However, currently it would be counterproductive to set up a giant melting furnace at the South Pole. Due to the low atmospheric pressure, liquid water cannot exist on the Martian surface for any length of time—it simply evaporates too quickly. As mountain climbers know, the boiling point of water decreases with lessening air pressure—unfortunately, when it comes to Mars.
Life on Mars
The conditions overall do not sound favorable. Mars is at the edge of our Solar System’s habitable zone, which is defined by the tolerance limits of known lifeforms. In principle, certain extremophile species could survive under the conditions on Mars. Greening the planet with lichen, for example, doesn’t have a very utopian appeal.
Another question is whether any native Martian lifeforms survived the billions of years of dry conditions. There are scarcely the necessary prerequisites for survival on the surface: big temperature swings, intense ultraviolet radiation, and the thin atmosphere without liquid water are all points against it. And if Mars is geologically dead, that is, has no more volcanic activity, the possibilities of survival decrease even more—without a source of heat from the interior of Mars, life under the surface is unlikely. Researchers, however, believed they had detected active sources of the hydrocarbon methane, which could have been of either volcanic or bacterial origin. Either one would be good news, because in either case it would mean that there are locations in which primitive life is possible.
Recent measurements by NASA’s Curiosity rover, however, are making this hope sound more and more unlikely. In the scientific journal, Science, researchers have reported that the rover’s laser spectrometer could find absolutely no traces of methane. The earlier measurements from Earth and from Mars orbit appear to have been faulty, because Curiosity’s instrumentation is significantly more accurate, and tuned specifically for methane. The overall values are so low that it would make the existence of life as we know it unlikely, both right now and also in Mars’s past. In their paper, the researchers also discuss what makes the earlier methane detections so unbelievable. It appears that the previous scientists let their desire to discover life somewhere out beyond Earth influence their interpretations of the results.
The Mars moons
Mars has only two sad, little moons, Phobos and Deimos, which have irregular shapes and were probably originally from the Asteroid Belt. Phobos, which has dimensions of roughly 26.8 x 22.4 x 18.4 kilometers, is the larger of the two, and its orbit takes it to a distance of only 6000 kilometers above the Martian surface. Due to tidal forces, it is moving closer to the planet on a spiral path—in 50 million years it might finally collide with Mars, or the tidal forces might tear it into smaller chunks that will then form a ring around Mars.
The smaller Deimos, at 15.0 x 12.2 x 10.4 kilometers, in contrast, is well on its way to escaping Mars—sometime in the distant future it will rejoin the Asteroid Belt.
Off to Mars?
The large-scale Mars program that President George W. Bush announced in 2004, and that was to be capped by a human-crewed mission to Mars, has for a long time fallen victim to more and more budget cuts. NASA is now targeting flights in the 2030s, just like the European Aurora program. Such a journey might happen first with a one-way ticket and no return flight.
There seem to be plenty of volunteers. A Dutch non-profit organization, Mars One, published a call for volunteers in the spring of 2013 and received responses from more than 10,000 interested persons. Mars One would like to use private funds to finance the expedition planned for 2022, and estimates that six billion dollars would be needed. For comparison, NASA’s Spirit Mission cost around 2.5 billion dollars.
Travelers to Mars, however, would have to be okay with increasing their risk of cancer because of their exposure to cosmic radiation during their flight. During the Curiosity mission, NASA measured a daily dose of 1.8 millisieverts from cosmic radiation. On a trip to Mars, which would take more than 500 days, a traveler would be exposed to approximately 1 sievert—and thus an increased risk of 5 percent of developing some form of cancer.
There’s also at least one moral problem that humankind would need to solve before setting foot on Mars—it would be almost impossible for the first astronauts to not contaminate the planet. And as a result, bacteria from Earth would almost certainly eradicate any remaining survivors of Martian life... who would have had to survive 3.5 billion years of very harsh conditions, just to be wiped out by us.
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Glossary of Acronyms
AI – Artificial Intelligence
ERV – Earth Return Vehicle
EVA – ExtraVehicular Activity
FC – Flight Control
GN&C – Guidance, Navigation, and Control system
GPR – Ground-Penetrating Radar
HP3 – Heat flow and Physical Properties Package
HUT – Hard Upper Torso
IV - IntraVenous
KRUSTY – Kilopower Reactor Using Stirling TechnologY
LG – Landing Gear
MfE – Mars for Everyone
MRO – Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter
NASA – National Aeronautics and Space Administration
Prop - Propulsion
SEIS – SEISmometer
Metric to English Conversions
It is assumed that by the time the events of this novel take place, the United States will have joined the rest of the world and will be using the International System of Units, the modern form of the metric system.
Length:
centimeter = 0.39 inches
meter = 1.09 yards, or 3.28 feet
kilometer = 1093.61 yards, or 0.62 miles
Area:
square centimeter = 0.16 square inches
square meter = 1.20 square yards
square kilometer = 0.39 square miles
Weight:
gram = 0.04 ounces
kilogram = 35.27 ounces, or 2.20 pounds
Volume:
liter = 1.06 quarts, or 0.26 gallons
cubic meter = 35.31 cubic feet, or 1.31 cubic yards
Temperature:
To convert Celsius to Fahrenheit, multiply by 1.8 and then add 32
To convert Kelvin to Celsius, subtract 273.15
Excerpt: Mars Nation 2
Sol 63, Mars surface
The view was poor. Ewa stared at the sky. It was early afternoon, and somewhere up there, she should have been able to see a somewhat paler spot behind which the sun was hiding. Was that it, or had she just fallen victim to an optical illusion? She needed the sun’s position in order to get her bearings. She had made up her mind to head south.
But did that really matter after all? She was going to die out here, and she deserved that. The evidence was straightforward. She had sabotaged the mission from the very beginning. It was a strange feeling to admit that to herself, since this hadn’t been her conscious intent. She wanted the Mars for Everyone mission to be successful. She had done everything within her power to achieve that. These were the moments that stood out in her memory. The shock from the five people who had died in the command module; the feverish efforts alongside Theo, who had worked frantically to uncouple the ship’s sections; the struggle with the NASA people for the resources the MfE needed; the bewilderment caused by Andy’s accident. All of that had been real. It had to be real because the pain she still felt in her heart was definitely there.
And yet there were the other images. They were running through her mind like a silent film. Although there was some sound, the pictures lacked the feelings associated with actual memories. They were like scenes from a nightmare that she had long believed to be nothing but a dream. She watched as a stranger tampered with the system software and set the stage for the accidents which would eventually lead to the failure of their mission. Ewa’s mouth tasted metallic when
ever she thought about these scenes. She felt unable to accept them as memories, despite the fact that was obviously what they were. After all, what were memories if not the images preserved by our minds? Was it her guilt that was preventing her from accepting these scenes as authentic and making her feel that the person in these pictures wasn’t actually her? But she wasn’t a murderer! And yet the evidence gathered by Theo and Andy, as well as her own memory, unequivocally pointed in this direction. The scenes she was conjuring up fit all too neatly with the proof for her to just write them off as the figment of a sick mind.
Gabriella, the doctor, had theorized that she might be schizophrenic. The illness would be a welcome rationalization for her behavior, but even if she were schizophrenic, the evidence disturbed her. She now knew what she was capable of. How could the others keep her from killing again in the future? They would have to lock her up behind bars like an animal. It would have all come down to a sheer waste of resources. Ewa was grateful to the others for voting in favor of her banishment. It was good that she had convinced so many of them by her performance. Winning people over to her side had always been one of her strengths. She wouldn’t be able to mobilize them anymore, though, now that she was alone.
Ewa studied the spot in the sky again. It was still in the same position, so it had to be the sun. She glanced at her watch. She now knew which way was south. She set off toward the horizon, which contrasted sharply with the reddish Mars surface. She would walk as far as possible. That was all she could do.
May 22, 2042, Pismo Beach
“Young man, what can I do for you?”
The old man behind the counter in the Scorpion Bay Café smiled, although he didn’t know him. Shouldn’t he at least wait to see if the newcomer pulled a pistol out of his pocket to empty the old man’s cash register? There wouldn’t be any witnesses even if he did. Rick glanced all around, checking out the ceiling, too, as if he really did plan to hold up the café. No, the surveillance camera would be witness enough. That still wasn’t a reason to feel all that safe.
“I… I’d like a cup of coffee. No, make that a cappuccino,” he said.
“Dark or light roast?”
How should he know? But dark sounded good. Rick nodded, but then it occurred to him that the man couldn’t read his thoughts. “Dark, please.”
He had to pull himself together. If he didn’t keep his excitement under wraps, the people here would remember him. He didn’t want that to happen. He was a stranger whose face would fade from everyone’s memory. To be on the safe side, he had checked into a cheap hotel that didn’t require him to present any ID.
“Anything else? The muffins are fresh.”
Upselling, Rick decided. The man was trying to increase his revenue by selling things that fit well with the fairly cheap coffee. Business probably wasn’t all that great these days. The old man looked as if he had spent the past fifty years standing behind this counter, and might even have been born there. His skin was pallid, an unusual quality for a resident of the sunny central California coast. That might be because the business was open every day, and the owner couldn’t afford to hire any help. Couldn’t he paint the facade a more welcoming color? The only reason the dark brown had drawn him in was because he had a somber task before him.
This wasn’t the first time he was overthinking the situation. Rick wasn’t here to solve other people’s problems. He was here because of his own difficulties linked to the position that was due him, the one that Robert, the old suck-up, was in the process of trying to weasel out from under him.
“Well?” the old man asked. He still hadn’t given up his hope for a little more revenue.
“No,” Rick replied, instantly feeling annoyed.
That was too unfriendly. The man would remember his face. He really needed to be more careful, even if it would probably be completely irrelevant whether the old man remembered him or not. Nobody would ask him. After all, it wasn’t like he planned to murder someone. Rick’s left fingers closed around the straight razor in his pocket.
“Three eighty-nine,” the man said sullenly. Rick didn’t hold that against him. He wouldn’t have wasted a smile on a customer like him, either.
“Keep the change,” Rick said, handing the man a five-dollar bill.
Picking up his cup from the counter, Rick left the café. Two small, round tables, each with two cast-iron chairs, sat in front of the show window. None of the seats were taken. Rick sat down with his back to the window and watched the cars slowly roll by. Somewhere down the street had to be a speed limit sign, otherwise the cars wouldn’t be creeping by him at ten miles per hour. The loudest sound they produced was generated by their huge tires as they moved across the rough pavement. Their electric motors were practically silent. Rick looked at his watch. It was totally old school with its hands and visible gearwork. From time to time, the watch ran fast and then slow, but he still liked it. The watch indicated that it was six-twenty. This meant that he still had thirty minutes to kill.
Robert lived right around the corner. If he caught sight of Rick sitting here with his coffee, he would wonder what was going on. But Robert wouldn’t see him. Rick had checked into his daily routine. Robert got up around seven, jogged for twenty minutes, drank one cup of black coffee, and then drove to work. And he did that every single day! Robert’s consistency increased Rick’s respect for him, but this didn’t change the fact that he was a rival - Rick’s only actual competitor.
The cappuccino was good. It really was a shame that the old man didn’t have more customers. Word needed to get around that he was selling good, inexpensive coffee. However, he wasn’t the one to spread that news because none of his acquaintances could know where he had drunk his coffee today. He surreptitiously reached back into his pocket. The razor was still there, as was the wire and the bag with its soft contents.
A police car approached from the left. Rick felt his tension rise. He had to remain calm. The officers didn’t know why he was here. There was no reason for them to search him, but he still knew that it wouldn’t end well for him if they did. As expected, the car with the emergency lights on its roof drove past just as slowly as all the other vehicles.
It was time. Rick got to his feet, leaving the half-full coffee cup on the table. Half full or half empty, he wondered. He was a half-full kind of guy. He walked one block to the south before turning left. He reached an apartment complex one block farther on. These were actually two-storied townhomes that had been built on top of an unlocked parking garage. People could see into the garage from the front, but that was a risk he was going to have to take. Rick strolled nonchalantly down the entry ramp to the garage. Robert’s car was parked in the back row. At least he would be partially shielded from view by the cars in the front row. Rick had spent a long time practicing what came next. He had even rented the same make and model just to make sure that his plan would function smoothly. He walked over to the passenger door and shoved the wire loop between the window and the exterior paneling.
A yank, and something inside the door clicked. Now he could open it. Rick felt victorious, but he kept that feeling locked inside. A small cloth doll was lying on the passenger seat, and he pushed it to the side. He sat down on the seat and pulled the door shut. He then used the razor to slice into the interior cladding on the front section of the door, all the while making sure that he didn’t leave any fingerprints behind. A small hole now gaped in the material that could only be seen from within the passenger’s footwell. Rick pulled out a handkerchief and used it to extract the soft, flat bag from his pocket. It was the most expensive element in his plan, as well as the factor that had remained touch and go for the longest time. Where did respectable citizens go to acquire a large quantity of heroin? And it had to be heroin to make it all work out, since in California less harmful drugs were considered, well, less harmful. Rick sighed. He wasn’t happy about what he was about to do. He didn’t like causing pain to anyone. But it was necessary. Rick carefully pushed the bag int
o the opening which nobody except him even knew existed.
Everything went smoothly. Rick looked out the back window, but he was the only one in sight in the garage. And so he stepped out of the car and quietly closed the door behind him. As he did that, a whistling reached his ears. He knew that sound. It was Robert. Rick hid quickly behind another vehicle. His heart thudded loudly. How could Robert not hear that? What about that growing suspicion that befell impending victims in films every time a criminal lurked behind them? Rick had always assumed that was pure nonsense. Nobody could sense another person’s aura. At least, Robert definitely couldn’t. You could tell from his whistling that he was unconcerned as he walked up to his car and opened the door. He muttered Good grief, Mary, before he slammed the door and walked back out of the garage just as unconcernedly. He had probably put something in the car or fetched something from it, and now suspected his wife of not closing the passenger door properly.
Rick waited for five minutes, and then strolled away. His car was parked two streets over. He reached it and sat inside. He then pulled out of the glove compartment a newly acquired phone and dialed 911.
“In the car with the license plate number… you’ll find a large stash of heroin at 35 Pierce Street in Pismo Beach,” he said before hanging up.
He drove off but then came to an abrupt stop next to a trash can. He had considered giving the phone to a homeless person, but his face would certainly be remembered. So he decided to just toss it in the trash. He suddenly felt panic stricken as he realized that he had forgotten to check the street to make sure nobody had seen what he was doing. He hesitated and looked around. The plump, homeless woman back there with her fully laden shopping cart, had she seen anything? She seemed to be making her way to the trash can. He would have to kill her now that she was a witness. The thought flitted through his mind, but he squelched it. The woman hadn’t gotten a close look at him. She probably wasn’t sober as it was and wouldn’t make a reliable witness in that state. He accelerated and drove toward Lompoc, where his research group was meeting today for a discussion. If everything went as planned, Robert wouldn’t be there this time nor in the coming weeks. And then it would be too late - he would already be on his way to Mars on Robert’s ticket.
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