material had already been subjected to a large number of accelerated states. Too many.”
“So, if the engine had performed as normal, nothing would’ve happened?”
“That seems to be the case,” Theo said.
“Then this was caused by a combination of human failure and material deficiency related to our need to cut financial corners?”
“No, Ewa,” Andy interrupted. “Not if by ‘human failure’ you mean Shankar and Asha.”
“Yes, that was what I was thinking of.”
“The technicians couldn’t do anything about it. It was obviously a software error. The navigational software failed. Or to be more exact: it reacted too slowly.”
“Can a program be too slow?” Gabriella asked.
“You know how when you take a shower, sometimes you turn the water temperature up higher but nothing seems to happen? And then suddenly you’re being scalded?”
“Yes, that happens to me all the time,” Gabriella admitted.
“That’s what happened with the navigational software. I assume that the fuel consistency was slightly altered somehow. The flow rate was different. The program gave the engine more gas to try to equalize the levels. And then the engine scalded us,” Andy explained.
“That sounds plausible,” Ewa said. “I think we can work with that.” She was glad that Andy had found the perfect analogy.
“I can alter the program in the other module,” Andy added. “I’m sure you were about to suggest that.”
“Thanks, Andy,” Ewa replied. “Our next business is to take care of our dead and to give them a proper send-off. And we have to talk with the folks down at the Mars base. Could you handle that, Theo?”
The German nodded.
Ketut spoke up. “I would like to take care of the ceremony for Shankar and Asha,” he said. “They were Hindus, like me, so there are a few special things to tend to.”
“That would be great, Ketut. Thank you very much. Take however many people along as you need.”
It felt like a stone rolled away from Ewa’s heart. She had been afraid she would have to see the bodies again in their helpless state. She then noticed that her bladder had been trying to get her attention for hours now. She simply hadn’t had time to take a few moments in private.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, dropping to the lower level of the module.
The toilets were located in the back corner of the module. She closed the curtain around her and strapped herself down. She then held the suction tube between her legs. She was just starting to feel relief when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Could there never be any privacy around here?
“Excuse me, Ewa, but it’s important.”
“What can be so important, Andy, that you have to bother me right now?”
“That software error,” Andy said. “What I said wasn’t quite true.”
“You misunderstood something? That happens.”
“No, I did that deliberately. In the other module, which is completely identical to the command one in terms of its technical systems, the software is functioning perfectly.”
“But that’s a good thing, right?”
“No. It was functioning perfectly before I examined it.”
“What are you telling me?”
“That someone might have tampered with the software in the command module. It would be highly irregular for there to be two identical modules, and for only one of them to run into a program error and the other not.”
“You’re talking about sabotage?”
“Yes, that’s what people call it. Someone didn’t want us to reach Mars.”
Ewa felt herself grow warm. If Andy was right, they probably had an enemy on board, a murderer. They had to keep this quiet. “But it still could’ve been an accident,” she said wistfully.
“Yes, that’s why I didn’t say anything earlier. It would’ve caused too much turmoil.”
“You’re right, Andy. Everyone would suspect everyone else.”
“Precisely. But I wanted you to know. You’re the one who knows what’s going on around here.”
“Why me? It was just a coincidence that I went over there and got the memory boards. And don’t forget, I left the module right before the accident, as if I knew what was going to happen.”
“You’re not that cold-hearted, Ewa.”
No I’m not, unfortunately for me, Ewa thought. The sight of the bodies had upset her greatly. She shook her head. “You don’t know me,” she said.
“Well enough, I do. That’s why I’m going to suggest that you be made the new commander tomorrow.”
“Me? You’re crazy.” Andy’s suggestion was flattering, despite all that had happened. And the position would open up possibilities that had previously remained closed to her.
“True—otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. Of all us crazies, you’re the most level-headed. That’s why you’d make the perfect commander. No, the only possible one.”
“I don’t know what to think,” she said.
Andy left, and Ewa shut her eyes and tried to relax enough to finish emptying her bladder. She had never wanted command status. She leaned back against the wall and cried as her urine began to flow.
Sol 5, NASA base
“My name is Theo Kowalski.”
Lance was disappointed. He had expected to see the blonde again, but she wasn’t on the screen. Instead, he was facing a dark-haired man with earrings and a hard accent.
“Lance Leber. I’m responsible for the details of this taxi ride, or whatever it is,” he answered.
“We’ve determined the cause of the explosion.”
At least the guy wasn’t beating around the bush. His accent indicated that he was German, though his name sounded Eastern European.
“Well?”
“A software error led to a fatigue fracture. We’ve made the necessary corrections.”
How typical. Only rarely did catastrophes these days arise from a single cause. The safety mechanisms saw to that. During their training, they had analyzed the most tragic accidents of the past—Chernobyl, the Challenger explosion, the collapse of the Eiffel Tower, the Lunar Lander disaster, and so on. These were always one-of-a-kind events because people had proven themselves to be surprisingly teachable. However, the universe’s capricious ability to invent new catastrophes seemed limitless. You couldn’t be an engineer without acknowledging that reality.
“That seems reasonable,” Lance said. “The module wasn’t sufficiently tested before launch.” I shouldn’t have said that, he thought. It was too late for it to matter anymore.
“The budget,” Theo replied with an eye roll. “However, nothing would’ve happened if the software error hadn’t occurred. This is why I assume we should be able to slow down enough to enter orbit if we receive the fuel.”
“That should go as planned. Our ship is already being prepared for launch. I estimate that we’ll be able to lift off in three hours. We just need your precise course coordinates so that we can calculate the most fuel-efficient interception route. If needed, we can postpone our launch.”
“Are you coming?” asked Sharon.
Lance set his tablet down on his narrow bed. His girlfriend smiled up at him. He had just made her his background photo because he realized that he was slowly forgetting her. How was that possible? They sent each other video messages daily, providing accounts of their days’ activities, but th
ey seemed to be drifting further and further apart. And yet it wasn’t the millions of kilometers that were creating the distance, it was the time they were spending with other people. Would he even recognize her by the time he returned? They had been so certain...
With a shoulder shrug he got up to follow the pilot. As he walked out, his gaze went back to the screen.
Sharon followed his eyes. “Your girlfriend?”
He nodded.
“She looks nice.”
“She is.”
“How long have you been together?”
Lance was about to say two years when he realized that this was a complicated question. Over the past six months, had they actually been ‘together?’ And before that, during the training, when he had been gone multiple times for as long as two weeks? “I’m not sure how to answer that,” he said.
Sharon stopped walking and looked at him. “The Mars blues?”
“I guess so.”
She rested her arm lightly across his shoulders. Sharon was two years his junior, but right now, she seemed downright motherly. “It is inevitable that you will grow apart. And once you get back, it won’t be the same as it was before. You’ll both have changed. However, it can be even better than it was,” she said.
“How do you know that?”
Sharon laughed. “I spent six months as a meteorologist for a research station in Antarctica. I could talk on the phone with my husband occasionally, but that was it.”
“And after you got back, you were happy again?”
“We decided to get a divorce. After six months in the cold, I realized that my colleague from the university, the one who was overseeing my work, understood me a lot better than my own husband.”
“Ah, that wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear,” Lance said.
Sharon punched him lightly in the arm. “That’s not my fault, my good man. But the moral of the story is—after that, I was better off. I learned some things about myself and my needs.”
Mars Nation 1 Page 4
